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#azriel/you
writingsbychlo · 4 months
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SWEET LIKE SUGAR | (05)
summary; azriel is away on a mission, and you get an unexpected visitor. when he returns, you also get an unexpected surprise.
word count; 5988
notes; fun fact!! I got confused about which part I was on because I actually forgot all about the events of this part and started writing for part six before realising!! also the way this is months late... my bad, y’all. 
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Slumping a little further in the plush seat, your eyes scanned across the page before you for the fourth time. Finally, you’d settled on a book, after procrastinating it all morning. Then, you’d put it off with the excuse of cooking breakfast and eating, making a cup of tea… and then another. 
The house felt too big, too quiet, too light without shadows crawling in every corner. 
Azriel had been gone since yesterday morning, your first overnight alone without him as he did Cauldron knew what, Cauldron knows where, out in the world. He’d left early yesterday morning while you had still been asleep, waking you with a hand shaking your shoulder gently before the sun had even risen. Dressed in those same dark leathers, strapped head-to-toe with weapons, he’d mumbled about some sudden work from Rhys, and that explanation, along with a delicate kiss on your forehead, had been all you’d gotten. 
It had half felt like some kind of odd dream, until you’d woken up, and the house had been far too still without his presence. 
He was due back tonight, and you were holding onto that, attempting to focus back on your book. Three hours. Only forty pages in. 
You’d hardly made it two more pages, before there were footsteps on the creaky porch, your heart rate shooting through the roof, and a knock. A knock. Azriel wouldn't knock on his own front door. Matter of fact, Azriel would have likely just winnowed right to the door, not walked up the porch. 
On light steps, hoping whoever was on the other side couldn't hear you, you peeked up through the hole in the door, noting Elain standing on the other side. You barely knew her, recognising her only from the first dinner you’d shared with Azriel’s family, heart leaping into your throat at the sight of her. 
Clicking the door open after only a second or two of hesitation, she offered a beaming smile when your eyes met. 
“Hello, Elain.”
“You remember my name!” Her smile somehow only stretched wider, and it was like the sun itself seemed to get brighter as she did. You wanted to scoff. Did it just do that, or was Lucien out there somewhere, glowing every time she smiled? 
“Uh… Azriel isn’t here.”
“I know.” She waved a hand, as though that was supposed to be obvious in some way, following it up with a giggle. You wracked your brain, stumbling over every piece of information Azriel had given you on them all over the last couple of weeks. Seer. Elain was a seer. Had she seen Azriel leave and chosen this moment to approach you? “I’m here to see you.”
Apparently so. “Why?”
“I was thinking we could go for a walk in the public gardens together.”
“Why?” The word spilt out again, and she laughed, cocking her head to the side. “I’m, sorry, I don’t— I don’t mean to sound so rude. This situation is just unexpected, that’s all.”
“I know. I would have come sooner, but I was waiting for Azriel to be gone because he’s been playing defence about who gets to see you and when. He growled at Rhysand last week for asking how things were going.” Your stomach flipped at that, flopping in on itself and you rubbed a hand over your ribs slowly, hoping to steady the beating of your heart. “I’m not here for Rhysand, just to be clear. I’m not here for anyone, not even Az. I’m here for me, because I’d like to get to know you.”
“You want to get to know me?”
“Of course. You’re going to be around for a while—”
“I am?” She merely hummed, brows raising a little as humour shone in those doe-eyes, and your cheeks heated. “Seer, right. Of course. Do you want to come in for lunch or something, then?”
“I was thinking we could go for a picnic.” Nudging one delicately slippered foot out from under the hem of her dress, she nudged a picnic basket at her feet with her toes, and you shifted nervously from foot to foot. “It’s a nice day, and the Velaris Gardens are just beautiful. I volunteer sometimes, and I must say, the flowers this year are breathtaking.”
“Alright,” She was like a puppy, someone you just couldn't say no to when she stared at you with those big brown eyes, only seeming to light up more when you finally agreed. Leaving her standing on the porch for no more than a few minutes, you marked the page in your book, swapped out your loungewear for a summer dress and some sandals, and grabbed your keys. 
She had been right, the two of you were barely more than a few steps down the sidewalks before the golden rays of the sun truly began to soak into your skin, warming you. It was a lovely day. Hopefully, the sun was shining on Azriel too, wherever he was.
The streets of Velaris were crowded as the pair of you ventured closer to the busier parts of the city, your workplace was packed full, the tables outside almost overflowing, and one of the waitresses you’d come to know waved as you passed by, flustered and carrying a tray of drinks. 
Children were playing in the streets, darting from one side to another. Adults were wandering, lovers arm in arms, and friends gossiping. Here you were, wandering alongside Elain, who was humming a tune gently to herself under her breath. Only once you had entered the gardens, the kind old man at the front gate greeting Elain with a smile and a hug, did she speak up once again. 
Her tune came to an end as the two of you were walking down the main pathway, weeping willows curtaining on either side, birds chirping overhead and fluttering between branches in the trees. 
“I'm happy Azriel has you, you know.”
“You might be the only one.” Your words were bitter, harsh, and you wanted to bite them back in, still not entirely sure where you stood with Elain or to what extent you could trust her, but she only laughed again. “Apologies, that was…”
“Don’t worry.” That casual hand wave again, the metal bracelets on her wrist clinking as she did. One held a sun, another with a moon, a third gold band with an orange gem, and a fourth with a metal tag on a leather band, an engraving too small to make out. “Although, it’s not true. Nesta talks very fondly of you, and while Feyre might not speak up as often, she does not approve of the way Rhysand treats you.”
“Nesta is great. I shouldn’t have said that. And of course, I was out of turn to imply anything at all about the High Lord and Lady. I do—”
“Please, none of those formalities.” She stopped suddenly at the end of the pathway, aiming to turn neither left nor right, but instead stepping out onto the large field before you both, wildflowers cropping up, wandering across the soft ground and leaving you to trail through the grass behind her. “Rhysand can be a stubborn arse when he chooses to be, and Cassian is merely being bull-headed. Mor could be a swaying hand if she chose to, but she’s actively staying out of it, to let things play out on their own. Amren is… well, Amren.”
She had managed to coax a laugh from you, despite your wary mood, and she seemed to stand a little taller at the triumph. Finally finding a spot she liked and placing the basket down, Elain opened it up to pull out a blanket, flapping it out into the light breeze and laying it on the ground slowly. She sat on it, patting the space beside her for you to sit on, and opening the basket only when you had. 
“I brought several sandwiches, because I wasn’t sure which you’d enjoy.” She began to unstack each labelled and wrapped meal portion, laying them out around you both until the blanket was covered in food and treats, a wine glass in your hand as Elain filled it with bubbling grape juice. “I try not to drink as much these days.”
It seemed the two of you had moved on from whatever conversation you’d been having, and no matter how much you wanted to circle back around to it, it felt rude to do so when she was clearly leading the chat. She was rubbing a hand over her stomach with contemplation, and you swirled the bubbly drink in your glass. “Are you… are you trying for a baby?”
Her hair glinted in the sun as she tipped her head back, eyes closed and smiling at the sky. “We’re thinking about it. Nothing concrete yet, but, I know Lucien desires children. I do too. We aren’t putting any kind of timeframes on anything, but we’re getting into some good habits and lifestyle changes now.”
“I wish you both the best of luck,” 
She only hummed, again, a contemplative sound that seemed so wrapped up in mysterious and knowledge that it made your skin itch. To distract yourself, you took a sip of your drink, eyes scanning over the food options before you as she sighed and pulled herself back from whatever thoughts she had lost herself in. “My happiness with my mate now is so much due to Azriel.”
It was like a ball, bouncing back and forth between the walls, getting faster and faster as she whipped from the topic of Azriel to anything else, like she couldn't decide between acknowledging the elephant in the room or ignoring it. 
“I’m happy he has you.”
“So you’ve said.” You smirk, settling on a sandwich at last and unwrapping it. 
“There was a while when I thought I might be his happy ending, and he might be mine.” Your chewing slowed, and your focus fixed on her. You weren’t sure why she was saying these things, revealing things about his past or her own, whether it was some kind of game or not. She seemed to read all of this on your face, sitting up more fully to face you, legs crossing before her. “He never fought for me the same way he fights for you, though. Like he can’t help himself. What we had was hidden away and sneaking around in the dark. It was wrong for us both, I see that in hindsight, but with you, he doesn’t hide you. It’s like he wants the whole world to know you’re at his side.”
The food was like trying to swallow a mouthful of cottonwool, choking it down dry and wincing. “I don’t think what we have is the same. What you had must’ve been… well, like a real relationship. You do understand what me and Az have is more like an agreement, right?”
“Are all relationships not just agreements to be together, monogamously?”
You sipped at your drink, buying time to find a reply as she tucked into her own food, surely knowing she’d won this round. “Relationships are different.”
“In what way?”
“In every way!” You said, and she still only managed to look mildly amused, waiting for you to go on. “Relationships shouldn’t start the way ours did, for the intent of mutual benefit and gain. They’re supposed to be about passion and feelings and connection.”
“And do you not have passion, or feelings, for Azriel? Is there no connection?”
“What we have is complicated.” You didn’t know how to define it at all, everything that was shifting and changing so thoroughly was enough to make your head spin, and her mumble only confirmed that she knew she had the upper hand here. “How did Azriel help you to find Lucien if you were… together?”
“Oh, no, we were never together. We snuck around at night and shared heated looks across the dining room table. I wanted to choose my own path for once, not the one everyone was telling me I should be on. The one that led to Lucien. And Azriel, well, he just wanted someone. I wasn’t the right someone, I was just there.” That didn’t answer your question, not at all, but it seemed that if you were going to get the reply you wanted, it was in return for listening to the whole story. “We had stolen moments in dark corners, and Rhysand warned us off one another, put a stop to what likely would have ended in tragedy.”
“Seems like the High Lord is fond of telling Azriel who he can and cannot be with.”
“He had a sister once, you know.” The words struck cold, and you stiffened. Of course, you knew. Everyone in Prythian knew. Had heard of the tragedy before the first war, when the Lord of Night had lost his wife and daughter, leaving only the Prince who would soon take the throne. “She fell in love with someone who she shouldn’t have, someone who betrayed her in the end,”
“Should you be telling me this?”
“—and it broke him for so long. I had no idea about any of this until Feyre told me. He watched his sister get her heart broken before she lost her life, and watched his mate fall for Tamlin and get hurt. He watched Mor hide such an important part of herself and get hurt for centuries. He even watched Lucien pine for me while I was too blind to see him. He has watched love break and harm over the years, watched people abuse those feelings and use them for their own gain. He knows that need for touch more than anyone, and knows the price companionship can cost.”
“Elain,” The food was beginning to taste like ash, this was becoming more of a petition than a chat. “I understand that. I know he’s suffered too, I know he’s felt pain, and I’m sorry for that. But that doesn’t excuse him for his cruelty. It doesn’t excuse him for stopping Azriel from finding happiness. He cannot control everyone around him, no matter whether his intentions are good or not. Other people’s happiness is not his responsibility, and not his right. What, only mates are allowed to be together? Do you know how rare it is to find your mate? Azriel has waited five hundred years, he may never find his mate, but does that mean he should never be allowed to know happiness because Rhysand decrees it?”
She stared at you, lips pursed for a long moment, considering all that you had said. And then, instead of getting angry, or yelling, or defending them further, she smiled. She nodded her head and something passed over her face that you couldn't possibly decipher. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Azriel would have fought for me, if I had asked him to. I’m sure I could have put up a fuss about it, but when he was told to stop, he did. That rejection…”
“Led you to Lucien?”
“Gods, no. It made me so angry. Azriel just rolled over and showed his belly because Rhysand snarled. I was mad, beyond words!” Your laughter broke free, surprising you both, until you were laughing together amongst the flowers. “He would barely look at me, wouldn't talk to me at all if not for polite dinner conversation. I’d gone from someone he’d feel up in dark corners to acting like I had a disease!”
“That’s awful!”
“I know! So, I wanted out. I was so stifled. I managed to persuade Rhysand to send me to the Human Lands for a while, to track down some information. Except, of course, I couldn't go alone. I needed an escort, and who better than the Emissary to the Human Lands?”
“This was Lucien?”
“Mhm.” She rolled her eyes, slipping away into her memories, a smile forming on her face. “Gods, he drove me insane. He was there all the time when I’d just been pulled from the Cauldron, like a lost puppy. So full of adoration and love. I was expecting that, but that’s not the Lucien who showed up. The one who showed up was so… nonchalant. Like the bond between us didn’t exist, we were friends, more like mere partners on a task. I even made a drunken move on him one night in a gross tavern far from The Wall, and he turned me down! Put me to bed and left a glass of water on the nightstand for me. Acted like it never happened in the morning.”
“Oh, Gods…” Your snicker bought you a mock glare from the flowery female beside you.
“I was even angrier, then. It was like nobody wanted me! So, when I returned, I gave Azriel a piece of my mind. And he let me yell at him for twenty minutes. And then awkwardly held me while I cried for another twenty.”
“Does this story have a happy ending? Well, I guess I know it does,” You offered her stomach a pointed look, “But when do we get there?”
“Fine, fine,” She rolled her own eyes now, “To keep it short, Azriel then offered to help me with Lucien. Managed to trick Lucien into going on our first date, a blind-date set-up, and wouldn't let him leave when he tried to. He then continued to help me sneak around with Lucien behind everybody’s backs, until we were ready to come out with it.”
“When was that?”
“Two weeks before we got married.” You fell to your back, laughter like light spilling from you at that, and she continued to share the details of everyone’s reactions through giggles of her own. “I’d seen all their responses, and I wanted to avoid them as long as possible! That was the last time I ignored my visions to try and put them off. What I see will happen, it's only a matter of time. I can’t avoid it.”
“That must suck for surprise parties and gifts.”
“Maybe, but it was pretty good to see you coming.” She smiled, laying herself down beside you and staring up at the sky overhead. “We will be good friends, you and I. I’ve seen that too.”
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You were preparing dinner when you finally heard Azriel arrive. The scuff of his boots on the porch, the rustle of his wings as he entered the house, and then—
Then the slam of the front door. So loud and violent that the house shook a little, trembling the trinkets in the hall that sat on the side unit. You tensed, hearing his loud huff of frustration. Shadows whipped and whirled through the house, a few even making it as far as you were in the kitchen, and you followed them, peeping around the threshold before they were all snapped back in a hurry to their owner. 
You saw his retreating back, stomping up the stairs of the house, tense lines and rigid muscles, disappearing in a dark cloud from sight. Another slam made you jump, one of the upstairs doors closing with a bang. 
Silence filled the house once again, far heavier and more tense than it previously had been, and you worried your lower lip between your teeth. 
It didn't feel like you were welcome, like perhaps this was a moment you shouldn't intrude on. But, was this not part of the reason that Azriel had brought you here in the first place? To comfort him, and be his support?
Minutes ticked by as you contemplated the matter, before deciding that at least checking in on him couldn't hurt. If he wanted alone time, he’d say that, and you’d happily give it to him. The idea of leaving him alone in his suffering created a phantom pain in your chest, spurring you up the stairs and on a search for him. 
He wasn’t hard to find, darkness flicking around the doorway of the office, idle shadows striking like dark lightning bolts in the air as you opened the door, only to find Azriel hunched over his desk, wings tense behind his body. 
“Hi, Az. It’s good to have you home.”
He only murmured, a vague noise, not even lifting his head from his work as you stood in the doorway. You paced a little further inside, standing by his desk, hoping to catch a glance of those pretty caramel eyes, but he kept his head down. His pen never stopped moving across the paper, his shadows never stopped their stormy swirling. 
“I’m going to start making dinner soon, if you want to come down?” He didn’t reply, just a grunt, and you gave up, despite the worry filling you from head to toe. “Alright, well, you know where to find me.”
With that, you left, a pulse of power following you from the room within as soon as you clicked the door shut, back pressed to the wood on the other side. With a couple of deep breaths, you steadied yourself. It was only a matter of time before something came up, everything had been going too smoothly, too perfectly to last. Azriel was bound to snap under all that pressure at some point, and if this was that snap, you could handle it. 
Setting a chicken off to roast only took a couple of minutes, basted and seasoned and into the oven, enough of a distraction to pull your thoughts away from the warrior upstairs. It was as you were chopping vegetables that your mind wandered back, the mind-numbing task of slicing peppers and carrots made it easy for your thoughts to trail back to Azriel.
Still, he had not emerged. Not for food, or water, or even some space from that office. 
Setting the table didn’t help to distract you either, laying down plates and cutlery and glasses, choosing a bottle of wine and setting it out to air, even going so far as to set down some candles, searching for matches to light them. The house was all but vibrating with power not, steady thumps that occasionally jostled the cutlery on the table with powerful bursts. 
Whatever had happened today had Azriel so riled up that his power was all but leaking out, siphons doing little to control the feelings welling inside him now. You’d never known the true strength of his power. Of course, you’d heard of the High Lord’s brothers, the spymaster and the warlord, the three champions of a lethal death-match among young soldiers, who’d come out bonded stronger than ever, with power to match. 
Never, though, did you expect to feel the power like this. Feel his emotions ricocheting off of every wall, bouncing through the foundations of the house. Suddenly, it dawned on you just how mighty the ranks of the Night Court truly were, a chill settling into your bones at the thought.
One bad mod, one temper tantrum, and the building could simply crumble to dust. Street lamps would flicker, and animals would scatter. Too many thoughts, too much and all of it became overwhelming as the house continued to tremble to the steady pattern of a heartbeat. 
Blowing out the candles as the flames flickered precariously once again, you put them away, not daring to risk them tipping over and creating a far worse problem. You knew the scars on Azriel’s hands, he’d told you the story behind them on one of the many nights the two of you had lay in bed, wrapped in one another’s arms, seeking comfort. 
Or perhaps, it had been during stolen moments in the café, when Azriel would come to visit you, sitting and doing his work at one of the tables in the back. He’d take a break only when you’d bring him a fresh pot of tea and a pastry, sit across his lap and talk in hushed whispers during the quieter parts of your shifts before you had to get back to work. 
It could even have been one of your late-night walks, or early-morning strolls, while the streets of Velaris were quiet and mist-kissed. Your hands clasped together tightly, his wing shielding around you as you walked together, talking of everything and anything that came to mind. 
He’d told you quiet stories of his past, of his present, of his hopes for the future. All about little baby Nyx, Nesta and her journey to finding the Valkyries, what it had been like growing up in the camps, or all the best little villages and towns he’d visited on his worldly travels. 
Your heart had been doing crazy things, lately. Crazy, stupid things, like skipping a beat and speeding up and bursting with adoration for a man so new to your life. It did crazy things, like encourage you back up the stairs an hour later, to ignore the tremble in your hands or the wobble in your step, heart calling out to him. 
You’d tried to ignore the urge. To sit and read your book, until you’d read the same line over and over while not absorbing a single word, and giving up with a frustrated huff. You re-basted the chicken, and added the vegetables to cook, and even set off some potatoes to boil but all the while, as your body worked, your mind and heart lay with him. 
This time, you knocked as you entered, knuckles a soft rap on the door before you pushed it open. Magic thrummed through the air, calling you closer and pushing you away, and you found Azriel, still in the same uncomfortable position, working at his desk. His shoulders were locked and rigid, his head hung, hair messy from constant tangling, and you lifted a hand, brushing it slowly through his hair. 
“Azriel…”
He barely even acknowledged you, nothing more than a grunt tossed in your direction as you stood by his side, and a sigh broke free from you. His lips were turned down in a frown, dragging all of his pretty features into misery too, and you hated to see this side of him. Hooking your fingers under his chin, his writing came to a stop as you forced his head to turn, to look up at you. His eyes were dull, a spark of irritation and anger bursting through them as recognition and consciousness flashed back into his lifeless form. 
“Azriel.”
This time, a growl tore free, that frown becoming a snarl as he pulled back, gaze narrowing a little. “I’m fucking working. What do you want?”
You froze, staring at him, taking in the exhaustion under his eyes, the pain in his stance, the spinning thoughts you could practically see surrounding him, so much so it must be dizzying and painful. Dropping your hand back to your side, he only returned to work, not sparing you another thought as he chased to catch up with the ones already running him ragged in his head. 
Silently walking away, you left his door open, hurrying away from the scene and back to the kitchen. Taking the kettle in trembling hands and filling it up, you set that to boil too, a mug from the cupboard clacking as you set it down on the counter, throwing open the doors to the tea cupboard soon after. 
Your nervous fingers skimmed across the labels, searching the front of each one, and it was as you were holding two, undecided on which to choose— perhaps just brew them together?— that the air in the room shifted, and a pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist, tugging you back into a solid chest. 
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, face tucking into the crook of your neck, where he left a kiss to your skin. His hold tightened, squeezing you against his body as he slumped down into you. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Az.” You ran a hand along his forearm, banded around your body, feeling it loosen just a fraction as you squeezed. “I’m just so worried about you, I wanted to make you some tea to help, but I couldn't decide which one.”
At that, a whine slipped free from him, nuzzling deeper into your neck, another kiss, and another. Putting down the teas on the counter, you wiggled a little, managing to get him to loosen up just enough to turn in his arms. His forehead came to rest on your own, noses brushing, a sad frown on his lips as his eyes remained closed. 
“Az…”
“No more work. If I’m stressed to the point of snapping at you, then it’s too much. I’m sorry. You were just trying to help, and clearly, I needed the help.”
Looping your arms around his neck, he sighed, a happier sound as you scratched at the nape of his neck soothingly. “Stop apologising, Azriel. I appreciate it, but it’s unnecessary. I’m not angry at you, just concerned.”
“I like that you worry about me.” He whispered, deep voice running like honey as he bent enough to pick you up behind the backs of your legs, spinning you to place you onto the kitchen counter, and step comfortably between your thighs. “But you don’t deserve that kind of treatment. You deserve better. I don’t deserve you, but I don’t want to let you go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Az. I wouldn't be in this relationship if I was going to run. I can handle you, even when you’re not at your best.”
He only answered with a shaky laugh, hands smoothing up your thighs to sit on your hips, squeezing in a series of happy pulses. “We’re in a relationship?”
Elation was clear on his face, no denying it, at your choice of words, and you gave a little chuckle of your own, nodding against him as your noses came back to brushing together, heads resting on one another. Your conversation with Elain flickered through your mind once again, and you wondered if she had seen this, seen you give into her whims and silently admit she was right. If she’d seen this, you hope she picked up on your mental scowl, too. “Well, what would you call what we have?”
“I like ‘relationship’. I like it a lot, actually.”
Throwing your arms over his shoulders, they looped around his neck, and you pushed your face up a little closer to him. “We may not be conventional, Az, but I like what we have. I like our relationship. I think we’re perfect as we are.”
He didn’t need words to respond, not this time, not as his mouth sealed over your own in a gentle, tender kiss. The first kiss you’d ever shared, a timid one, his lips working slowly and cautiously over yours, giving you plenty of time to pull away. 
You didn’t want to, kissing him back with just as much tenderness and affection as he was showing you, pouring every feeling you had into it, to make sure he knew just how much you cared. Your heart was beating hard, fast, racing like a drum under your ribcage as you melted into his touch. One scarred hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing across your skin, in tandem with every stroke of his lips. 
You pulled back for breath, just to find yourself tangled back up in him, his tongue stroking across your lower lip, teasing the roof of your mouth as you opened up for him. A groan skittered across your tongue from him, a pant for breath, his hand slipping up under your shirt to sit on your bare waist as you tugged on the slight curls of his hair. 
When he pulled back, at last, your lips were swollen, your lungs burning in the best way possible, and your head was spinning so much you could barely focus. The world felt fuzzy at your touch, glowing and glittering as you stole a final kiss from his lips, his soft chuckle breaking it. 
“Am I still invited for dinner with you?”
“Yes. I’m making chicken and potatoes.” Your smile lasted only a second, before you were sitting upright. Time had melted away around you, disappearing into dusk outside beyond the windows, “Oh, no, the potatoes!”
Pushing him back and hopping down from the counter, he watched with a dazed, kiss-drunk expression as you rushed to the stove, taking off the pan lid and prodding at the potatoes with a fork. 
“I amend my earlier statement. We’re having chicken and mashed potatoes, because these have gone soft. Entirely your fault for distracting me.”
“I distracted you?” He mused, sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, tugging you back to kiss at your cheeks, trailing down toward your mouth. 
“You know you did.” His only response was a smile. Draining the potatoes was a challenge, what with Azriel plastered to your back like a new limb that served no purpose, and you had to elbow him off in order to finish the food. 
While he waited, he tinkered with the dining room table, pouring two glasses of wine and rearranging. When you turned, he’d dug out the candles you’d put away, lighting them with a match once again, and blushing as he laid them out. “I thought they’d be romantic.”
“I like them.” Your cheeks were equally as heated, smiling to yourself as you turned away to check the food. 
His distance didn’t last long, as you searched for a knife with which to carve the chicken, he was once again backing you into a counter, his mouth hungrily descending upon your own. Mutters of ‘waiting long enough’ silenced on your mouth as he dove into you, hands on your body once again, trying to tempt you up onto the counter. 
“Let me cook, you menace,”
“Just a few more,” Was his barter, and those few kisses passed more and more time, his lips like a high you had to chase, until only the desperate urge to breathe could pull you apart. “Gods, I love that. I love kissing you.”
“I can tell.”
He rolled his eyes, but his smirk stayed, unashamed of his newfound addiction. 
“We need to eat, you need food.”
“I have everything I need, right here.” He leaned in again, lips puckered, and you tipped your head his mouth finding the edge of your jaw, and he grunted unhappily at the action, but mouthed at your skin nonetheless.
“How about after dinner, we can go upstairs and do some self-care. I’ll show you all the fancy new creams and skincare I got. We can relax, and cuddle, and read.”
“And there will be more kisses?”
“There will most definitely be more kisses.” You promised, cupping his face and bringing him back for a final peck. 
“Then I think I can agree to those terms.” He stared, pulling back just enough to fully take you in. As the urgency in his expression died down with the promise that this affection was not a one-time deal, his face took on blissfulness instead. Running his knuckles across your cheek, his face softened even further as you leaned into his touch, cupping his hand and pressing kisses to his scarred fingers. “You… You are my moon, do you know that? You light up even the darkest parts of life for me.”
His words were like whispered oaths, something too heavy for you to fully comprehend but burned into your mind regardless, and you gave him a sweet smile back. “You are my stars, Azriel.”
“Really?”
“Every last one. Glittering and perfect in the night, full of mystery and hopes and stories. You are my favourite part of the night sky.”
Your heads rested together, dinner temporarily forgotten just for another moment or so, to bask in the revelations of the evening. 
Today, 
today changed everything for the better.
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cottontears · 6 months
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10/1/23: kinktober day one: azriel (acotar)
ೃ⁀➷ bondage, begging, edging
ೃ⁀➷ word count 1.4k+
ೃ⁀➷ warnings: smut, whiny, whimpering azriel, subby azriel, soft dom reader, afab gn reader, soft praise kink, and implied mates.
ೃ⁀➷ a/n: this is a little later than when i intended to post it, but it is still october 1 where i live! anyway i could not help but be soft for my favorite bat boy, i love him, he deserves the most loving love ever 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼
ೃ⁀➷ kinktober masterlist
ೃ⁀➷ reblogs and comments always appreciated 🫶🏻
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────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
azriel could not comprehend how he had gotten into this particular situation.
you had been dancing around each other forever.
ever since feyre slowly brought you into the circle.
you were a fellow artist, and she had connected with you in such a way that you were inseparable. it was nice, seeing his high lady have a friend her age.
the circle had been taken by your dark disturbing paintings, and joyful personality. you slowly infiltrated his family. and he tried to resent you, but something impeded him. eat dinners and drinks when you talked and laughed, his eyes never strayed from you. he made sure to never be alone with you
and now he was unattended sitting next to you. you lounged with your legs underneath you on the plush couch, he sat on the loveseat next to you, his back straight. it was late, and the rest of his family had gone their separate ways, but something impeded him from leaving you
“you know shadow singer, i have never gotten the chance to meet you.”
azriel cocked his head slightly to the left, not knowing what to do with that.
“what i mean is that i have gotten quite close with most of your family, but you seem to dislike me. or at least you want me to think so.” your smile was beautiful. 
and he just knew that his scent had changed. there was something so delicious about being the center of your attention, your unwavering gaze taking him in. his wings spasmed slightly.
he was never comfortable being put on the spot, he never trusted easily. it took years and battles won together for him to trust.
but one simple smile from you had him wanting to fall on his knees.
he was afraid. he had never let himself hope for that four-letter word. 
his brothers had found it, and he? well, he never dared hope. 
and you put him in a dangerous position. his breathing deepened.
you swirled your wine softly, taking a sip and placing it on the table.
the moment you unfolded your legs and stood, he felt his heart stop, you were leaving. 
you looked over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, “are you joining me, shadow singer?”
“are you inviting me?”
you just smiled and laughed, as if it was obvious, he was not going to do that to himself.
he was not going to willingly put himself in such a vulnerable position.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
your room was nothing like he expected. it was full of light, your dark-colored paintings contrasting the white and gold accents.
the sound of the door closing brought him to his senses.
“breathe azriel.” this was the first time you had said his name, and the pronunciation made his knees weak.
how pathetic, a five-hundred-year-old illyrian scared of a twenty-something artist.
his breathing was ragged, but he heeded your word and made an effort to stabilize it.
“that’s it…” you walked up to him, he was a head and a half taller than you. your eyes glimmered as they looked up at him.
“please” he did not know what came over him, but he did not regret it.
“please what azriel, use your words baby.” your voice was so soft, so loving, he whimpered.
“please…” he never begged, ever, and you seemed to know that. you took pity on him, 
you slid your fingers into his thick hair and he shuddered as your blunt nails scraped his scalp, you pulled his head down, and when your lips met his, he whined.
“beautiful boy,” your voice was a low whisper.
and now his cock was at full attention.
you walked him towards your bed, your lips never straying from his, hands playing with his hair. his fingers wrapped around your hips and he pulled you as close as you could physically get to him.
he pawed at your clothes. “off, please”
“anything you want azriel.”
you shared breaths as you took off each other’s clothes, hands fumbling in their haste, and when you were finally free from the clothing, a guttural sound escaped from his throat. 
you looked him over, pursing your lips. “my azriel, you are the most breathtaking artwork i have ever played my eyes on.”
rough scarred hands gripped the flesh of your hips.
“you can touch, you know?” 
he grunted in affirmation.
he would usually get frustrated when words escaped him, but you seem to understand, not making him speak.
“i love your sounds, please do not be ashamed.” you brushed a finger through the soft skin of his inner wing. 
“aahhhh-” his eyelids fluttered close, he kept them like that, letting you do whatever you wanted to him.
“can i try something azriel?”
“y-yes” his voice was rough, his eyes closed still.
he felt your soft hands on his wrist, and for the first time, he let himself enjoy being touched.
he felt you drag his wrist up, he felt something clasp around it, and when he tried to move it, he found it was tied to the bedpost.
his hips bucked in pleasure, and there was no way of hiding his throbbing flushed dick, leaking pre-come on his lower abdomen.
once both wrists were tied, he felt your thighs slide over his, straddling just above his knees. he opened his eyes softly, your chest was rising and falling fast. your fingers fluttered over his chest, his ribs, his sides, making the muscles ripple in response.
lower and lower they went, he whined and begged, until you finally took him in your hand.
“unhggg-” he groaned in pleasure. your grip was warm and tight around his cock. his hips thrust up slightly, begging you silently to give him friction.
“does that feel good my sweet boy.”
he whined in response, begging you wordlessly.
you swiped your thumb over his tip and he was embarrassed by how fast he was getting to the edge. but your hand was gone.
he exclaimed at the loss.
“lick.” you slid his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them, drenching them with saliva. your eyes on him, he almost finished right there.
saliva dripped down your hands, and your hand went back to his cock.
his moans were slightly louder, shameless, at the warm wet sensation of your slick hand sliding up and down his dick.
once again you stopped when he was close.
“please!” he whined.
he felt the presence of his shadows, frustrated along with him, curl around his torso, his skin, your skin. he had barely paid them and this whole time, but the smoky things were riled up, and they were more prominent than ever. you did not seem to mind as they curled around your hand, urging you to go faster.
“no azriel, you will come inside me, and only after i do.”
he squeezed his eyes shut as you teased him. he could feel tears prickle his eyelids until they overfilled and burst through, streaming down his cheeks.
it felt so good it hurt.
he felt a soft warmth on his neck, it was delicious. your lips on his sensitive skin.
“open your eyes azriel, i want you to see when we become one.’
his eyes flew open, hands clenching and unclenching with the need to touch.
he understood this was a powermove, nothing more.
you positioned your entrance over him, sinking slowly into him, his jaw clenched at the tight heat. you were wet, and you had not been touched. had you gotten wet just by playing with him?
“feel this azriel, i am drenched by you, you are so beautiful, you destroy any self-control i have.” your voice was breathless.
he whimpered as you bottomed out.
your hips rose and he grunted, but you only slammed down again, both of you moaning in pleasure.
your hands were planted in his chest, he was close, so you chased tactics. gyrating your hips, dragging your clit against his pelvis, the stimulation making you wetter.
his jaw was tight, and tears were streaming freely, slowly but surely, you tightened around him, your cunt spasming with pleasure, squeezing so hard, he saw white.
he cried when he came, and he felt your wet tongue lick them up.
you kissed him even when he could not kiss back, his lips open softly, and you kissed his cheeks, jaw, nose, forehead, and neck.
his heart ached so good.
he was safe, he was home, he was with you.
614 notes · View notes
azsazz · 1 year
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Winter Winds
Azriel x Reader
Summary: Anon req: ik you probably won’t get to this in a while but i just read “in ribbons” and absolutely loved it!! got me so hot and bothered. anyway, thinking abt az, reader, and the kids got me thinking…what if the entire ic and their kids are all at wind haven for some trip or something. the oldest kids are pre teens, a bit older maybe. while at the camps, someone attacks the reader and she’s like seriously hurt. like seriously seriously hurt. az goes ballistic, and all the kids get so worried. but especially the older ones, maybe wren baz and zuzu, they get super angry and want to help az get revenge for their mother? 
Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood and gore. Traumatized children but they are otherwise unharmed.
Word Count: 4,921
Notes: You didn’t think I forgot about posting today, did you? Silly. I didn’t make them pre-teens, they’re I guess a bit younger than that but close, but I think I’ve got most of the idea in here, except the revenge part. Sorry about that and sorry in advance this one’s kinda sad.
_________________________________________
“Daddy?!”
His son’s frantic voice slices up his spine like an icy blade, plunging deep and cleaving him in half.
At the sound, Azriel’s body flashes hot with adrenaline and everything else slows to a crawling pace.
He spins on his heel instantly, ignoring the grumbling of the camp warlord who’d been reporting to him, now muttering under his breath about letting his savage brood run wild in the camps, that he doesn’t know how to raise them.
His family means more to him than anything, and that terrified shout from his son to grab his attention isn’t one he’s heard in years.
Something is very very wrong.
Azriel’s heart stammers in his chest like the frantic beat of wings in war when he locks eyes with his second oldest son, Baz.
He shouldn’t be out here alone, even if he has been in the training camps for nearly two years now and knows his way around. If any of the warriors had grabbed him and thought to teach the Azriel a lesson through his child…the spymaster shivers at the thought.
The more pressing concern, the one that makes his brows twitch into confusion and fuels his feet forward and nearly halts his heart in his chest, is that young Baz isn’t dressed for the cold. The Illyrian mountains in the peak of Winter could give even the most attuned warrior frostbite in mere minutes, and Baz isn’t even wearing a coat.
Worse yet, there’s tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks, cherry red from his journey.
He must’ve run the entire way to meet him in boots that are untied and tripping him in his haste to find his father. If someone’s stolen his jacket Azriel will be the last thing they see as he–
Azriel’s slipping out of his own coat, uncaring that the snaps rip open by the base of his wings. He needs to get his son bundled up, and quickly, before he comes down with something worse than the cold Azriel already knows is in his future. He scoops Baz into his arms, wrapping him carefully and hugging him close to his chest. His shadows swirl around both of them, already preparing to winnow them away.
“What’s wrong buddy?” he’s whispering, wiping the tears from his son's bruning face. Sometimes he and his older brother will get into arguments that have one of the boys running to Azriel in a fit full of tears but never something quite like this. Baz knows how to put his coat and tie up his boots and not to run across the camp alone–
The little boy in his arms releases a sob that nearly shatters the snowy peaks of the mountains surrounding them, “Mommy–”
He doesn’t need to continue. Azriel winnows them back to the house without a second thought, hugging Baz tightly to his chest, lips pressed to the crown of his sweaty black hair. He hopes that his son can’t feel him trembling, fisting his hands in his coat to stop the shaking. If something has happened to you he doesn’t know what he will do. How he will survive.
But he would’ve felt it, if there was something wrong, through the bond you share. He lets his shields slide down, reaching out for that golden thread, the one that feels like warm summer winds in the night sky, your hand caressing his soul.
There’s nothing.
Azriel gives a sharp tug but receives no response as he and his son arrive in a mass of black shadows on the front porch. The bond grows more taut with worry the more he tries, desperate pleas for you to respond that go unanswered as he shoves the door open with a heavy boot. 
The house is in complete chaos.
His shadows scatter immediately, searching and returning with whispers of bloody fingerprints on the counter top, streaking across the wall in his bedroom, on the doorknob to the bathroom, while he frantically searches the room for the rest of his children.
Horror coils his gut at the scent of his mate’s blood, thick in the air. It makes him choke, hot and heavy in the back of his throat.
Azriel sets Baz down, nearly tearing the door off of its hinges when he shuts it and turns the lock. He allows himself a single drawn out breath while his mind reels for a plan of action.
Wren looks more worried than his little brother, though Azriel knows that his eldest is trying his best to keep his emotions together for his siblings.
He had a screaming Jax in his arms, the younger boy clearly distraught about the heightened feelings of anxiety and concern smothering him. He reaches up for Azriel as Wren carries the struggling babe closer, trying his best to keep hold of his brother.
“Dad,” Wren breathes a sob of relief, but Az notes the twins in their playpen, Malos’ cries are loud enough for the silent wailing babe beside her, four sets of tiny hands curled around the brim of the pen with white knuckled fingers.
“Wren, I need you to watch your siblings for a little bit longer, okay?” Azriel’s voice is strained with tension as he calls out to Rhysand in his head, his golden eyes a hair wider as he searches the room for Zuzu. He rubs a reassuring thumb across Wren’s cheek and over Jax’s hair, trying to calm the little boy down. “Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass will be here any minute, alright bub? They’re going to take us all to the River House.”
Wren’s lip quivers but he’s squaring his shoulders as he looks up at his father, “Mommy’s hurt.”
“I know,” it pains him to say it, but by now he knows, “I’m going to get her, will you and Baz help the little ones put on their shoes please?”
Wren nods and sets to work helping his father while Azriel rushes towards the bathroom where his shadows have located both Zuzu and you.
He finds Zuzu is sitting in front of the bathroom door, banging on it as she wails for you. Her throat must be raw from the screaming because she sounds horse, tears dripping down her face and snot bubbling from her nose.
Azriel hears Rhys and Cassian appear in the living room, and he lifts Zuzu up from under her arms as Cassian appears, his first thought to help his brother.
“Az–” Cassian sounds nervous for his brother. When he’d gotten the call a short time ago telling him that he and Rhys needed to pick up the children because something had happened to you his heart dropped, terrified for his best friend.
“Just take her, please,” Azriel pleads, letting the worry he feels coat his words. His throat is tight with emotion and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep himself from going berserk because he can see the red painted handprint on the brass knob and the smell of your blood is overpowering.
“I’ve got her,” Cassian nods, and the look in his hazel eyes gives Azriel brings forth that last shred of hope as his brother turns away and he twists the knob.
His knees nearly give out at the sight of you, unconscious and lying in a pool of your own blood. You look paler under the luminescent faelights, the hand holding together the gaping wound in your side now slack in the puddle of crimson.
Your name is a cry of helplessness on his lips as he dives forward, knees cracking against the tiles as he slides closer, pressing his fingers to the pulse point in your neck and caressing your face with the other, a shaky hand brushing the hair back from your face.
His shadows have alerted him that you’re breathing, but barely so, and he releases a shaky breath because he wasn’t able to feel the barely there beat of your pulse beneath his fingers with how badly they’re desensitized from his own burns and the pounding of his own heart.
But Gods–the gash in your side is something a warrior would receive in battle, like you have taken a long sword to the side, your flesh tearing open, muscles and blood and–
No, he doesn’t want to think about whether he sees an organ or not. No, he needs to focus on stopping the bleeding. Azriel can’t help but think, his beautiful mate…who has done this to you?
Rhys and Cass both appear within seconds, having called for the best healers in Velaris to the River House, where his children now are, under the care of the High Lady and Inner Circle themselves.
“Az,” Rhysand murmurs, hardly louder than a simple breath as he takes in the state of the room. His spymaster, on his knees in a pool of your blood as he tries his best to stop the bleeding. The towel you had grabbed is already sopping wet with blood and there’s no signs of it slowing.
His wings are drooped low behind him, the slippery warmth of the floor against the thin velvety skin is a reminder of exactly how much blood you have lost.  Had he been any later, had you not sent Baz–
“Help me.”
It makes both brothers freeze, the utter helplessness, the devastation in Azriel’s voice, so small, so soft, unlike anything they’ve ever heard.
They jump into action.
“Az,” Cassian approaches him like he’s approaching a wild beast, unsure of how to approach this side of him, soft footing and hands raised in surrender. The spymaster lets his brother place a hand on his shoulder, turn him from his spot so that they’re looking at each other.
Cassian has never seen Azriel so panicked, not in the 500 years they’ve been best friends. Not through the wars, the nightmares, the births…not even through the mild complications you’d gone through when the twins were born. No, he was a solid wall, not an ounce of emotion had cracked through the barriers he had built, but this…
His chest heaves with every breath he takes, short and quick and filled with anxiety. Azriel’s hands are vibrating when Cassian takes them in his own. He doesn’t care that he’s kneeling in your blood, that Az’s hands are slippery with it, all he cares about are his friends.
“Az,” he tries again, and the usual honeyed gaze of the shadowsingers meets his own. He’d startled him. Can see the swirling emotions racing behind his eyes; the hatred, the scared, the utter fear, his mind unable to grasp onto one feeling long enough to put thought into it. “We’re going to take you to the River House, okay?”
He’d carry him if he had to, but Rhys can get the job done. There’s worry that Azriel might explode, break completely in his hands and let the beast within him finally take over. And if that happens, he’s glad the children are far away, because no one, not even Cassian nor Rhysand, will stop him from turning the Illyrian camps into nothing more than a tornado of black mist.
Azriel isn’t seeming to comprehend what he’s saying, head tilting down to look at where his hands rest in Cassian’s grip, thumb sliding through the cooling blood on his hands like it’s not the ichor of his mate, painting his hands the color of Cassian’s siphons.
Rhys comes around the both of them, crouching to place a hand on each of their shoulders. The wisps of darkness that carry them through the planes of the continent must strike something within Azriel because he’s tensing under his touch and wrenching away.
“Az,” Rhys commands softly, hands raised to show no sign of wanting to corral his brother’s anger, “The babes are right in there.”
The reaction from his statement is near instant, locking down his emotions little by little like the scales of his armor retracting into his leathers, until there is almost nothing left.
Azriel spins on his heel, already heading towards the shut door between him and the muffled cries of his children on the other side.
Cassian steps into his path, stopping him. 
He watches the spymaster assess him with a trained eye but Cassian’s already weighed his brother's reactions in his head, being a true warlord himself. There is no way he will let the children see their father like this, worked up with their mother’s blood all over them.
Rhys draws the attention of the shadowsinger again, both Illyrians goading him like a tiger waiting to strike, “(Y/N) is this way. She’s with Madja and her best healers.”
The sound of your name strikes him low, chest caving and reaching down the bond for you again, knowing there will be no response, a wall of icy metal stopping him from entering.
Azriel glances at the door again, but makes his way towards the room you’ve been hauled off to, worried for your wellbeing.
The saliva is thick in his mouth as he ascends the stairs, his brothers tight on his flanks. His hands are curled into tight fists and he can feel the cracking of your blood on his hands in a way that would normally be calming if it were anyone else's blood, but not yours.
Never yours.
He pushes into the room and doesn’t look at the wound or the few nursemaids that are crouching over you. He doesn’t look at the bowls of water stained crimson, the towels dripping or the clothes they’d cut you out of, he keeps his focus on your closed eyes.
He’s quick to find his place at your side, perching out of the way as he reaches for your hand but freezes when he catches sight of his own.
“Here,” Cassian’s soft voice has him looking up, the warlord holding a freshly damp rag for him to take, not even a touch of red on it.
His throat works against a swallow as Azriel takes it, scrubbing his hands like he’s the one who’d rubbed his skin down to the bone and left these scars.
He does the best that he can without spiraling. He’s had blood on his hands before, many times, but the fact that it’s your blood has him reeling, immediately stopping the work on cleaning his own hands in favor of helping you clean yours.
When he’s done he hands it back to Cassian who gives him a soft nod and a sad smile. Neither are the things he wants to see right now. All he wants to see is you opening your eyes and looking at him, smiling, laughing, unharmed.
There’s nothing else to do but wait, which he does so quietly, stroking his thumb across your forehead while his other keeps your limp hand firmly tucked in his grasp. 
He doesn’t look at the wound they’re stitching up, but he can’t help himself from reaching down the bond every few minutes, silently praying to the Mother that you will respond.
His brothers wait by the door. Rhys lets Cassian get cleaned up and check on the children while he watches Azriel from across the room, his own heart aching for his brother in this situation, to be near his own mate at a time like this.
But he stays put because that’s what any of them would do for each other, even when Cassian comes back, hands clean and clothes new, no traces of your blood on him.
They know that there will be no moving Azriel from your side to clean up, so they don’t even try. When Feyre dips her head into the room, catching a glance at you and your mate on the lone bed, a handful of healers working frantically around, they share a look.
It’s Rhys who approaches him this time, making sure his footsteps are heard by the shadowsinger as he nears.
He watches Azriel’s shoulders pull up taut, his spine stiffening and shadows curling his rounded ear that the High Lord is approaching.
His golden gaze is a harsh glare, a warning to stay away, and although Rhys understands the look, it still hurts.
“Az, maybe you should get cleaned up,” he suggests softly, keeping a healthy distance away from the bed. The healers have started sewing up your wound, having been able to stop the blood and stabilize you, and their work will be done soon.
The shadowsinger’s face doesn’t change as he looks back down at you, dismissing Rhys with that single action.
“The kids,” he tries, “They’re worried. They want to see you.” 
Azriel nearly startles at the mention of his children. They’d been half scared to death when he’d last seen them, frantic and worried about their mother just as much as he was. He can see them all clearly, Wren trying to be strong, Baz’s red face wet with tears, Zuzu and Jax and the twins all crying out for help, understanding that something was horribly wrong.
“The kids,” he murmurs, as if he’s not even there. Azriel pets your hair again, smoothing his fingers down your cheek, across your lips, finding their way to the juncture of your jaw and throat, where your pulse is.
Rhysand waits with a baited breath as Azriel counts, comes to whatever conclusion in his mind that he can, grasping for some sort of sign that you might be okay.
The beating of your heart is constant, evened out even though one of the nurses has already told him as much. He won’t leave you if he doesn’t think you’ll be okay.
But he knows you would want him to make sure the children are okay, so he places a kiss on your hand, ignoring how the warmth hasn’t quite returned to it completely, before settling it comfortably at your side and standing from the bed.
He follows his brothers from the room and as soon as the door snicks shut behind him and the wail of Zuzu is carried to him on the whisper of a shadow, he breaks.
He makes a break for his children, his flight sense kicking in but he’s hauled backwards into the arms of Cassian, holding him tightly across the chest as he struggles. 
If he were in his right mind he’d be able to figure a way out of his hold.
“Az, you have blood all over you,” Cassian grits, his breath puffing with the struggle of keeping Azriel in his hold. He’s writhing like an animal, trying to tear his way through whomever he needs to to get to his family. “You can’t go in there like this. You’ll scare them.”
That makes him stop struggling, worming his way out of Cassian’s touch.
“But Baz didn’t have a jacket on–”
“He’s already been looked at by a healer,” Rhys supplies, trying to calm the skittish shadowsinger.
“And Zuzu’s been screaming her head off,” he retorts just as easily, mind reeling at how his children must be feeling.
“She’s been given a soothing tea for her throat,” Cassian adds, fiercely protective of them as he is his own children.
“And Jax–”
“Jax is an empath,” Rhys agrees, ushering Azriel towards the other end of the hallway, “And it’s normal for him to react like that with all of the emotions running rampant in the room at the time. You need to calm yourself down if you are to hold him, your reactions will harm him more than Wren’s. For now he’s fine. They’re all okay, Azriel. Here and in one piece, waiting for you.”
Azriel’s wide eyes are glossy as he looks between his brothers, back and forth as if he’s searching for anything other than the truth there.
He won’t.
“They’re okay?” he asks again, not quite sure he believes it.
Both of his brothers nod, “They’re okay Az. Promise.”
.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.
You feel like utter shit.
Like you’ve been carved down to the bone with a blade. There’s a pounding in your head and when you open your eyes the room spins, bright with light. Your head goes with it, the whispers of words striking like a bell tower to your brain.
“(Y/N)?”
That voice silences everything.
You squeeze his hand, blinking against the faelights until the three Azriel’s you see finally become one, perfect, mate.
“Az,” you breathe.
He bites his lip, hardly able to contain the relief he feels in this moment. He knows you’ve just opened your eyes but he’s squeezing his shut tight and resting his forehead gently against your own.
And the bond floods with warmth, his breath catching in his throat.
“I’m here,” your free hand finds his hair, smoothing through it the best that you can in your weakened state, “I’m here, Love.”
He nearly whimpers, would have if his mind hadn’t gone immediately into spymaster mode, seeing you awake.
He pulls away from you all too quickly, sitting straight in his spot beside you, the golden glow of his iris’ swimming with dark shadows.
“Who.” he asks, and it’s not a question. It’s the only word he can get out, voice dipped in steel and as sharp as the blade he’s been filing for the days you’ve been under rest.
“Some old relative,” you cough, throat dry, and you hiss at the pull in your stitches. Azriel is quick to help you drink some water down, soothing the roughness in your voice and the pounding in your head. “Claimed to be so, at least.”
“Fucking bastards,” he spits, the shadows in his eyes sweeping into hot, angry flames, “I’ll kill every single fucking one of them.”
“Az,” you sigh. You love your mate dearly and this is about as normal a reaction as you would expect from him, but you’re so achingly tired. “Are the kids okay?”
He shudders at the thought of something happening to your children and kisses across your knuckles, your hand in his shaking ones. 
“Yes, the babes are fine.”
You settle a bit more, knowing that truth. The fact that Azriel has referred to them as babes shows you just how terrified he truly is.
“How are you feeling?” he whispers, propping his chin where your hand is holding his.
“Tired,” you offer, because you’re afraid that a joke might push him over the edge. “Can I see my babies?”
Azriel looks like he might protest. You’ve been changed and brought to a different room once the painkillers and healing drinks the nurses had forced down your throat had begun to work, but he thinks of his rowdy children and your fresh injury, he worries for you.
But you’re pleading, “Please, Love. I need to see them.” And he gets it.
Because he finds himself needing to see them as well.
“Drink some more water, tell me what happened, and I’ll get Rhys to bring them in.”
You hold his gaze, nodding finally. 
Azriel helps you drink some more water, nearly a whole glass before you begin.
“I was on my way back from the mercantile,” you start, swallowing harshly as you wrack your brain for what had happened. “Just a quick trip to get some treats for the little ones,” you laugh dryly, tears welling up in your eyes. Azriel’s quick to thumb them away, caressing your cheek with his warm hand.
“I didn’t see him coming until it had already happened,” you admit shamefully. Your mate had taught you better than that and you had failed him.
Your mate sends nothing but warmth down the bond because while you may have been taken by surprise, he knows you didn’t go down without a fight.
“I didn’t understand how bad it was until after he was laying in the snow next to me and I looked at my torn coat and saw all the blood.”
You remember crying out as his blade slashed across your body and took you to your knees. You’d been able to act through the pain, kicking a foot out behind you and sweeping your attackers feet from under him. 
It was easier to pry the longsword from his hands when he was gasping for air and even easier to make sure he never took another breath again.
“I don’t remember getting home,” you exhale a shaky breath, “I was just holding my side and there was so much blood Az, so much blood.”
He shushes you softly, upset with himself that he’s asked you to share this story. If he had known your attacker was dead he wouldn’t have asked and before he can try and stop you you’re already continuing.
“I was afraid to go home,” you admit, and his hand clutches yours tighter, “I didn’t want the babes to see me like this.”
Your admission hangs over the both of you, loud in the otherwise silent room.
“I’m glad you did,” Azriel’s voice is thick with emotion, “If you hadn’t and I had lost you…”
“You didn’t,” you reassure, maybe for the both of you, “Let’s not think about that.”
He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to think about anything else but he nods, agreeing.
“I hid it the best I could, but you know Wren,” the thought of your oldest brings a smile to your face, “He’s so smart, that one. I told him to watch the babes for me while I went to clean up and he tried to talk to me, tried to ask me what was wrong but I just kept going, telling him that I was fine and would be out in a minute…” you trail off because you weren’t out in a minute. On the floor unconscious in a minute more like.
Azriel kisses your knuckles, lingering on your fourth finger before he answers, “He told Baz to come get me. I was talking to a commander and he came running up screaming and crying out for me. Scared me shitless I tell ya. Didn’t even have a coat on.”
Your eyes bulge and you try to sit up, distressed over your son out in the mountains without a coat, “Is he–'' your question is cut off by a hiss and Azriel’s on his feet guiding you back down onto the bed, gentle hands on your shoulders. 
“He’s alright, Love. They all are. Got them all checked on while they were helping you. Not even a sniffle,” Azriel soothes. He relaxes when your shoulders droop and you settle back into the pillows.
“Thank you,” you whisper, thumb brushing across his knuckles, “I love you.”
“I love you too, (Y/N). So fucking much,” he breathes, shuddering when you caress his cheek.
You tug on him weakly, puckering your lips for a kiss that he easily ducks down for, the tension melting away from his body now that you’re awake in his arms.
“Can I see them now?” you ask as soon as you pull away. Your mate huffs playfully, already calling out to Rhys in his mind.
The door slams open, Wren and Baz racing into the room with the Inner Circle hot on their heels. Rhys is holding Zuzu, Feyre’s hugging Jax close to his chest while Cassian and Nesta each hold a babe, their own boys trailing in behind them.
Azriel shoots to his feet, catching his two oldest sons around their waists before they can launch themselves at you.
“Mommy,” Wren cries from his father’s grasp and Baz bursts out into tears at the sight, reaching over Azriel’s shoulder for you.
“Az, let them go,” you scold lightly, but caress the bond, thankful for stopping them before another injury could happen.
“Boys, you need to be gentle with mommy, okay?” Az holds each of their arms, making sure that his order has been received by each son before slowly letting them go.
They’re both on your uninjured side, Baz tumbling into your arms. He climbs up onto the bed and you hold him close, letting him cry into the crook of your shoulder, reaching out for Wren with tears in your own eyes.
“Hi baby,” you whisper, voice thick.
“Mom,” he breaks, tears spilling as he climbs up next to Baz, letting you run your fingers through his hair.
You bite your lip, holding your boys as close as you can, before looking around the room at the rest of your children, your family. 
Each one is looking at you with smiles, some pained, some relieved, some teary, and you know that if something had gone wrong, that your children would be in the best of hands.
Your teary gaze slides back to your mate. He hadn’t looked away from you while you were taking everyone in, seeming to know exactly where your mind had just been. But he doesn’t want to think about that right now, all he wants is to hold you and his children as close as he can, forever and always.
Cassian hands Knox off to Azriel as he rounds the bed to your injured side, taking the spot next to you to block your injury as he gestures to his brothers and their mates to bring forward the rest of your children.
Let us know if you need any help, Rhys speaks to Azriel and the shadowsinger nods, looking at you with the babes all curled in close, hugging each other tight.
He knows they won’t leave you now, but he doesn’t care because everyone is here together, in one piece.
One big family.
988 notes · View notes
luvmoo · 11 months
Text
Buttons | Azriel
azriel x reader
summary: you and azriel have gotten closer as the seasons changed, though never finding the time to talk about where your relationship stood. During a late night encounter, he finds himself trying to buy as much time with you as possible.
warnings: none :] just fluff hehe
word count: 1.3k
author’s note: this is my first time posting anything of mine on tumblr, i hope to post more eventually as i gain some confidence! i ended up working on this instead of uni stuff whoops
. *. ⋆ :·゚✧ * 
“What are we?”
His deep voice plaguing your mind as you sprawl in bed.
Light breezes from the balcony flowing in waves, struggling to battle the humid summer air. The thin blanket sticks to your legs as you shuffle your feet for comfort. Each brush of your foot a sorry attempt at hushing that broken record in your head.
Sleep evading you for the third night in a row now. You catch yourself thinking about him any time you weren’t drowning in work. Even then, the shadowsinger always found a way to sneak into your train of thought.
It was torturous.
Was he also awake? The sun had set several hours ago. Maybe he wasn’t even home. Was he still with Rhys?
You lay on your side, catching sight of the door. A glass of cold water seems nice right about now. You switch to lay on your back, eyes tracing shapes on the ceiling. You’d trade anything to get a wink of sleep. A desperate grunt escapes your lips as you bury your face into a pillow.
knock knock
You shoot up, curious at whose poor soul joined you in restlessness. You rummaged around your bed, trying to find the nightgown you had peeled off yourself and kicked away earlier. 
“shit, where is it” you mutter.
A familiar glimmer on the floor caught your eye and you swoop up the sheer fabric. You slip it over yourself as you glide across to your door, careful not to thump on the oakwood. 
You pull the door open and peak at the tall figure braced over your door frame.
Azriel.
He lets out a soft chuckle as he gives you a once over. Landing and paying particular attention to your tousled hair. Your heart warmed at the sound of his laughter. 
“I was beginning to think you were ignoring me, Y/N” the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. The floor felt unsteady beneath you, the sight of him was nothing less than angelic.
“I could never” you smile playing cool.
The colour of his hazel eyes barely visible in the moonlight illuminating your living quarters. A loose open shirt hung off his shoulders, shyly exposing his toned chest. Equally loose matching cotton bottoms lay low on his waist. He must’ve heard you toss in bed knowing you were awake. Or maybe his shadows had whispered him everything.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you break the silence.
“Oh, uh-” he holds out his hand low enough for you to see a small navy button laying on his palm.
“Actually, I just got home. This broke off my pyjamas, I was hoping you could sew it back on?” his other hand dropping from the frame to scratch the back of his neck.
You pinch the button from his palm, examining the small trinket. From all the times you bumped into Azriel in the kitchen late at night, you remembered he always opted sleeping shirtless. ‘Less clothing, less laundry’ he had claimed.
Your eyebrow rose at the thought but you open the door wider to let him in. Azriel followed close behind you as you strode off to your office nook. 
His wings fell relaxed as the scent of your room engulfed him. He notes the lingering hints of vanilla and jasmine from the bath you had earlier. The concoction of milks and petals still sitting idle in the tub.
Situated at your desk, he watched you intently as you thread the needle from your sewing kit. Too tall to sit properly, he leaned back on the table top as you worked on reuniting the button to his shirt.
Facing his chest, feeling it rise and fall gently under your hands, you catch a faint whiff of cedar and peppermint. A perfect blend of fresh musk, his scent was like a spell. 
It was inviting. 
Intoxicating.
You had to focus on not pricking yourself as his stare stays unbroken from you. A bead of sweat forming on your temple from the tension.
“Sit still, it’s hard to see in this light” 
Before you could exhale, Azriel’s hand had already snuck around your waist, pulling you between his legs. You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart drumming at the proximity. Every bit of touch you shared left your skin tingling.
“Was this really that urgent that it couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” you swallow a gulp, tone playful at the shadowsinger. 
In all honestly, you were thankful he ended up at your door before you could convince yourself to sneak off in search for him.
He smiled at you, eyes full of endearment, but not giving anymore of an answer other than a shrug.
It was rare to be able to see this side of him, making every smile he gave you all the more special. The two of you had been spending increasingly more time together over the summer. 
At first it was just sparring with each other at the training ring when your schedules allowed. Sharing a few intimate touches here and there. Then you’d found yourselves reading together in the house library after a long day of work. Finding comfort in each other's presences. Brick by brick you’d tore down his walls, and soon enough you had him chatting away during dinners that you’d share almost every night.
You pass the needle through the button a few extra times to make sure it stayed secure.
“It should stay on tight now, you should be more careful next time” you let out a small chuckle at the male. Picturing his tired self trying to get dressed after a shower, snapping the button off from carelessness.
Azriel picks up your hand and raises it to his lips. Placing a gentle kiss on the back of it before whispering a thank you.
Comfortable silence seemed to fall often between you two. It felt like eternity could squeeze into this one moment. You wouldn’t mind staying like this forever. Neither did he, although that was unbeknownst to you. It was undeniable that you two had passed being just close friends. 
Even Nesta had approached you after training this morning, wondering if you and Azriel had ‘taken any steps further’ judging from the glances you two had shared.
You’ve been calculating how to approach him about it, about you two. Though it felt like The Cauldron had other plans as your conversions constantly fell ill-timed. Something or someone interrupting you two whenever the conversation started getting detailed.
“What are we?” he asked you after your morning spar.
You stood there in front of him, lips parted, trying to wrangle a string of words that would convey how deep your emotions ran for him. How you would follow him wherever he’d go. And how you hoped he’d follow you too.
You started but just then Rhys had winnowed in with his leathers on. He whispered something into Azriel’s ear that you couldn’t quite make out. Az nodded to him, then turned to give you a reassuring smile before they both winnowed away.
After that, you spent the rest of your day pacing around your office, trying to distract yourself with the pile of paperwork you had been ignoring for over a week. You never sat still long enough to perfect the confession in your head. Eventually, you opted to run yourself a long bath to calm down.
Now you’re here, practically embraced, looking up at him. Words running away from you once again. His wings had made their way to rest on either side of the two of you. All you wanted was to wrap your arms around his waist and nestle your face into the crook of his neck. 
But before your body could act too daring, you forced a calm to wash over yourself. Not risking a lapse of judgment.
“It’s getting quite late, we both have to be up in a few hours” you trail off.
Azriel sighs a long steady breath. Smile unfaltering.
His eyes scanning your room, seemingly trying to find any reason to oppose your implication and stay a little while longer. 
His gaze finds its way back to you, a devilish kind of sparkle gleaming in his eyes. His hand leaves your waist to reach for his shirt and he grasps the fabric tight. 
A sharp snap echoes throughout your room. 
You stare at him as he holds out his hand.
A navy button laying in his palm.
. *. ⋆ :·゚✧ * 
721 notes · View notes
azrielhours · 1 year
Text
Waiting for You
Azriel x Reader
Word count: 3.4k
Synopsis: Reader and Az are besties who are secretly in love w each other but refuse to admit it. She’s the only one who gets him out of his broody moods so she comforts him after a bad mission. She gets badly hurt on a mission and he goes feral rescuing her. 
Warnings: Canon typical violence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Where is he?” you asked Cassian as soon as you saw him in the foyer at the House of Wind. You’d been at a meeting with Feyre when Mor winnowed in to retrieve you.
“In his room. He’s been in there since last night,” Cassian told you in a hushed voice.
You balked. “Last night? Why didn’t you guys tell me sooner?”
“We were trying to talk him down ourselves, but he doesn’t want to see anyone. You know how he gets.”
Worry inched up your spine. “What happened?”
Cassian grimaced, mouth bracketed with tension. “Hybern soldiers ambushed a temple in Sangravah. Azriel and Rhys went there as fast as they could, but they didn’t get there in time to save all the priestesses. Az has been blaming himself since. Doesn’t wanna see anyone or leave his room.”
You nodded as Cassian walked you to Azriel’s room, falling into silence. You braced yourself for the task ahead. You were the only one Azriel lets in during incidents like this. Upon reaching his door, Cassian squeezed your shoulder. “Good luck,” he whispered, turning to leave.
Once Cassian was gone, you opened the door. Just as you expected, it was pitch black inside. Azriel’s shadows were frantically swarming around the room, blocking out all sources of light, reminding you of wild bats. You felt them brushing against you in phantom caresses. You closed the door behind you, allowing yourself to be completely immersed in the darkness. You waited a heartbeat, knowing the shadows were whispering to Azriel of your arrival. His silence indicated he knew it was you because if it were anyone else entering his room, he’d ask them to leave. But not you. Never you.
Squinting, you eventually found the faint blue glow of his siphons between the swarming blackness of his churning shadows. You begin padding over, hands raised in front of you to stop yourself from running into any furniture. You felt his bedpost, flinching slightly in surprise. He’s sitting on his bed, then. Bracing your hands onto it, you trail them over the edge of his bed as you move closer to that faint blue glow. Finally, you felt him, meeting the outside of his thigh with your roaming fingers. You moved to stand directly where you anticipated he was sitting, moving slowly to avoid hitting him suddenly. You took a tentative step forward and felt his spread knees bracketing the sides of your legs. You took another step forward, right between his open thighs, warily reaching forward until your fingers met his shoulders.
You didn’t say anything just yet. Bracing your hands flat onto his shoulders, you felt them rise and fall abruptly with his breathing. Then you felt him shift forward. You remained planted firmly in place, allowing him to take whatever he needed from you. Heavy, warm hands fell onto your hips, gently tugging you forward. You yielded to him, just as you’d already secretly yielded so much of yourself to him. You felt his head lower onto your chest, forehead resting on your sternum. Your left hand moved to cradle the back of his neck, your right hand stroking his hair back. You felt him breathe deeply, felt your heart break at his pain. He remained where he was, gripping your hips and breathing into you; gradually, his shadows slowed their black churning, stopped the restless swarming, and light at last trickled into his room. First in fractures like beams through a mosaic, then spilling in like a cleansing mist.
The golden glow of the sunset outside basked his room, allowing you to see once more. Still, you said nothing and remained where you were to let him take his time. You looked down at the male you loved so dearly, your best friend, and frowned to see he was still in his Illyrian leathers. Still caked with blood. He mustn’t have taken them off since returning from the mission last night, mustn’t have slept at all. You silently cursed Cassian for waiting so long to tell you. Azriel takes a final deep, shuddering breath, and slowly raised his head off your chest. You meet his gaze, still stroking back his hair, finding a haunted look in his eyes, dark circles beneath.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper gently. He just shakes his head, breaking your gaze. “Az, sweetheart.” You bit your lip, trying to tread carefully. “We need to get you out of these leathers. Yeah?” He just nods. That’s a good sign, at least. He reaches to begin undoing the straps and buckles across his torso. His fingers are caked with blood, making you frown once again. He glanced up to catch the frown. “Is that blood yours?”
“No,” he finally spoke, voice rough from disuse. “It’s the Hybern commander’s. I didn’t leave any survivors.” No remorse in his voice.
“Good,” you say honestly, holding his gaze. You’ve never once balked from Azriel’s deeds, his enactment of justice. There’s grim understanding in his eyes now, at your acceptance of who he is, his light and dark. You reach for his leathers. Aside from the usual leathers, he also had protective gear on his shoulders and down his arms. The dark knight incarnate. You struggle to unbuckle his leathers beneath the partial armour, moving your fingers to work those free instead. You frown slightly in frustration. Azriel catches this and goes to stand. You take a step back. At his full, towering height, you walk around him to undo the armour bindings. You remove the protective gear on his right shoulder; once it was undone, you try to carefully lower it to the ground, but it’s much heavier than you anticipated. Azriel takes over before you drop the heavy metal onto your feet, easily hauling it off himself with one hand. You repeat the motions with his left shoulder. Then you remove the protection off his upper arms, leaving only his Illyrian leathers.
You walk back to his front, gazing tentatively at his face to see how he’s doing. He holds your gaze, eyes clearer than they were when you first saw them in the light. Progress. You gently take his hand and silently lead him to his washroom. You turn the bathtub faucet on, pouring various tonics and soaps into the water. You turn back and find him undoing the last of his straps and dagger holsters. You walk up to him and reach for the bindings holding the leathers together. Once again, he yields the task to you.
You undo the bindings, reaching for the neckline of the leathers, and slowly pull it down his frame. He pulls his arms out of the sleeves with either hand, then shimmies his arms out of the top, exposing his abdomen. You run your eyes over his exposed form, searching for injuries, finding none aside from some bruising. You meet his gaze once more, finding it already on your face. You turn, silently telling him to remove the rest of his leathers himself. You hear the clothing being dropped into a pile, feel him shift behind you, and hear him lower himself into the water.
You turn to find him submerged, the bubbles and murky water concealing his lower half, though you ignored the voice in your head insisting he wouldn’t care if you saw him naked as the day he was born. You go sit on the edge of the tub, behind where his back rested. Filling a small bucket with water, you shield his face with your free hand and pour the water into his hair with the other. His eyes close, exhaling in relief. His submission to your care pulled on your heartstrings, bringing about all kinds of implications you shoved to the back of your mind. Azriel didn’t know you loved him, no one did, and you certainly wouldn’t be the fool who ruined your friendship by telling him how you felt.
You washed his hair, pouring as much love and care as you could into the action, saying with your hands what you could never tell him with your tongue. You took some soap and moved onto his upper body. He obliged, holding his arm out for you. You moved down his arm, taking extra care with his hands, cleaning the blood off thoroughly. You repeated the motion with his other arm, then gave him the soap in his hand in a silent command to take over. “I’ll wait for you in your room, okay?” He nodded in confirmation.
You waited for him on his bed, listening to the sound of the faucet turning off and Azriel shuffling around as he dried himself. He came out of the bathroom with just a towel around his hips. You averted your gaze, blushing as if you hadn’t just undressed and washed him yourself. The irony wasn’t lost on Azriel either because he let out a huff of amusement.
You allowed him to change in privacy, only looking back up when he came and stood directly in front of you, clothed in pyjama bottoms and a white tee. You found a small smile on his face, making your heart swell. You got off his bed in a hurry, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso, and burying your head into his shoulder. He hugged you back tightly around your shoulders. You pulled back to get another look at his improved state, but Azriel wasn’t done with you just yet. He moves his hold to your waist, pulling you back to his body, and drops his head down to your shoulder where he rests his forehead, breathing you in once more. You’re momentarily shocked by the vulnerable display, but you quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders, closing your eyes at the sensation. You don’t know how long the two of you stay there, but you don’t dare break away this time. Azriel finally rises, meeting your gaze.
“Better?” you ask softly.
“Better.”
There’s a softness in his eyes that has your heart stuttering, not wanting to give in to the hope you feel swelling in your chest. Best friends, you remind yourself. He’s just in a vulnerable headspace. You step back. “You haven’t had anything to eat, have you?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t have much of an appetite.”
You frowned. “I’m gonna go get you something to eat. Okay?”
That softness remained in his eyes. He gave another small smile. “Okay.”
“Wait for me,” you said. His softened gaze endured.
“I’m waiting for you,” he said. You held his gaze, felt an unspoken charge pass between the two of you, and you turned to leave.
~
“I’m assuming it went well,” Cassian said as he came into the kitchen behind you.
The House had a nice little dinner prepared for Azriel, nothing too hard on the stomach. “Yes, he’s doing better. He bathed and changed. Why didn’t you tell me to come sooner, Cass?” you frowned at the male as he came to lean beside you against the counter.
He had a knowing smile you chose to ignore. “Because we thought we could handle your boyfriend this time without all the theatrics.”
You blushed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Right. There’s just another super secret explanation for why you’re the only one who can calm him down when he gets all broody.”
“It’s because he’s my best friend.”
Cassian dramatically clutched his chest. “Don’t do me like that Y/N.” You laughed, taking the tray to leave, but Cassian wasn’t done. “The day you finally admit you’re in love with each other is the day you make me a very rich male.”
You rolled your eyes. “We’re not in love.” You turned to glare at him as you left the kitchen.
“Me when I lie.”
You barked a laugh, despite yourself.
“Bye Cassian. Pain in my fucking ass.”
His laughter trailed after you as you made your way back to Azriel’s room. There, you found he was indeed waiting for you. He looked settled in the light. He smiled when he saw you, lightly patting the spot beside him on the bed. You couldn’t stop your smile back even if you tried, happily making your way over. You carried his food in your hands, and he carried your heart in his.
~
The next day, you and Mor found yourselves coming up to the Sangravah temple. Rhys asked the two of you to do a damage assessment. Azriel was initially assigned this part of the mission, but you volunteered in his place, not wanting him to fall back into the self-blaming headspace. You’d remained in your civilian clothes, hoping to offer comfort to the surviving priestesses. You made your way through the temple, Mor taking the outside perimeter. You walked past the vestibule pillars, not seeing any priestesses. Movement at last caught your eye in a shadowy corner in one of the inner divisions, drawing you in. Once you entered, you halted in your tracks, expecting to find a mourning priestess, but instead being met with three Hybern soldiers.
You assumed a defensive stance. “Well, well,” one of them drawled, a sickening smirk on his face as he took you in. “I thought we were done with you creatures, but the Dark Mother is good.” You palmed your daggers, wondering how you’d get Mor’s attention in time. The Soldiers tutted in mockery. “Poor little priestess came back for revenge?”
You glared, slowly backing out of the room without turning, hoping they’d take the bait and follow you to the main corridor, closer to Mor’s access. They happily crept forward like predators seizing in on prey. Gullible fools. They were making this easy. Suspiciously easy, you realized, when –
You started at the feeling of a hard body behind you. Turning to attack, you found two more soldiers. With your back to the original assailants, you had to act quickly. You began swinging and lunging your daggers. Two of the soldiers grabbed your arms, disarming you; a third holding your legs to keep you from kicking. You thrashed in their hold, screaming in frustration. Panic seized your throat. You shouted for Morrigan. The soldiers laughed, making you thrash harder with rage. One backhanded you hard enough to momentarily cease your thrashing. Before you could recover, another backhanded blow whipped your head to the other side.
You were tackled to the ground, the soldier who hit you straddling your stomach, letting his weight knock the breath out of you as he continued to deliver blows, fists this time. You fought to stay conscious, fought to fill your lungs with enough breath to scream. Where is Mor? Praying she’d find you, praying she wasn’t also getting ambushed, you continued your futile thrashing until unconsciousness pulled you under.
~
Light drew you from your slumber, making your head throb. You didn’t remember falling asleep. You tried to feel the source of the pain in your head, bringing a hand up to your forehead. You felt your fingers constricted in wrapping, making you open your eyes in confusion. You found yourself in your bed. Azriel was by your side in an instant. You frowned at the sight of him, hair dishevelled, dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked distraught. “Az? What’s wrong?” Your voice was rough, mouth dry. He handed you water, which you sat up to drink. It all came rushing back to you, the attack at the temple. You gasped. “Where’s Mor?”
“She’s fine. She wasn’t hurt. We got there in time.”
“What?”
Azriel swallowed. “Mor spoke mind to mind with Rhys when she heard the soldiers in the temple. We all winnowed in as fast as we could. Me, Cass, and Rhys.”
“Oh,” you said. Azriel ran his hands through his hair. You caught sight of dried blood on his split knuckles. “What happened?”  
Azriel exhaled. “We found them crowding over your unconscious body, Y/N.” You felt a twinge of guilt at the panic that must have caused. Azriel held your gaze. “I killed them all. I killed them all with my bare hands. Didn’t have to use one blade.” You shuddered at the intensity in his eyes, reaching your hand to him. He took it in both of his, frowning at the wrapping.
“It’s okay, I’m fine,” you tried weakly.
“I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner,” he said. The guilt was written all over his face.
You shook your head. “It’s okay, Az. I volunteered to go.”
“It was supposed to be me.”
“I know, Az. It’s okay, really.”
He kept looking at your hand cradled gently between his own. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “The sight of you unconscious on that floor, the blood on your face…” he closed his eyes, shuddering at the memory. He tried again. “When I was flying you back to the House, the whole way back, all I could think about was–” he cut himself off, shaking his head.
“Was what?” you coaxed gently.
Azriel met your gaze. “All I could think about was how I’d been too much of a coward. I… I never–” he stopped again, hesitation filling his eyes.
You squeezed his hands in encouragement.
Azriel took a deep breath. “I never told you, Y/N, that… that I love you. I’ve–I’ve been in love with you.” He took a shuddering breath. “So much,” he rasped, his voice husky with emotion. His brows were knitted together, like the admission brought him anguish. Every thought eddied from your mind, eyes widening. He loves me. “I just wish I had the chance to tell you sooner. I’m sorry– if you don’t feel the same way, I know it’s selfish for me to–” he cut himself off again, closing his eyes in reprieve, schooling his ragged breathing.
“Hey,” you said gently. You tried to keep your emotions abated, tried and failed to stop your eyes from watering. He loves me. He opened his eyes, and the torment in them had you shattering. You reached your bandaged hands up to where he was sitting on your bed, cradling his face. He kept his stare on you, eyes cautious like he was waiting to receive anger, perhaps rejection. The vulnerability in his eyes, the pain in them – your tears began falling.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t cry, it’s okay– we can just go back to being friends.” Your heart broke at his hesitation, his inability to believe you felt the same way he did. He brought his hands to your face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs as they fell.
“Azriel,” you rasped. He visibly braced himself. “I love you too,” you breathed. He closed his eyes, the relief so potent on his face that you didn’t know whether to cry harder or laugh. You gently pulled him into you, and he obliged. He buried his head into your neck, breathing deeply. Your arms immediately wound around his shoulders, squeezing him as tightly as you could to your chest. He groaned lightly, the vibration reverberating into your chest. You laughed at his reaction, the sheer intensity of it all. You felt him laugh too, felt it right against your neck.
“Mother above,” you heard a voice huff. You turned your head to find Cassian leaning in the doorway, watching the two of you. You audibly exhaled in annoyance. Azriel simply ignored him, not even bothering to raise himself from your embrace. “You two are the most dramatic people I’ve ever met. No wonder you’re so lovesick for each other. Did you rehearse your monologue while she was in a coma, Az?” You felt Azriel grin against your neck.
“Y/N,” Azriel’s baritone voice was muffled.
“Yes, Azriel,” you countered.
“Tell Cassian to get the fuck out before I also kill him with my bare hands.”
“Cassian,” you chimed earnestly, “Azriel says you need to get the fuck out before he kills you with his bare hands.” Cassian just laughed at your sarcasm and closed the door as he left. Busybody.
Azriel finally rises from your embrace. “We’re never gonna hear the end of this,” he said. His eyes were brighter than you’ve ever seen them, focused and settled.
“Definitely not,” you agreed. You frowned once more at his exhausted state. “Did you sleep at all?”
Azriel shook his head, not breaking your gaze. “I was waiting for you.”
The unsaid implication didn’t go over your head. “I know, Az. I was waiting for you too.”
~
taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @cityofidek @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrag-blog
2K notes · View notes
cherhys · 1 year
Text
What I Want Most
Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel can’t seem to stay away from you, even after all these years. However, his ill decisions are not without consequences...
Word count: 3.3k
Warnings: Angst, emotionally constipated Azriel (he works it out tho)
Notes: Congrats to Az for finally getting his debut! And congrats to me for finally finding the time to finish this fic (ie. ignoring my work in favour of writing this)! Alas, I have not died everyone (shocking, considering my radio silence lol whoopsies) so rest assured that more content is on the way <3
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The chilling wind rustled the canopy, bringing the smell of cinder and winter. The leaves were sparse but provided ample enough cover in the dead of night. Azriel’s legs ached, the muscles stiff from disuse. He glanced at the moon, her pale face round as a babe. Azriel had lost track of how long he’d been perched in the tree; watching, waiting. However, the pain in his thighs couldn’t compare to the dull throbbing in his chest as his gaze remained fixed on you. 
You had barely changed since he had last seen you. Your smile was just as bright as you laughed with your squad, ready to camp for the night. You gestured grandly, arms flailing with theatrics—more of your endless stories that once lulled him to sleep, your gentle voice rising and falling. He wished he could hear what story you were telling tonight. The squad sat around the fire, hanging on your every word. Azriel almost worried that they’d lean in too far, and fall into the scorching flames. 
He clenched his hands, the scars pulling along his knuckles. He didn’t spare the wretched things a glance; only kept his eyes on you. You were reaching the climax of your story if the gleam in your eyes was anything to go by. He watched, waiting as you baited your squad in and—you suddenly jumped, arms poised like talons, voice booming across your camp. Most of those listening flinched, others yelped, while some hid behind the safety of their palms. 
Azriel closed his eyes as your joyous laugh reached his ears. He shivered; the silky sound slid blissfully down his spine. If he focused enough, he could pretend that your laugh was meant only for him. Azriel had always been the most serious of his brothers, but you never failed to smile with him.
Your head tilted back, baring your supple neck as you laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Azriel couldn’t help but join in your infectious joy, a pleasant warmth spreading through his bones. It wasn’t until his laughter died down that he caught you watching him. A dusky pink blush spread across his cheeks at your unabashed stare. 
“What?”
A delicate smile bloomed across your face, “You should do that more often.”
He blinked, dumbfounded at your words. 
Your eyes glittered with all the constellations he had missed as a child, “I love it when you laugh. Do it again.”
And so he did. He laughed with you until he had no more air to breathe; until his heart nearly burst from his chest. 
He tilted his head back, hard. The pain from the jarring hit against the bark of the tree was enough punishment for letting his thoughts run rampant. He made his decision all those years ago; it was one he would have to live with, no matter how you haunted him. Opening his eyes, Azriel looked to the moon again. The pearly light filtered through the trees, dancing across his face, mocking him. His usual scowl deepened further; even the moon was laughing at him.
It was all too late once he realized the rustling of the leaves had quieted in the wind, that the bugs had stopped their incessant chirping. 
“Who are we watching?” The whisper in his ear is enough to turn his blood to ice. 
Without a second thought, Azriel whipped around and unsheathed Truth-Teller from the holster on his thigh. But as quick as he was, you were faster—always had been. You had already stepped back and lightly perched on the branch next to his. Close, but just out of range. A slow, mocking grin spread over your face, “Hello, Azriel.”
He stood rigid as the forest around you. Silent as per usual; you rolled your eyes, thoroughly unimpressed. 
“Did you like my story?” You tilted your head, flashing him a cheeky smile. 
Azriel’s answering response was to grip his knife harder, his knuckles a stark white in the dark. He fought the urge to hide his hands as your gaze dropped to them. Azriel would never be this disgruntled, caught so off guard. He cursed himself for letting you have any effect on him, even after all this time. Your dramatic sigh permeated the silence, as you flopped to sit on the branch. 
“No need to be so tense, Azzy. We’re all friends here, right?” The word cut deeper than any knife, the self-satisfied smile on your face knowing you’d struck gold. You swung your legs like a child, assessing him where he stood on guard. 
He was a vision of the night; dark shadows coiled around his muscular physique and the great wings behind him. His Illyrian leathers stuck to the contours of his body, the tattoos you once traced peaking above his collar. Dark lashes cast shadows over the elegant panes of his face, his plump lips frowning. Wispy hairs curled before his molten gaze. Azriel was as ethereal as you remembered. 
He remained standing despite your invitation. You rolled your eyes; he’s also just as stubborn as you remember. Azriel’s shadows warped around him violently, as if they were desperate to whisk him away from you. Likely, they were. 
You nodded your chin towards the whirling darkness, “They always were as cowardly as their master.” 
“They are no such thing. Only weary of danger.”
“Oh, and I’m so dangerous to you? Is that why you’ve been spying on me?” You spread your arms wide, “I’m just doing the job I’ve been assigned by my friend Rhys. You know Rhysand, right?”
Azriel scoffed at your ridiculous teasing. How typical of you to taunt and mock him. However, he would be lying if he said he had any good reason for following you tonight. He had overheard his brothers talking about your whereabouts—something they never share with him—and he couldn’t resist coming to see you, despite everything. He rolled his shoulders back, lifting his chin, but the mask on his face wavered and began to crack.
You leaned in closer, eyes as dark as the sky above you, “Listen close Shadowsinger. I don’t care what business you think you have here; if I ever find you near me or my squad again, I’ll give you some new scars to match. Understood?”
His shadows whipped around him anxiously, whispering frantically but Azriel couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t hear anything at all, beyond the echo of your words, some new scars to match. His scarred hands were numb—with cold or shock, he didn’t know. He couldn’t feel anything as the yawning pit gaped where his heart had once been. His face was a mask of cool marble. He vaguely processed your face falling, something like remorse flitting across your features. 
“Azriel, I–”
The whispers of his shadows finally reached him, cutting through the buzz in his ears. 
Danger. 
His head snapped up to look at you, “Quiet.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at his hiss, ready to interject—except the chatter from the camp was missing. Where there was once fire blazing among the eerily still tents, ashes now lead to a trail of smoke disappearing into the night. 
You swallowed past the lump that is your heart in your throat. Your squad. Your hand clenched tightly on the hilt of your sword as you scanned the stygian darkness of the woods. The scraggly branches of the trees leered, reaching for you—and there, a glint of metal shining back at you.
You can only look at Azriel before you’re ambushed. Shadow figures emerged from the darkness, swarming you and Azriel from all sides. Jumping to your feet, you unsheathed the sword at your back in time to meet the blow of one of the mysterious fae. 
Glancing around, you counted the figures. Four of them, all masked. You glared into the gaping eye-holes of the mask, the abyss within them shrouding the gaze of your attacker. Fresh blood splattered the expanse of the macabre mask. Blazing fury ignited in your stomach, your vision red. With little reservation, you parried the blow and slashed up and through the figure. Their body stiffened, a gush of blood spilling from under the mask. You were moving to the next attacker before the figure’s limp body hit the forest floor. The clash of metal rang empty in your ears as your rage guided your violent dance, the attackers your unlucky partners. 
Your squad, your squad. 
The second figure put the first to shame, their blank mask entirely slathered in scarlet. 
Your squad, your squad, your squad. 
Your sword plunged through the supple cleft of their throat, severing flesh and cartilage and bone and–
Your squad, your squad, your squad, your squad. 
A grunt of pain broke through your rage-fuelled frenzy. Your head snapped to where Azriel battled two of the masked figures, precariously balancing on the branches. He deftly handled Truth-teller, blocking and parrying their blows. However, the two masked figures fought in tandem as if one person. Their synchronization pushed Azriel to the back foot, his upper arm already sporting a light gash. 
Silver glistened in the corner of your eye. Turning, a fifth masked figure was poised high in the canopy, bow strung and pointed at Azriel. 
Azriel. 
The arrow flashed through the air, heading directly for the nape of Azriel’s delicate neck. 
Azriel. 
He turned towards the archer, eyes wide. The two masked figures pressed forward, unrelenting. With a speed unbeknownst to you, you moved towards the projectile, sword already swinging. The arrow shaft severed in two, however, the metal point found its way into your shoulder. Hissing, you ripped the arrowhead out, the wound not nearly as deep as it would have been. 
Before the archer could string their bow again, you whipped your short sword through the air, the blade careening violently before embedding in their masked head. Choking, their body fell from the canopy with a sickening crunch. 
Paying the two broken bodies no mind, you turned to the only male that mattered. Azriel had disposed of one of the figures in the flurry with the archer, but the second figure remained strong. Unsheathing the dagger at your thigh, you aimed for the spinal column. Your weapon found its mark, the masked attacker stilling long enough for Azriel to effortlessly slit their throat. 
You both panted heavily, your leathers slick with sweat. Azriel’s golden eyes locked on yours in the faint moonlight. His molten gaze was the last thing you saw before you wobbled on your branch, and the world went dark. 
♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡
Azriel just barely caught you in time, his body moving on instinct. He cradled you close to his chest, your breath much too shallow for his liking. He rushed past the corpses that littered the forest floor, making his way to where your squad had set up camp. The copper smell that lingered heavily over each tent confirmed his earlier suspicions. Shaking his head, Azriel put your slaughtered comrades to the background of his mind and entered the largest of the tents. 
Upon entering your tent, you finally let out a weak groan. Azriel’s sigh of relief escaped him before he could reign it in, clutching you closer to his chest. Placing you on the prepared bedroll, he frantically searched your body for any injury. Azriel’s scowl deepened as he found the small wound on your shoulder, but it made no sense. The scent of your blood was much too faint for you to be so delirious—your leathers should be soaked by now. 
“Poison.” The word was a struggle to get out as you fight to remain conscious. 
“Fuck.” He ran his shaking hands through his hair. Of course, it would be poison. He frantically rooted through your bags, ripping open supply boxes, crates, and anything he could get his hands on to try and help you. Azriel gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to dig his nails into his palms if only to distract from the gnawing guilt in his chest. That poisoned arrow had been meant for him. If he couldn’t find some sort of antidote… 
The slamming of the boxes increased tenfold. 
“Amanita.”
He turned at your croak, “What?”
You paused, licking your lips as Azriel rushed over, cool hands cupping your cheeks. You could sigh at the feeling, eyes fluttering. He bit his lip, trying to catch your eye. 
“What is it, pretty girl? Tell me.”
You drowsily opened your eyes, “Montesere typically uses the Amanita poison. It’s not uncommon in their military. It’s our best,” You stopped to catch your breath, Azriel’s grip tightening slightly, “Shot.”
“Amanita, yes, of course,” He cursed himself for being so panicked, and couldn’t help but lean down to kiss your forehead, “My brilliant girl.”
Your breath shook due to more than just the force of the poison coursing through your system as Azriel went back to searching through your supplies. 
“There should be some pills in that box that will work. Crush them and give them to me with some water.”
He nodded absentmindedly, already reaching for the box. He recovered a mortar and pestle from a different crate, quickly grinding the pills down. 
“Why did you leave me?”
The question made Azriel’s blood run dry, his hand pausing its mechanical movement. Briefly shutting his eyes, he returned to work. 
“I don’t think this is a good time for this.”
“I can’t think of a better time since now you can’t run off like you usually do.” Your icy remark found its target, his breath spiking sharply. Good, let him hurt for once. You swallowed past your sandpaper throat, your voice shaking despite the effort, “Why did you leave me Azriel?”
The grinding of the pestle was the only sound in the tent, your eyes welling with angry tears. His persistent silence brought back memories of old arguments, where your words uselessly bounced off of his stone-cold walls over and over again. His sigh felt almost patronizing as if this was a conversation that had long run its course. 
“Listen—”
“I would have fought for you, for us.” You refused to let your voice shake again, steeling yourself as best you could with the haze of the potion clouding your mind, “Once, at least. Now, I’m not so sure.”
The heavy mortar slammed against the wooden table. Azriel’s muscled back was stiff as a board, his wings tucked in close. 
“It’s better this way.” His cool voice only further stoked the flame of your incredulity. 
“‘Better’? Better for who? For you?” You broke off in a cough, vision blurring, “Are you so committed to your eternal misery that you can’t put it aside for me?” Azriel glanced over his shoulder as your breath caught on that last word, his face an unbearable mask of indifference. 
You turned your head away from him, unable to look at his marble features. Biting your lip, you suppressed the unshed tears lining your eyes. He didn’t deserve your tears.  
“Someone… someone like me, has no business being with someone like you. I have done unforgivable, unspeakable things.” Azriel’s quiet voice reached you through your growing headache. His words only further broke your heart. Your gaze stayed fixed on the opposite side of the tent as you heard him approach. 
“There is no repentance I can undertake that will ever absolve me. So no matter how–” His voice broke off, and you swallowed thickly, “No matter how my heart may ache for you, I cannot risk tainting another life. And certainly not someone as radiant as you. I allowed myself the time we had, and I will cherish it until the end of my days. But that is the limit of my selfishness.”
Your shoulders heaved with the force of your silent sobs. You snapped your head to him, the force of it rendering you dizzy. He kneeled before you—the antidote in hand—eyes glazed over, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 
“And what about what my heart aches for? My selfishness?” Azriel’s eyes slowly lifted to yours, something unreadable swirling in their hazel depths, “I have killed and tortured just as you have; I am not without my own sins, but you still call me radiant. Then, can’t I believe that you are kind, good, and worthy of my love?”
His head shook with each word, a pained look stretching across his features, “You need your antidote; you’re beginning to be delusional.”
Azriel brought the cup to your lips, but you gripped his wrist with surprising strength. You search his face, pleading, “I’m not delusional, I only speak from the heart. I will not drink the antidote until you admit this.”
His chest heaved, with anger or something else, you don’t know. He pushed against your hand, forcing the cup against your tightly shut lips, but your grip on his hand remained firm. Finally, his face crumpled and he lowered his head, his dark hair obscuring the view of his face.
“I can’t. You deserve safety, stability and everything else that I cannot offer you.” Your grip further tightened on his hand.
“What I deserve is someone who loves me. You and I will walk hand in hand with danger for the rest of our lives; it is the nature of our jobs. That does not mean I must deprive myself of what I want most in this world.”
Azriel’s head snapped up, disbelief stark across his elegant features. Your gaze was steady, and something settled in your chest with the admission. You'd never breathed so easily despite the poison coursing through your veins. His dark hair was ruffled from running his hands through it, the strands curling at his forehead. His plump lips parted in awe, a silvery sheen coating his eyes. Your Azriel. 
“You… want me that much?” 
You brought his hand to your cheek, and flashed him a watery smile through the haze of the poison, “More than anything.”
A tender beat of silence passed between you both before black spots began to dance across your vision. 
“My beautiful Azriel.” Your grip loosened on his hand before the darkness claimed you once again. 
♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡
You woke to a warm body beside you, a larger, more scarred hand clutching yours lightly. Your lashes fluttered as you vaguely pieced together what happened. Once you lost consciousness, you were in and out in brief increments; Azriel forcing the antidote down your throat, Azriel stroking your hair, Azriel kissing your forehead. 
Your chest warmed as you took in the membranous wing that stretched over your body, shielding you from the outside world. Turning slightly, you were met with Azriel’s sleeping form. His usually scowling face was one of unperturbed peace. Long, dark lashes lay on high, sculpted cheeks. Leaning over, you placed a feather-light kiss on each eyelid, only to pull away and meet his honeyed gaze. A smile bloomed across your face as a dusting of pink spread across his tan cheeks and ears. Azriel brought your joined hands to his pink lips and placed a chaste kiss on your knuckles. 
Your smile dimmed as you took in his scarred hands, “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”
He knew what you were referring to, and only shook his head and kissed your hand again, “It’s okay, sweet girl.”
You untangled your joined fingers much to his chagrin, only to grasp both of his hands in your own, “It is not okay. I was angry, but I had no right to say that.”
Azriel opened his mouth to protest, but promptly closed it as you vigorously kissed his hands. Each knuckle of each finger, his palm, his fingertips—you didn’t miss a single surface on his tan skin. He watched with bated breath, eyes intently following the loving path you covered. You finished with a big kiss to each palm, unfurling his long fingers to rest his hands on your cheeks.  
“I will love you even when you don’t love yourself Azriel Shadowsinger.”
He looked at you with all the adoration of Night gazing at his beloved Stars, and kissed you reverently, “My selfish girl.”
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Final Notes: Amanita is actually the genus of the (very deadly and toxic) death cap mushroom (Amanita phalloides to be specific)! Plz, don’t eat weird mushrooms. Anyway, hope you all liked it and lmk what you think! ♡
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xreaderbooks · 11 months
Text
All I breathe (6)
Pair: Azriel x Vanserra! Reader
Warnings: language and allusions to sexual content
Summary: Confessions of a fire-wielder and a Shadowsinger
Word Count: 1k
Also available on Wattpad and AO3
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a/n: ngl I lost where I was going with this story but I didn't want to leave you all hanging so I give you this...
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Eris found you walking back to your room, determination written on your features, he attempted to stop you to ask what had happened that you left the party but something must have told him not to because the moment you brushed past him he curled his back into himself and didn't say a word.
In your chambers, you ignored the Shadowy figure of a man and began to pick out the gear you were going to wear for your mission.
"Where were you?"
You opened the wardrobe's doors and ransacked the bag Azriel had said you were welcome to take from and opened your own bag, stuffing the clothes you chose and the knives you took.
"Y/n," He expected you to answer him but you weren't going to. It was what you always did with him and you were not up to arguing, even if you were he didn't deserve the words you had for him. "Talk to me, curse my name, shout at me if you want but please-"
"Why?" You dropped the bag you had in your lap as you crouched down and stood to face him. "Why do you beg for me now, Azriel? We were at each other's throats not two days ago."
He was silent, as he always was and it frustrated you.
"Since when do you care if I talk to you when all you have ever done is belittle me, berate me, tower over me to make me feel inferior to you from the moment you showed up on the ice in the Winter Court." You remind him of the day he saved you, Lucien, and Feyre, with Cassian. "You didn't care then as you do not care now, do not start now because you pity me, it is more of an insult than the words you've said to me in all our time together."
You gathered the bag from the floor and stomped your way to the washroom, swiftly getting dressed into the leathers gifted to you by Feyre when you started training. You strapped the dagger you stole into the hidden compartments of your suit.
When you walked out, Azriel had an incredulous look on his face. He wasn't expecting this clearly.
"Where are you going?"
"Beron wants a prisoner, I'm going to give him one," You secured the strings on your boots.
"I have told you that I will find the prisoner and hand him over to you for Beron," His jaw ticked. You were testing his patience now, this was the longest time he had lasted not saying something distasteful to you during a 'discussion' and you could tell staying quiet while you said all that you did was getting to him.
"Plans change," You crossed your arms. "As you've told me before, this is my Court, I shall do what I want in it."
"That is childish, you are going to get yourself killed."
"You are not my keeper, Shadowsinger."
"You are my mate-"
"Your mate," You laugh almost hysterically. "Tell me, mate, why is it that you didn't tell me that we share the bond?"
He had no response, you weren't going to deal with his arguments any longer. You started for the door about to turn the knob when he shout.
"Y/n, do not walk out that door!"
You whirled around to face him, fury in full display, marching up to him face-to-face not caring about the short distance between you, "You have no right to shout at me like that, I do not belong to you!"
"Please, don't leave," His voice softer now almost vulnerable. The proximity in which you were with him was compromising, his eyes flickered from your lips to your eyes and back again.
You turn away from him and step away, the heat between you becoming too much.
"You think I take pleasure arguing with you?" You felt him come up behind you, so close your back to his chest, "I wanted you to love me."
Your heart stopped, you were sure it did.
"But I hate you. I hate the way my name falls off your lips," His left-hand tickles yours, slowly whispering up your arm. "I hate that the same fire you wield so perfectly burns within me whenever you are near. I hate that the color of your hair and eyes are all I see, your voice is all I hear when the sun rises in the morning and the birds sing."
" My shadows crave your light," His lips brush against your ear as he speaks. Your heart flutters but you hold still, your back was leaning into his chest at this point. "Most of all I hate the way you consume my very being."
He smoothly twists your body so that your chest to chest now, his forehead meets yours, sharing the same air, "You are all I can ever think about, you are all that I breathe."
Your breath hitches as his palms caress your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips meet his and you felt your anger rushing away, you could feel the cold wind of his shadows swirling around you, willing you both closer as if it was even possible. Your hands travel from his waist, up his arms and shoulders to tangle your fingers in his hair.
He lifts you and your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, you felt the marble of the wall on your back.
You broke the kiss, "I love- I love you."
You kiss his lips once more before continuing, "Love might not even be a strong enough word for what I feel for you. No words can express enough what I feel for you and it's not the bond, despite everything, it's you. It's you. The passion I feel for you, good, and bad, none of it made sense; bond or not. All I know, all I will ever know is you."
His mouth is on yours before you know it, kissing you deeper than before, pouring every ounce of emotion into you. He detaches from your lips to your cheek, leaving a trail of kisses down to your neck. His body rolls into yours, you felt him against you and you gasped, he teased you through your clothes. Your arm that dangled over his shoulder, clawed at his shirt to remove it. With his wings, it made your job impossible so you settled for ripping it off of him.
He chuckled against your neck, halting his kisses. "Desperate, are we?"
"Shut up," You kissed him to stop his laughter.
~~~
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cosmic-whispers · 1 year
Text
Golden (Kisses: Part 3) - Azriel x Reader
Series Summary: A series of one-shots highlighting significant kisses throughout your relationship with Azriel. Part 3 aka The Hand Kiss. 
Warnings: fluff, angst, violence, feelings of self-loathing, comfort
Word Count: 4.8k 
A/N: Hope you all enjoy this one! It took me so long to get out and I’m not entirely happy with it, but I’ve reworked it twice now, so this is as good as it’s going to get, I’m afraid. Happy reading, my lovelies! 
Azriel was a very cautious male–he guarded his court against deception and danger and he took his role very seriously. He was meticulous with every aspect of his life. He planned every mission, beginning to end, with so much detail that his spies often did not have enough time to read through the mountains of papers that he would hand them beforehand. When fighting, he was always one step ahead of his opponent, his shadows giving him aid where his own skills lacked. He liked that about himself. 
And then you came along. 
All of his plans shattered like glass. He found his pre-mission reports getting shorter and shorter, time consumed with thoughts of you and often found himself distracted in the field when he spotted something that reminded him of you. Of when he would be able to see you again. Speak to you again. Spend time with you again. Touch you again. 
He shied away from physical touch. While he did not mind occasional bursts of affection from his family, he was not one to be overly affectionate or actively seek it out. He liked his solitude, hands hidden behind his back constantly and a healthy distance away from everyone else. And although that distance was of his own choosing, he could not help the twist in his gut every time Cassian hugged Nesta, or Feyre drunkenly kissed Rhysand, or Mor and Emorie sneaked off together, a futile attempt to hide their blossoming romance from the rest of the group. 
He yearned for it. Much more than he dared to admit to even himself. The loving touch of someone who would love him unconditionally, who would shower him with praises and love and desire. A mate. The other half of his soul. He yearned for the intimacy of loving someone so deeply. But he knew that he did not deserve it. After everything he’s done, it was a pleasant fantasy, but nothing more. After centuries of waiting, he had given up hope that he would ever find his mate. He figured it was better that way.
And then you came along. 
From the moment his hand touched yours that morning you spent together in Velaris, he craved your touch. He was drawn to you in inexplicable ways—he was a male dying of thirst in the desert and you were an oasis. Your touch, your kindness, your presence made a warmth spread through his chest. When his thoughts would trail to you, he worried that he was becoming too attached, too trusting. He had known you for such a short period of time. But the sincerity in your eyes and smile every time you looked at him put his mind at ease. The touch of your skin on his made him feel safe and comfortable. He wanted your hands on him at all times. 
Azriel was usually a cautious male. Which is why he hoped you did not notice how often he was getting injured in the field. 
The first time was not on purpose. He had gone to a mission in Rask, his position became compromised, and he had to fight off several soldiers by himself. The slice to his bicep was deep and painful. When he winnowed home, his first thought was of you. He had shown up to the healer’s quarter, bloody and tired, to your horror. 
“What happened?!” you exclaimed pulling him to the cot and forcing him to sit. 
“Got compromised. One of them managed to nick me in the arm,” he said. You stared down at his wound, starting to dab bandages on it to staunch the bleeding. He took the opportunity to stare at you. You were the most stunning female he had seen in his long life. While he was often surrounded by beautiful females, when he first laid eyes on you he was awestruck. Your hair, your eyes, and that smile. He was so fucked. 
“Nothing your favorite healer can’t handle,” you teased, glancing up at his face as your hands gripped his arm, your palms pressing against the wound. He hissed in pain, sharp pain burning through his body as your hands touched the open cut. 
“What makes you think you’re my favorite healer?” 
Your eyes widened, embarrassment flooding your features. You bit your bottom lip and turned your face away from him. “It was just a joke, Azriel.” 
He felt a little guilty, making you feel embarrassed, but the way you bit your lip and the shifting in your gaze were entirely too endearing. The urge to tease you–to flirt with you–was entirely too strong.   
“I’m kidding, (Y/N),” he said, softly. “You know you’re my favorite healer.”
You smiled shyly at him and turned your gaze back to his arm. Your hands began glowing like golden daylight, the brightness leaking from your hands and slowly stitching his skin together.
“Kiss-ass,” you mumbled and he laughed out loud.
“I like your laugh,” you said. “You should do it more often.”
“It’s hard,” he said, glad that you were looking down and not at the redness spreading over his cheeks. “No one’s as funny as you are.”
“Doubt that,” you countered. “You’re friends with Cassian. He’s pretty hilarious.”
“I think you’re overestimating how funny he is. I would say the things that happen to Cassian are funnier than the male himself.” Your responding giggle echoed through his head for the next week. 
During his next mission, his mind was still occupied with thoughts of you. The mission to gather intelligence on the happenings in the Autumn Court was entirely too easy. 
His shadows concealed him, within the heavy trees in Autumn. It was his last night there and he was ready to go home and see his family. He wanted to see you. He wondered if you would mind him visiting you in the morning, but figured you were entirely too busy to cater to his need for attention. He shouldn’t bother you unless he needed your healing. He just needed to repeat it to himself until the urge to see you went away. 
“Sentry,” his shadows whispered in his ears. “Behind you, pointing a bow and arrow.”
He was always a cautious male. But with the image of your face swimming in his brain and the tantalizing idea of getting to see you as soon as he got back, made him feel reckless. Impulsive. He would not describe himself as impulsive, but for a moment, without thinking, he spread his wings wide, his shadows dispersing and revealing him in the forest. 
He heard the arrow before he felt it. It pierced through the thin membrane of his left wing, a momentary pang of pain shooting through his nerves and he braced his teeth. His shadows quickly swarmed back, concealing him and he took the opportunity to silently approach the guard. 
His hands were shaking. He placed the bow down and moved closer to where Azriel had previously stood, nothing but darkness and shadows. 
“Who’s there? Reveal yourself,” he called out, trying to look through the darkness. He cursed himself for being so careless to let himself be wounded, and he felt relief knowing the sentry did not recognize him. He left the area, the male still looking around, and took flight quickly, disguised with the cover of night. 
His flight back north was agonizing and long, sharp pain shooting like lightning down the expanse of his wing and into his back. He reached Velaris mid-morning, the bustle of the city bringing him comfort and he flew straight to the healing quarters. 
Eloise was there along with a few other healers from the Dawn court. The scar on the side of her face had faded to a thin, light line and the healer wore it with honor. She had taken to giving the most exaggerated, untrue stories about how it happened to anyone that asked. 
“Azriel!” she called out. “Your wing!”
She rushed toward him. He hesitated for a moment, backing away from her approaching hands. She lowered her arms, looking at him curiously. He felt the heat rise up his neck and onto his face and knew that the red skin was not helping his reputation. 
“Is (Y/N) here?”
Eloise did not answer for a moment, but a feline smirk was spreading on her lips. He maintained eye contact with her, attempting to keep his expression stoic. He forced himself to not glance at the other females when they giggled under their breath. 
“Oh, your sweetness should be returning from her break in a few minutes,” Eloise said and he shifted his gaze to the floor in embarrassment. 
“Azriel,” she called out, and he looked back at her face. Despite the humor dancing in her eyes, her expression was serious. She closed the distance between them and spoke low enough to avoid being overheard.
“I’ve heard about your reputation with females. About how…easily…you fall in love. She’s my best friend. I think it’s implied that if you hurt her, I will kill you.” Azriel was shocked for a moment, but not surprised. He was happy that you had such a loyal friend who was looking out for your well-being and happiness.
“Never. It’s not like that with her,” he said. Admitting more than that out loud was too much for him, but thankfully his answer satisfied her for the moment. 
The doors to the healing room burst open, and you bounded through, a tower of books in your arms blocking your vision. 
“Sorry I’m late, El,” you said, not noticing the Illyrian in the room.  “They were having a sale in the bookstore across the street! I couldn’t pass it up.”
Azriel moved towards you, your sweet scent filling his senses and he instantly felt the muscles in his back loosen with ease, despite the stinging from the arrow. He grabbed the tomes from your grasp and you gasped. 
“Oh, Azriel!” you exclaimed, surprise lacing your melodic voice, but his favorite smile was beginning to appear on your face. “What are you doing here?”
Your smile faded as soon as he gestured to his wing. 
“Azriel! We need to get that out immediately!” You ushered him to a room and his spine straightened and his chest puffed at the attention you were giving him. Eloise followed close behind, smirking at him as you pushed him into the cot. 
“Eloise! Why didn’t you heal him?” you yelled to your friend, who was making her way out of the room. 
“He had just gotten here, actually,” she said, shooting him a knowing look and a wink as she walked through the threshold and pulled the door behind her. “He’s all yours.”
“What happened this time?” you asked, moving behind him to assess the damage to his wing up close. 
“An arrow.”
A flick to the back of his neck caught him by surprise. His shadows swarmed around your wrists, amused at your antics. 
“Rude.”
“Me? Perhaps you should be nicer to the healer that’s assisting you.”
Before Azriel was able to formulate a response, the gentle touch of your fingertips on his wing made all thoughts leave his head. Warmth spread throughout his entire wing, traveling through his entire body. His body tensed, back muscles clenching and his hands formed fists at his side as a shiver overtook his body. What in the Hel was this female doing to him?
“I’m sorry, Az,” you said. “I know your wings are very sensitive. I’ll try to be as quick as possible.”
He nodded in agreement; he did not want to correct your false assumption that his reaction was caused by the natural sensitivity of the Illyrian appendages. Admitting that the reason for his reaction was your touch was too embarrassing to acknowledge out loud–especially to you. 
He reveled in your touch, even throughout the painful predicament of getting the arrow out. Once your golden hands illuminated the membranous skin of his wing,  tendrils of pleasure, relief, and desire flooded through him. 
He never intended for his intentional injuries to continue. You were always busy in the healing quarters and your days off were sparse. But if he had not spoken to you for too long or wanted an excuse to see you, he would let an arrow skim past the skin of his ear, or a blade slice through a bicep or thigh. He knew he should stop–if you knew what he was doing, you would rip his head off–but he had to see you. 
—------
Monteserre was always hell to visit; the rugged, rocky terrain and tumultuous weather made Azriel’s job much more difficult and grim. His shadows did not like the harsh winds and stinging rain, and they especially did not enjoy tracking the prolific assassin he was following, the weather blowing scents and tracks away easily. 
The assassin had been evading the Shadowsinger for weeks. Azriel was actually rather impressed with his stealth skill, but he knew that he had to deal with him sooner rather than later. After several murders in the Night Court were linked to the male, Rhysand wanted the male captured. Dead or alive. 
He followed the man to a large cave. From his vantage point, the walls and ceiling of the cave were rough and jagged, the entrance narrow. He watched for hours, the darkness of night giving to dawn and he had not moved a muscle and the male had not emerged from the cave. His shadows had not sensed any other presence in there–-was this the assassin’s home?
A hard, sudden impact to his back took Azriel by surprise. The powerful impact knocked him off balance, lurching him forward to the ground. His breath was knocked completely out of him and he knew bruises were bound to form on his chest and ribs.
He took a moment to gather his bearings. The heavy body straddled his back, pinning his upper body and wings to the ground with their knees. With a swivel of his hips, he was able to twist his body, ignoring the pain on his wings, and knocked his attacker off his back. He pulled his wings taut against his back and quickly flipped over, pinning the large male to the ground. 
It was the assassin. 
Azriel had Truth-Teller in his hand, holding it tight against the male’s throat. He was a large male, probably as large and strong as Cassian, but as furtive as Azriel. A perfect combitantion of strength and stealth. A perfect assassin. A skilled fighter. 
The male managed to catch Azriel by surprise again. Truth-teller was knocked out of his grasp, a strong punch landing across his face and pain exploded adross his nose and lip. He was shoved with great force, landing once again on his back. The pain on his face disoriented him for a moment, and the sticks from the round dug uncomfortably onto his back and wings. 
“The Shadowsinger,” the male said, his heavy accent accentuated further by his raspy voice. “What does the Night Court want with me?” 
Azriel did not let the panic building in his heart appear on his face. This male knew who he was and where he was. He left the cave, probably using another entrance, and ambushed him. He knew the Night Court was in Monteserre land and that they were spying on him. He had to die. 
The dagger pointed at Azriel’s face forced him to relax. He could not thrash about without getting the blade impaled in his skin. Azriel remained silent, pondering the options he had and the best course of action. He called his shadows to him quickly, crowding the assassin’s face and temporarily blinding him. The male began began thrashing the blade, blindly trying to stab Azriel, and he managed to nick on the cheekbone. Azriel grabbed onto the steel with both hands, unable to stop the male’s advances. The sharp edges of the blade cut through the skin on his palm, a sharp sting spreading from his hands to his wrists, and down the length of his arms. Azriel used the surprise o his shadows to pivot his lower body again, flipping the male easily. 
He grabbed Truth-Teller from the ground, driving it straight through the male’s eye. The squelch of the skin breaking apart and the feeling of the knife coming to a halt as it hit bone ensured the assassin’s death. Blood from Azriel’s hand dripped onto the male’s face and Azriel cursed. 
A waste of a good mission. Azriel had followed him for days and ended up with no information. He sent his shadows to explore the cave, hoping there was something valuable. As he waited for their return, he cut two pieces of fabric from the male’s shirt. He hissed as he pressed the fabric onto the jagged cuts on his palms, but tightly tied them around, hoping it was enough to stifle the bleeding. 
His shadows reported nothing of interest to him and they wrapped around his entire being, winnowing him back to the outskirts Velaris. He spread his large wings, stretching them after having them pulled tightly against his back, and took flight. He observed the bustling city in the morning light, knowing that you were in there somewhere. 
He debated going to you this time. He would get to see you and after a few minutes, the pain in his hands would fade. But that would mean you having to touch his hands. His grotesque, scarred hands, dripping with blood and pain. A physical embodiment of the heinous male within. Every time he looked at them, deep feelings of revulsion and disgust fill him to the brim. They brought wave after wave of shame upon him, nearly drowning him in the memories of the past. Every time he looked at them, he remembered the weak, feeble boy he used to be and wanted to weep for him. He remembered the faces of every male and female that he has killed over his long existence, and wished for the same pain to be inflicted on him. 
He could never let you see them. He could never be brazen enough to face your scorn. 
He flew away from the main city and towards the House of Wind, landing in the training ring. Cassian’s large frame was running through exercises with Nesta and the other priestesses. Yet, his eyes skimmed over all of them and were drawn straight to you. Of course you were there. Since that day in battle, you had not missed a single lesson.
Your hair was swept back, exposing your naturally beautiful face. Your skin was dewy from the exercise you had been doing and your chest heaved with exertion. Your eyes met his, a smile spreading across your face and you gave him a small wave. 
He resisted waving back, afraid to expose his wrapped hands and have you worry over him. 
“Az, are you hurt?” Cassian asked, approaching him and gesturing to his hands, wrapped in fabric, stained dark red from the blood still seeping from his wounds.
“It’s just a cut,” he said, dismissing his brother’s worry. “It’ll heal.”
“Lucky we have a healer here,” Cassian said, wiggling his eyebrows at the Shadowsinger. Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. Cassian had found it entirely too hilarious when Azriel started showing up with more and more injuries. He believed Azriel remained ignorant of his knowledge and of the secret betting pool he had made with all members of the Inner Circle about you and him. He could not resist any opportunity to get you to spend time with the Spymaster. 
“I can heal it for you now,” you said, making your way toward him. He wished he could agree to it. He craved your sweet touch, your soft smiles, and your gentle eyes focused only on him. As you smiled at him, your face getting closer and closer to him, he was almost hypnotized into reaching his hands out and placing them within your tiny, warm ones. But he did not. His hands did not budge from his side. 
“No,” he said, moving his hands behind him and his pulling his shadows to crowd around them, making sure that they were well hidden from view. You stopped short, furrowing your eyebrows and your expression becoming puzzled. 
“Thank you, (Y/N). But I don’t need you wasting your powers on something minor. It’ll heal on its own,” he said, turning and walking away quickly before anyone said anything else to him. He walked into the House, not daring to look back at the baffled expressions of his friends. 
He entered his room, looking down at his hands. The bloodied fabric has stuck to the skin of his hand, and Azriel groaned as he peeled it off, the gauze pulling at the skin surrounding the wound. The stinging in his palms was sharp, and he tried to even his breathing as he looked down at both wounds. 
As he contemplated his next move, his shadows swarmed around him. 
“She’s here,” one whispered in his ear, seconds before a soft knock echoed from his door. 
He sighed in resignation and moved to the door, opening it to see your gorgeous face looking up at him. You were trying to keep your face calm, however, concern danced clear as glass in your eyes. 
“Hi, Az. I wanted to make sure that you're alright. It really is no bother,” you said, gesturing toward his hands. 
He clenched his hands at his side and fought the urge to groan in pain as the skin on his wounds stretched. His throat began feeling like it was closing shut, the care that you were displaying for him making his heart swell with emotions.
“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he began. His voice was tight, but he continued to force the words out. “I don't want you to heal my hands.” He wished he didn’t sound as rude as he did. He wished that you would roll your eyes, curse him out, and never look at him again. But you didn’t. You smiled sadly at him and nodded in understanding. 
“Alright. Can I ask why?”
He wanted to tell you everything. He knew you were entirely too kind to judge him. You were compassionate and loyal and you would never hold his past against him. But, the fear still lingered in his heart. What if you rejected him? What if it made you see him in the way he saw himself? 
You hesitantly stepped forward, past the threshold, and closed the door behind you. You didn’t make a move to close the distance between you, but the warmth in your gaze filled his heart. You took a deep, shaky breath before speaking. 
“Azriel, I know that we haven’t known each other very long, but since I’ve come to Velaris, you’ve become a best friend to me. I feel so comfortable around you, you make me feel safe. I can be myself with you, and be vulnerable with you. I am so grateful to know you, Az. I hope you know that I’m here for you, too. You can tell me anything.”
He was unable to speak, his throat tight and chest full of affection for you. He wanted to be vulnerable. He wanted to share his past with you. He wanted your support, your comfort, your kindness. He longed for it. He yearned for you. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and nodded. He gestured towards his bed and you move towards it, still keeping your distance and you sit in the corner. 
He spoke for what felt like hours. Every word he told you felt like he was liberating his soul. His family knew about the traumas of his past, but it was never from him directly. He had kept his experiences close to his chest, unwilling to burden anyone else with his pain and troubles. But with you, it felt different. He didn’t feel like he was burdening you. You wanted to listen. You wanted him to share his story, his past with you. He shared his feelings of shame, for doing the things that he did for his Court and about how hard iit was to look in the mirror and the the monster staring back at him. He shared his fear of enjoying the carnage, of becoming a manic psychopath, and taking pleasure in the pain and death of others. 
His eyes were reddened, tear tracks streaking down his his cheeks and his eyelashes clumped together. You looked at him, gaze fixed to his face, and remained silent. You had tears in your eyes, but your expression remained calm and pensive. His heart clenched and sunk down into his stomach. He knew that you must see him for what he truly was–tainted; a murderer, death itself. Shame filled him, so deep and potent that he wished the earth beneath him would open and swallow him whole. 
Your hands raised, gripping his, and your eyes lowered to stare down at your fingers clasping over his. His palms faced up, the deep and jagged cuts standing out prominently. And yet–to him–those cuts were not the ugliest things about his hands. He stared down at your hands gripping his. Your perfect hands. Hands that healed, that brought comfort and love and hope. And his–ugly; a sinful reminder of the monstrosities of his past. Constant reminders of all the pain he had suffered and all the pain he had inflicted. It was blasphemous for him to even hold you like this. How could his tainted skin dare touch any part of you? How could you let him? 
Your hands begin to glow golden, tiny beams of bright light spidering from your tiny hands and wrapping themselves across his. The golden light illuminated your face, your features highlighted in the most beautiful light. A tear escaped from your eye, and he could not look away from you. He wished he had an eidetic memory. He wished he had Feyre’s painting skills. He wished to capture the sight of you in this moment forever. 
“I know that you feel a lot of shame about your past. But your past doesn’t define who you are, Azriel. Your actions do. Your kindness, your gentleness. Despite whatever image you want to present to the rest of the world, you are a good person worthy of a good life. I believe that with all my heart. We all have our scars, some more visible than others. But when I look at you, I don’t see this monster you claim to be. I don’t see scars. I see strength. I see someone who has survived through the cruelest things in life and has risen again and again. I think your hands are beautiful,” you said, tears brimming in your lash line. 
Your fingers squeezed his hands softly and the tears swimming in his eyes poured like a monsoon down his golden cheeks. For once, he didn’t feel ashamed. He didn’t feel like summoning his shadows forward to hide himself away. He didn’t want to hide away from you–he wanted you to see him. 
“You’re too good to me, sweetness,” he whispered to you, speechless for the first time in a very long time. 
You smiled at him and brought his hands to your face. His heart clenched in his chest as you pressed a tiny, butterfly kiss to the skin of his palm. Where a deep, jagged cut lay before, only a faint white scar remained. Your lips followed the crooked scar, each touch of your lips sending a shockwave through him and making his breath hitch in his lungs. You continued, trailing tiny kisses down each of his ten fingers. He did not know how long he sat there, staring at you in utter awe, as you kissed his hands, turning them over and beginning the onslaught on his knuckles and the back of his hands. It may as well have been an eternity, and it still would not be long enough to bask in you. He was utterly enamored with you. 
You smiled up at him once you were satisfied with yourself. His hands moved away from yours, and he raised them to gently grip your face. He leaned forward, your intoxicating, sweet scent overwhelming his senses and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes, taking the moment to breath you in. He felt one of your hands touch his cheekbone, the golden light dancing behind his eyelids and the soft twinge of discomfort healing the cut on his cheekbone. 
Despite his racing heart, he felt calm. For the first time in his life, he did not want to hide his hands away. For a moment–as he gripped your face, the tingling of golden light still radiating from his hands–he dared to imagine what it would be like to lean down and press his lips against yours. He hoped he would have the chance to find out. 
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azzieshd · 1 year
Text
Azriel: Set fire to the rain
You were rescued by the Shadowsinger, and maybe had fallen in love for him. But there is one problem: scars above your body made you completely insecure, making you sure that the spymaster would never love you as you love him. Maybe you are wrong, maybe he will prove it to you.
Warnings: kind angst, insecurity problems
Words counting: +/- 1400
Sequel: Part II
*English it not my mother language, there could be grammatical errors and typos. Please warn me if you find them, I'll do my best trying to get better.
---x---x---x---x---x---x---x---x---x---
You've started training with the valkyries after one of the priestess invited you. You worked at the library, organizing books and separating lots of paperworks that were needed for searches and other stuff. It's been a while since you got there, rescued by the Shadowsinger after you tried to help those priestesses of one of the temples too near your house.
You remember that day clearly: those screams, the fire and a lot of blood. Rhysand sent his spymaster to save everyone he could by that time, but when he got there, you already had rescued most of them. Asking to the females who had saved them and where the savior was, they told him you came back to the fire because a child was missing, but you were taking too long there.
Going forward the falling building, Azriel found you on the floor, blood in your temple and a huge beam over your body. Catching you in his arms after removing the big shard of timber, he noticed some bruises caused by the contact of your skin with the flaming place. He knew how hard it would be for you to recover. He didn't find the child either.
When you woke up, new scars covered your body. The first person you saw as your savior, he stayed by your side and helped with everything – after asking you some questions.
The trauma was huge and the High Lord offered a place to you, even though your house remained okay, you weren't. You just couldn't hold the lack of the temple and the priestesses, yes, you helped a lot of them, but not all. And there was the kid either, didn't find him and couldn't be able to save him destroyed you. That's why you accepted to work in the library, it was quiet and safe, perfect to your point of view. But staying there for so long, refusing to see the sunlight and catching fresh air, concerned your colleagues, that's why they assumed the training sessions would do you good.
It took you some time to accept it, and when you did it, all your friends were so advanced that you almost gave up. Azriel was the only reason why you kept on.
The illyrian male was so patient and so comprehensible that he made sure to make you as comfortable as it was possible. And with his help, you felt much better than months ago, perhaps you were now very close to the others and much more talkative as you were.
But today was different.
It was summer and the sun was not giving a lull. All of the females were training just with a top, and those who were more shy, were wearing a soft fabric cloth, but still making sure to keep arms free to the natural light. You were another case.
Using your heavy clothes as usual, you're sweating a lot more than the others, and the heat added to a poor breakfast almost made you faint. Now sitting on the floor with a glass of water in your hands, you were trying to breathe properly to go back to the arena. All of your friends worried about you and questioning themselves why you kept your hoodie on such a hot day. Of course they didn't understand, they would never do.
After that day you were never able to look at yourself the same way. All of those females had stunning skins, needless to be shy of showing their arms or their legs, they didn't have horrible marks such as yours.
Seeing you by far, the Shadowsinger were trying to discover what passed through your mind. He got so fucked worried for you when you got pale and almost fell to your knees. Looking upon all the priestesses enjoying the sunlight, his mind clicked.
He observed as you removed nonexistent dust from your hoodie’s sleeve and then his gaze went to his hands covered with gloves. He knew exactly how you were feeling.
Approaching your seated form, he kneeled on the floor and immediately got your attention. You weren't blind, he was beautiful, but you also weren't stupid and knew he would prefer a woman without all the problems you had. You tried so hard to convince yourself that you were just in love by the idea of him saving you and not by his incredible personality, amazing features, indescribable kindness or unbelievable abilities. Maybe tricking yourself would make your heart a little less broken when he assumes he is in love with Gwyneth.
“It's kind of hot in here” he said while trying to catch your eyes, which you were trying so hard to keep away from him.
“It is, indeed” your voice was so weak when you were by his side that you hated yourself for that. Fortunately in this case you would blame the sick feeling.
“You sure you’ll keep this sweatshirt?” He asked, a little apprehensive. The face you must have done just to think about being with your arms to everyone see your scars made Azriel’s eyes sad.
The male inhaled harder than needed, and then started to take off his gloves. Scars, so similar to yours, were now free to everyone’s eyes. He threw the gloves away, unaware of where it had fallen. Your gaze immediately went to his scarred hands, to how he kept his hands open, asking you to touch it.
“I know how you're feeling. It was difficult to me as well, but I promise that you’ll feel much better when you realize that nobody here will talk about that or stare at you.” His voice wasn't loud, but you're sure that everyone in the training ring could hear him. They were all silent, and you’ve seen, by the side of the eye, a little group shift their eyes from you after he said the last part.
You wanted to give him a little smile for what he was doing for you.
“It's difficult…” you whispered, with your eyes now on his. His hazel gaze softened to your weak voice, to your insecurity.
“Let me help you then” with his hands still on your way to take it. And so you did.
You standed and got so close to his body that you could feel his night and cedar smell. Oh, how you loved it.
After looking around to be sure that nobody was looking at you, your hands got the bottom of your hoodie. You were so insecure about that and got so long to start taking it over, that soon you felt two hands upon yours.
Azriel was looking at you, his hands holding yours so delicately. He gave you an encouraging smile, and when you nodded, both of you started to take that piece of cloth. As soon as you felt the sunlight in your skin after months, you closed your eyes and smiled. But when you opened it again and looked at your scars, your smile was gone.
“Hey, do not look at them just like it is horrible. Those scars are there because you’ve saved more than 15 priestesses alone. They don't make you less pretty. To be honest, you're much more beautiful with them.”
Your eyes widened at his words.
“Really?” You were so sure that Azriel would never think of you as a pretty woman. Maybe you were wrong.
“Really.” He smiled at you and then, without even noticing, he started to lead you to the middle of the training area.
He made your train so simple after that, that you haven't even noticed the time or how your body claimed to rest. Azriel spent all the time with you, only with you. The other priestesses glanced time by time just to see how happy the two of you were. After that afternoon, everything changed. You and Azriel became closer, you weren't afraid of showing your scars anymore, it was an important part of you.
Now, when you rush yourself out of the library to go to the training, a different wave of happiness always reaches you as you feel the wind and the sun without that barrier your hoodie used to be. You’ve changed so much since then, going out, making friends and laughing again. Everything was amazing, and a plus: it was at that same training center that the mate’s bond snapped, and of course you couldn't be more happy than you were.
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Text
Class Is In Session
Azriel x Reader, in which Feyre teaches the Inner Circle how to paint
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4.3K
Azriel woke you up with a kiss pressed to your jaw, followed by another under your ear; he trailed a line down the column of your neck, opting to leave a light mark at the base of your throat, right at your pulse. He hummed a quiet good morning as you began to stir, continuing his path down across your chest.
Your hand drew up his broad back, tracing up his spine, between his wings, his warmth seeping into your fingertips. His shadows swirled around your wrist and up your forearm in greeting, the cool mist feeling elicited goosebumps over your skin. You shifted underneath the male, trying to stay cocooned in his warmth as he leaned over you, hips pinning yours to the bed.
Eyes still shut, blocking out the morning light you weren’t quite prepared to face yet, your hand found the back of his head, fingers twirling into the dark hair curling at the base of his neck. Azriel chucked into your skin as you pulled lightly at his hair, beckoning for him to pick his head up. He followed your instruction, sitting up just enough so he could move to place a kiss on your lips. 
You couldn’t hold back your smile as the Shadowsinger cupped your jaw with his gentle hand and gave you a soft kiss. You breathed him in: the intimidating male who turned to putty in your arms, smelling of smoke and spice, metal and earth, but tasted like sweets and sin. It could almost make you laugh, how stoic he normally was, only to drop the facade the moment you held him in your arms. His shadows sang to you, welcomed you - they weren’t ominous carriers of darkness and death; they were your protectors, always with you, comforting and calming. They were simply Azriel. 
“Hello,” he murmured, lips still pressed against yours. You opened your eyes, meeting the gleaming hazel ones above you, shimmering with gold at the light pouring in from the windows. His long, dark eyelashes cast shadows over his tanned cheekbones, sun kissed freckles spread few and far between over his skin. 
“Good morning,” you whispered, drawing your hand through his thick hair, flattening down the sporadic messy strands. His hand ran up the curve of your waist, the leg that curled over his own hip, tracing slow patterns into your warm skin. “What time is it?” You squinted towards the window, the sheer white curtains doing next to nothing to keep the bright sun away. 
“Not sure,” he replied, resuming his attack of kisses down your neck. “Don’t care.” 
You tutted, twisting underneath him, ignoring the male’s groans as you stretched toward the bedside table. You reached beyond Azriel’s book that found solace in your home, past his reading glasses, and over the pile of knives he had emptied from his pockets the night before. “You’re not one to sleep in,” you murmured, angling the clock to check the time. 
“Didn’t get much sleep,” he confessed quietly, head falling back against the pillow, hands not leaving your hips. 
A sigh slipped past your lips in reading the time, you only had an hour before you had to leave the apartment. You turned back to him, offering him one more kiss before hopping from bed - despite him trying to hold you back with him. “I have to meet Feyre at the studio,” you cursed, swiping a blanket off the bed, wrapping it around your shoulders. The cold nipped at your feet, goosebumps erupting over your skin, but you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself as you skitted to the bathroom down the hall to begin running a bath.
Azriel said nothing, instead just rising from the bed, lazily collecting his clothes, strewn across your floor from the night before. He wasn’t one to protest - he was, after all, in agreement of keeping your relationship private - gods, it was his idea. But you’d quickly agreed to the secret affair, knowing that from how Feyre described her newfound family, if she or any of the others knew, you’d never know a moment of peace again. Azriel, being the territorial male he was, wasn’t ready to share you with the group - didn’t want them poking and prodding you with questions, making dirty jokes, or teasing him about it. 
He quite preferred your quiet life, the small apartment in the town center, just roomy enough for one, barely two - let alone one with wings. He loved how small it was, how the two of you nearly lived on top of each other; despite not even officially living together, he found himself in your bed most nights. You sidestepped his swords and you had grown accustomed to his shadows, laughing when they twirled in your hair and circled your limbs. It was a pleasant surprise: finding a female that could entrap his heart as quickly as you did, and who loved his shadows maybe more than he, himself did. 
He hadn’t had a home. Not in the five hundred plus years he’d been alive had he felt a place of belonging. Even after being taken in by Rhys’s mother, he spent his days jumping through different Illyrian Camps, and spent his days spying in foreign territories. Even as an adult male, moving from the House of Wind to the Townhouse to the River House - all not truly his. And while this apartment was technically yours, it was you that felt like home to him. 
Azriel met you in the hall in front of the bathroom, watching you run your fingers under the faucet, steam from the hot water already fogging up the mirror. He never understood how you took those hot baths - though maybe it was his own distaste for the hot water that made him weary. You turned back to the male, throwing him a smile before meeting him under the doorway. “How long are you staying at the studio?” He asked, curling a stand of hair behind your ear. 
Your arms wrapped around his waist and you stood on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. His hands circled your waist, fingers brushing the soft plush blanket still hanging over your shoulders. “All day, I think. Feyre wants to run through some of her plans for the opening night… she asked me to help out and provide feedback.” 
Azriel groaned, hunching forward to drop his head to your shoulder. “Then I’ll see you later,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck.
You frowned, fiddling with the seam of buttons down his back under one of his wings. “She said she was bringing a few friends - I didn’t know that meant you.” You huffed out a nervous breath, biting your lip. “You don’t have to come, Az - ”
The male cut you off with a quick peck, standing straight and meeting your gaze. “I wouldn’t leave you to endure that torture alone.” 
You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “They can’t be that bad, Azriel.” You knew half his reasoning of keeping your relationship was to spare you from becoming engulfed in the Inner Circle too soon. He feared that if they bombarded you (as he knew they would), you’d be scared away or worse - that they’d like you too much and steal you away from him.
“Just ignore everything Cassian says and you’ll be fine.”
____________
You’d spent most of the hour in the bath, washing your skin three times, scrubbing Azriel’s smell away. Though it pained you to do so, secretly loving having the male’s musky, dark scent adorning your skin, you knew he’d be back in your arms later that night. 
You were quick to dress for the day, slipping into a light blue dress, one to cover the nearly-faded bruises left on your skin from the previous night. You tied your hair up and threw your jacket on, grabbing your smock and heading down the stairs, into your shop. Despite it being your one day off, Feyre had asked for your help in prepping her studio for the beginning of her outreach program. 
You’d met your High Lady in the Rainbow, as she had come by one day to purchase canvas and paint brushes from your small art supply. She’d told you of her intention to open her studio to the people of Velaris - those who would be able to express their grief and post-war emotion through painting, as she found comfort in. It was a valuable cause that you soon became involved in, as many artists through the town were quick to volunteer. The two of you became fast friends, spending many evenings and early mornings in her studio. 
Her friends often came by, either to drag her away to pressing High Lady work or simply to check-in on what she was up to. It was a sunny afternoon when Azriel knocked on the glass door, spotting Feyre in the dimly lit corner of the shop. You remembered it well: how his golden eyes shined in the summer light, midnight hair tousled by the wind, his large wings cast shadows over his shoulders and chest. What he was there for, you had no idea - official Night Court duties, you could only assume. 
You offered him some tea, wiping your paint-stained hands on your apron, poking your head out from behind your canvas to meet the male’s gaze. He blended into the shadows, seemingly moments away from slipping into them and disappearing completely. But he politely nodded, his own shadows begging to swirl across the floor to greet you; you caught how he glared at the floor, restraining the tendrils of smoke in closer to him. Feyre threw him a small smile, noticing the action; you knew in that moment that she was mind-speaking to him, unable to miss the concentrated look on her face and the way his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. 
You dragged a stool over toward Feyre’s canvas, offering the male a cup of tea and a seat. Feyre cocked a brow at him, nodding in your direction, expectantly. He thanked you quietly for both, taking the small mug, the cobalt siphons adorning the back of his hand dimly flickering. Feyre continued - aloud - the conversation they were having about a Devlon somebody, throwing you a bright smile.
With that, you returned to your own easel, continuing your painting, suddenly very tempted to splash that bright blue color all over your canvas. 
He left soon after, offering you a polite nod of his head before slipping silently through the door. “That was Azriel,” Feyre called across the studio, continuing with her own work. “He’s not much of a talker,” she added. You’d met her mate, Morrigan, Cassian - even her sister Elain - all who had been much more chatty, even expressing interest in joining you both next time. Azriel, though, the first to simply be in and out, quieter than wind. 
To your surprise, though, he came to your shop the next day, strolling the aisles, admiring the variety of paints and charcoals you sold. How the male found your shop, you had to wonder, if it had been Feyre divulging the information, or if he simply knew as the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. It turned out to be the latter, and the male returned quite frequently to chat and have tea with you - much under the nose of his High Lord and Lady. 
You smiled to yourself at the memory, plucking a few brushes and extra paints from the shelves of your shop before heading outside into the cool winter air. The cool air bit into your exposed skin, nipping at the tops of your ears and neck. You trotted along the path of cobblestones, free from snow, unlike the passing rooftops and shop awnings. 
Feyre was already in the studio, setting up easels and stools in a circle in the center of the room. With a quiet good morning, you helped her, setting brushes and canvases along each station. After setting up, Feyre ran you through her plans for the evening, before stopping for a late lunch, in the little time left before her friends showed up.
____________
It was Rhysand who burst through the door first, Morrigan trailing closely behind. “Feyre, darling,” he called, taking a look around the studio, taking note of all the art along the walls. “Everything looks marvelous.” He held his son on his hip, the young bat bundled in layers of jackets and scarves, fast asleep in his father’s arms. 
“It does,” Mor nodded along, big eyes washing over the paintings in the wide space. She held up four bottles of wine, two in either hand, and held them out towards you. “You’ll be needing this, (Y/N),” the blonde laughed, seemingly well prepared for the evening ahead. 
“As long as nobody minds drinking from mugs,” you replied, taking the expensive looking bottles and placing them on the counter behind you, before digging through the cabinets for as many mugs as you could find. 
Elain and Lucien arrived next, both wrapped up in bright colored coats - Lucien a Spring-like green, Elaine a light pink - quick to hang them on the coat rack and join the four of you by the wine. Lucien moved to start a fire in the hearth across the room, noting how the temperature was dropping outside. Elain wanted a tour of the studio, asking questions about each of the pieces hanging along the walls. Most were Feyre’s, painting - as she explained - the awe inspiring moments from her life. While you had a few paintings littered around Feyre’s studio, the High Lady demanding your beautiful art be displayed, you normally opted to leave the more personal pieces at home. 
The door opened again, with a broad Cassian shuffling through the door behind Nesta - the female not looking too pleased to be there, but a tight smile pulled on her lips nonetheless. Her scarf was wrapped up her throat, her hair braided neatly along the crown of her head. A few snowflakes clung to the shoulders of their wool coats, signaling the beginning of the evening snowfall. The General was quick to usher the baby into his arms, who was about to start crying at the transfer from his father’s arms, but instead broke out to an adorable toothless smile at the sight of his uncle. 
Nesta was quiet, opting to take a seat on one of the stools, opening the book she had hidden under her coat. “She’s trying,” Feyre mumbled to you.
“She wanted to come support,” Cassian added, eyes not leaving the child in his arms, tickling him through layers of sweaters. “This was as much as I could get out of her.”
“It’s enough,” Elain added, glancing in the direction of the eldest Archeron, currently engrossed in her novel. 
“More than enough,” Feyre agreed, wrapping an arm around Elain. “I’m glad you’re both here.” A knowing look was exchanged between the sisters, a look of serenity, perhaps. Finally, after the war with Hybern, after years of fighting between the sisters, they had finally found their peace - a place of belonging for each of them. 
The door opened again, and just as quickly it closed, just long enough for a snowy shadowsinger to slip through. He ruffled a hand through his wet hair, shaking out the lingering snowflakes before dragging a hand through the wet strands. He shot you a small smile and a nod hello from the doorway, shifting his gaze when the others began to look in his direction. 
Conversation flowed, everyone enjoying small cups of wine and falling into their natural states, teasing each other and laughing at their playful comments. Azriel eventually moved his way through the group, finding you speaking with Lucien. The shadowsinger still wasn’t too fond of the red head, perhaps just him being a Vanserra was unsettling enough, but resisted every urge to snake his arm around you and smash his lips to yours. Perhaps just a glare was enough, though. 
Heat radiated off Azriel, his hazel eyes softened at the sight of you, hair messily upturned, blue dress covering the marks he knew still lingered on your skin. You continued the story you were telling Lucien, though glancing ever so frequently at the dark haired male beside you. Lucien’s eyes flitted momentarily between the two of you, if ever so briefly; you had been too distracted to notice, though Azriel narrowed his eyes slightly at the other male, perhaps to intimidate him, perhaps a warning. 
“Alright, everyone,” Feyre called, tapping the rim of her mug with her nail. “Thank you for all coming tonight. As you know I’ve been wanting to open up the studio for a while now, open it to those who can use it to cope. After the war, this is how I found my peace, where I could acknowledge what happened and embrace who it made me.” She shot a smile to her mate, who took her hand in his. Nyx, feeling left out on his parents’ moment, made grabby hands toward her. Cassian passed him along to his High Lady, the babe curling up to his mother immediately. “Tonight is the trial run, I’d like for everyone to paint what they feel.”
Elain cocked a brow at her mate, a nervous smile adorning her features. It was Cassian who spoke up, unsurprisingly. “What if we don’t feel anything?”
“If you’re a bad artist, just say that,” Mor teased into her mug, taking a large sip of wine afterwards. 
Lucien agreed. “I can’t channel my feelings,” he emphasized. “Through art.”
Feyre rolled her eyes. Rhys chimed in: “It’s meant for those who do.”
“If you don’t,” Feyre said. “Perhaps I can teach you, and we can go through the steps to at least try.”
Mumblings were shared through the group, the only one not uneasy about what was unfolding was Nesta, who simply was not paying attention. “I’ll model,” the High Lord offered, his wings suddenly appearing, unfurling slightly behind him. Nyx bubbled in laughter, his own wings flapping around in his mother’s arms. 
“With clothes, I hope,” Lucien grumbled, dropping down to one of the stools in front of the canvas, fumbling around with one of the brushes at his station. 
“As you wish, emissary,” Rhys grumbled, almost disappointed at his comment. You didn’t miss how the High Lord’s eyes flashed to his mate, a wicked glint in his eyes as her cheeks turned pink, an embarrassed smile crawling up on her lips. 
“Stop being disgusting,” Mor stated, smacking her cousin on the arm. Elain was quick to save baby Nyx from whatever was going on between the two of them, propping the babe on her lap as she positioned herself in front of a canvas next to Lucien. 
The rest followed suit, taking random seats throughout the studio. You stood at the counter, waiting for Feyre to begin. Rhys took a seat close to her, sitting up straight on the tall chair, head held high. She began with a soft grey paint, smearing some on her pallet before addressing her friends. “We��ll go through the basics of anatomy,” she began, swiping some paint on her thin brush. “You don’t have to paint Rhys, whoever you want, but the basics will start the same -”
“Actually,” Rhys interrupted. “Don’t paint me unless you’re going to do me justice.”
Mor rolled her eyes. “Can’t possibly paint your head larger than it actually is.”
With a stifled laugh, Feyre continued, painting a rough outline of shapes in the whitespace, circles and rectangles to build the portrait on. 
Azriel found the stool closest to you, staring blankly at the canvas. Hiding your smile, you rummaged through the cabinets in the corner, pulling out an old sketchbook and tray of charcoals. You placed them in front of Azriel - his shadows curled around your wrist - and his golden eyes drew up to yours immediately. He smiled in thanks, which you returned proudly before strutting back to your seat. While the male was not untalented with his hands, you knew he had a preference for the dark, messy charcoal.
“Paint someone you love,” Feyre continued, eyes not leaving the canvas. “That will make your painting stand out, no matter how skilled you are.” She continued her lesson, asking you to help answer questions her friends came across. You walked around the canvases, stopping only when Cassian called out to you with his hand raised. 
“I was going for like a light brown, but not beige, but it’s not really brown,” he rambled, holding up the mixture of colors on his pallet. His eyes were begging for help, moving back and forth from the crown of Nesta’s head back to your eyes. 
You nodded, taking the paints from his table, smearing some on the wooden board. “You need some yellow,” you replied, mixing some in with his brush. “If you don’t, you’ll just have white-brown.” You glanced at Nesta, blissfully engrossed in her book, turned away from her mate. “Don’t forget the depth, though. There’s also darker brown and blonde - light brown - ” you corrected. Cassian looked near helpless, but took a deep breath and delved right in, coating his brush in the new color and adding it in globs to the canvas.
“Lucien,” Elain teased from across the room. “I need some red, too - you can’t hog it all!” He laughed, emptying the remainder on his pallet before she could grab it from his hands. “What do you even need it for?”
“Don’t worry about it, flower,” he replied simply, mixing a large amount of white on the tray with the red. You strolled over, offering the middle Archeron a new tube of paint before the teasing could go on anymore. 
You found your seat, again, not daring to glance at Azreil’s sketch. He sat with the sketchbook propped on his lap, black charcoal smudged along the paper and his fingertips. His wings weren’t pressed up against his back, as Cassian and Rhys’s were, but instead unfurled slightly in your direction. His black hair curled over his forehead, hanging just in front of his eyes. The only thing keeping them out of his line of sight were his dark brown glasses, propped up carefully on that sharp nose. 
His eyes shot up in the direction of his High Lord, narrowing his eyes, clearly in thought directed towards his brother. Rhys smirked, continuing his silent conversation with the other male, stopping abruptly when Feyre’s hand smacked him on the shoulder. Her bright eyes caught yours - not so secretly giving away the topic of conversation. You cocked a brow at her, heat crawling up your cheeks. 
Cassian choked out a laugh, catching the Shadowsinger in his glasses. “Az, it seems you’re getting too old for the bunch of us.”
Azriel rolled his eyes, attention not drawn to his other brother, instead, his gaze fixed on the paper in his lap. “Maybe you need some glasses, too, brother. You’d be able to see that monstrosity of a portrait in front of you.”
Mor choked on her wine, leaning broadly on her stool to take a glance at Cassian’s painting. You stifled a laugh, having seen the work in front of him - a blotchy stick-figure of Nesta, a glob of brown paint atop her head, and two fairly large circles on her chest, not leaving much for interpretation. Cassian pushed Mor away, shielding his canvas with his wings. “Keep those shadows away from me,” he grumbled, turning his attention back to his painting.
“(Y/N) is,” Feyre began, eyes not drifting from her own work, adding some midnight blue details on her own portrait of her mate. “A fantastic artist, perhaps she can help you.” 
“Oh yes, (Y/N),” Cassian teased, eyeing his focused brother. “Since Azriel clearly doesn’t need assistance, perhaps you could come over here and - ”
Azriel’s head snapped up to glare at the General, enough to get him to stop in his tracks. “No,” he answered simply, sitting straighter, wings outstretched even further behind him. Cassian bit back a laugh as he dropped the subject, turning back to Nesta, still unphased by his ministrations and his portrait of her. 
Feyre and Rhys exchanged a look, but continued silently speaking, Feyre breaking every once and a while to direct the class, directing them to add details to their skin, eyes, and backgrounds. Azriel turned toward you, eyes shining behind those adorable glasses, shadows swirling around your arms, directing you to face him. He held the sheet out toward you with a small smile; his fingers were smudged with black, he had brushed them against his leathers to not smudge all over the paper as he handed it over. 
As you took the paper in your hands, you recognized the scene immediately: you propped up on the ledge of the window in your apartment, curtains flowing around behind you, a cup of hot cocoa held in your lap, steam curling around the rim. He added every detail, from your wispy strands of hair, to the texture of your skin, the crinkle of your thick socks. You recognized the sweater he drew you in - one of his, actually - the soft one you loved to steal, so large on you that you had to roll up the sleeves to use your hands. 
“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, nearly taken aback by the captivating drawings. You shouldn’t have been surprised, of course he could draw, with the attention to detail he had, how he was so observant - it made sense. You met Azriel’s loving gaze, returning the smile he gave you. 
Perhaps you’d have to take a page from Feyre’s book, telling Azriel it was your turn to draw him in charcoal - perhaps in the privacy of your own apartment, it could be a nude portrait. 
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persieee-yoohoo · 10 months
Text
Desiderium
Pair: Azriel x Reader
Word Count: 946
Warnings: spoilers for CC HoSaB (let me know if you come across anything else that needs to be flagged)
Summary: Days after Bryce Quinlan disappeared, leaving the chaos of Lunathion in her wake, you find yourself pulled into a dreamscape with a particular shadowsinger from the very world she’s gone to. Neither of you understand the mysterious force that summoned you together, and for once, you’re unsure if you really want the answers that lurk beneath the surface. With Hunt captured and your own branded halo of thorns marking you as a slave, meeting someone from a different world shouldn’t be worth the risk. But what if this shadowy figure that continues to haunt you in the space between being asleep and awake is your only chance at getting your friends back and righting the wrongs that have kept you shackled to higher beings?
Note: ao3 saw the first two chapters first lol also unedited
Also available: ao3
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The only prayer you said before going to bed that night was that you would dream of something kind, something that would take you away from the chaos of the world for just a few hours. Prayer wasn't something you gave into often, but with the weariness and exhaustion that had been weighing on you lately, you opened your heart to the old gods once more.
You held the smooth obsidian stone firmly in your hand as you whispered your prayer, lost to the wind through your bedroom window. Sleep found you and wrapped you in her embrace. She heard your prayers, but had something else in mind for what you needed in your current state of reaching a breaking point. You needed him.
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Whatever sleep you may have had was meant only for your body, as your mind was lost somewhere beyond Crescent City. But that didn't matter. What mattered most was the figure in front of you, completely enshrouded in shadows and darkness, in some unknown place beyond consciousness.
The mystery of obsidian darkness, much like the color of the stone that had been gifted to you only weeks before, stood opposite of you. Tendrils of shadow shifted across your field of vision, but it was hard to tell which shadows belonged to the figure and which belonged to the expansive void that surrounded them both.
Darkness wasn't unfamiliar to you, but fear still gnawed at the back of your mind. Questions flooded your thoughts: Where were you? Why weren't you in your bed? What was standing before you? Before your thoughts could consume you further, you reached out with a steady hand, moving slowly. You didn't know if the shadowy mass in front of you was friend or foe.
It was then, with your hand stretched out in front of you, inches away from touching whatever kept you company in that dreamscape, that you noticed what replaced your own physical body. Starlight burst from you, every curve and contour of your body glowing, leaving no visible trace of your malakh body behind. You looked like the star-born fae that you had spent months researching, a sparkling eruption. If you had bothered to look over your shoulder at your wings, you were sure that they too looked like glittering beams of light.
You couldn't look away though, not yet. Your eyes, lost behind the blinding light, were drawn to the shadows. They whispered, and you listened. The words they spoke, the languages that flowed amongst them, were lost on you, but they still attracted your attention. Your fingertips ached in desperation to reach out further, but a hand of absolute darkness shot out and gripped your wrist in a surprisingly strong hold. Whatever lurked beneath the shadowy surface in front of you was tangible, real.
"Who are you?" A low, husky voice filled the silence between you, but you didn't have the words to respond. "How did you summon me here?"
The deep voice sent a spidery tingle down your spine, and your disguised wings fluttered behind you on instinct. This was dangerous, yet you were rooted to your spot.
It might have been a lost cause to respond, since your words would probably be lost on this shrouded enigma just like theirs were on you, but you tried anyway. "I don't know what--I can't understand you." It wasn't much, but you certainly weren't going to offer up anything else before you knew giving more information wouldn't just lead to your wings being hacked off, or worse.
Despite your response, or lack thereof, the collection of shadows that held onto you quickly retreated. The loss of their restraint had you stumbling back, more from the shock of their realness than any force that would have kept you at their mercy. Before you could fall back and gracelessly land on your backside, a whoosh of air sounded from somewhere behind as you landed on a summoned armchair. You weren't sure where the aged-leather seat had come from, but the alternative of the solid blackness beneath your feet had you grateful.
Sitting down put you at a disadvantage, and you knew that you needed to push yourself back up. Death was always a promise, even in sleep or whatever lied between. You hadn't succumbed to Death's mercy yet, even with every odd working against you since the war, and you certainly wouldn't meet your end at the hands of a shadow.
Shooting up from your seated position, a new found burst of energy surpassing the exhaustion that had left an ache in your bones only seconds, minutes, hours before, you lunged towards the inky pit of moving shadows. You had decided for yourself that your companion was a foe, a smarter move than falling for whatever trap could've been planned. However, before you could even wrap your hands of bright starlight around the general vagueness of where a neck might be disguised in the shadows, you were pulled away and thrusted ack into your physical slumbering body.
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The next time you awoke, it was to light streaming in through your window and the sounds of a bustling city floating up to your apartment. You heard your feathered wings rustle behind you, and a flash of black told you that whatever had you lit up in your dream was gone. You were normal, and safe.
Well, as safe as you could be in your home with a crown of thorns permanently tattooed against your damp forehead and a stuttering heart that ached to return to the darkness.
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Part 2
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writingsbychlo · 1 year
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gossip | azriel
summary; feyre has her first visit to the night court and cassian just has to tell his best friends all of the gossip, even if it means interrupting their morning plans...
word count; 2951
notes; honesty, this was just a cute little mindless idea I had. no relevance or anything, honestly. dedicated to @azsazz.
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It was unusual that you were the first to rise in the mornings. Azriel’s shadows tended to wake him several times during the night, whether he wanted them to or not, with little alerts and updates, which only became more frequent in the mornings. This morning, however, was one of those rare times you were. One of the few times when the halls in the House of Wind were quiet, the street and roads at the bottom of the mountain silent, barely even a breeze blowing from outside or a bird chirping. 
Many times, your love had woken you with kisses and sweet words, rising you with the rays of the sun and sleepy smiles that threatened to shine even brighter, so it only felt fair to return that favour now. With one arm still slung over your waist, wings slumped happily behind him across the ridiculous expanse of the comfy, luxurious mattress, Azriel was a slight to behold. With tousled hair, lips forming a sweet pout, hardly visible freckles glowing in the morning sun and long lashes that fluttered with his dreams, he was like artwork. 
You only wished you were skilled enough to paint this, or knew somebody who could capture the image for you. Instead, it would live only in your memories.
Leaning close enough to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, it scrunched, twitching lightly in his sleep when you repeated the action, before moving to the cheek that wasn’t pressed into the pillows. A soft kiss right in the centre, one on his cheekbone under his eye, another over his brow. More kisses, several to follow across his forehead as he began to stir, up to his hairline as that pout became a soft smile. 
The sheets rustled around you both as he stretched, legs that had been tangled with yours flexing out to their full length, the hand that had been sitting idly over your body now pressing warm and flat to your lower back. He let out a grunt, a garbled sound that you were sure was supposed to resemble a ‘good morning’ of some kind, to gravelly and deep to make out. As your lips pressed again to his closed lids, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose and the tip, his hand from your back began a languid trail up your body and over your shoulder. 
As your lips met his warm cheek once again, long and calloused fingers pinched your jaw on either side, a strong grip, to tug your chin down until his lips met your own. The moment your mouths brushed, a soft sigh was leaving your lips, spilling across his own as his lashes now tickled your cheeks when he pressed in. Lazy and slow and sweet, his mouth moved over your own in deliberate strokes, his tongue sweeping an unhurried lick along the seam of your mouth. Another greeting, one of actions and not words, as his hand slipped back under the covers to squeeze at your hip encouragingly. 
You took a breath, barely, his lips dragging over your chin in hardly-formed kisses before your mouths were meeting again, his tongue sweeping happily into your mouth, and the groan he gave was swallowed by your gasp at a sensation that never grew old. Raising a hand to tangle into his hair, the covers dragged, your back now meeting the mattress as he rolled you over slowly, noses bumping together in uncoordinated and clumsy movements, the glorious haze of sleep still clinging to you both like the warmth of whiskey on hazy nights at Rita’s. It was like being drunk, utterly intoxicated on one another. 
Azriel’s mouth detached from your own, a series of kisses growing wetter and hotter as they were trailed across your jaw, your neck, one of Azriel’s thick thighs slotting between your own as he shifted full over you now. Whispered words that ranged from ‘good morning’ to ‘you’re beautiful’, whispered into your skin like reverent praises, like holy prayers, even though everything on his lips sounded like sin. 
With a single sharp tug on his hair, his head rose up, glistening and swollen lips parted for shallow breaths, honey-eyes shallowed entirely by the dark as his gaze met your own, knowing exactly what you wanted. Surging forward, your mouths collided once again, your whimpers crashing against his breathy moans, his weight all but collapsing down against you and wings flaring as your bodies pressed together. 
It was hot, and tender, and needy, the hand that wasn’t holding him up now sliding over your hip, down over your bare thigh, to hitch it up around his waist for his body to slot between and-
“Good morning!”
A yelp almost tore from your lips, a spike of adrenaline setting your heart racing for an entirely different reason. You recognised that overly enthusiastic chirp, the deep and rumbling voice it had come from, and Azriel’s usual frown was replaced by a menacing scowl, as he reluctantly rolled his body off of your own, draping a wing over you as he shifted to sit propped-up at your side instead. He barely had time to retract that wing any further before Cassian was all but throwing himself down onto the bed beside you both. 
“Get out.” It was the first real, discernible words Azriel had spoken yet this morning, not including the ones he’d whispered into your skin minutes prior, and a snicker of a laugh left your lips. 
“How are my two favourite sickeningly in-love best friends doing, this morning?” Cassian crossed his legs at the ankles, obviously far too comfy as he toed off his slippers, still clad in his own pyjamas. You raised a brow, and Azriel only growled a menacing sound. 
“Get out.”
“Oh, Az,” Cassian tutted, and you sighed, hauling yourself up from where you’d been lay in the pillows to sit a little more comfortably, leaning forwards long enough to let Azriel begin to situate himself first. It was clear that the General had no intentions of leaving any time soon. “I’m just preparing you for what it’ll be like when you two eventually have kids.”
“No, because my kids will be well-trained.” As he settled comfortably, one arm looped around your shoulders, over your collar to tug you back into his body, stretching out across the pillows, and the other landed on your thigh under the covers. A reassuring squeeze, a stroke of his hand above your knee. You smiled. “My kids will know not to burst into the room when daddy is lay on top of mommy, or else he’ll be in a bad mood all day.”
“Nope.” Cassian offered no explanation, popping the ‘p’ just to rib Azriel a little more. “Don’t care, and neither will your kids.” He shifted, your eyes widening a little as Cassian snuggled down happily, fluffing the pillows behind his body and tucking his legs under the covers, tugging on them until he could get enough from you both to cover himself. 
“Cass, why are you in our bed?” You questioned, your friend’s head turning to you both, a wicked glint of mischief and excitement in his eyes.
“Well, you two were taking too long to invite me into it, so I invited myself.” He wiggled his brows teasingly, your laughter bouncing off of the walls. Azriel’s hand slipped back up from the cushions, cupping over your mouth to muffle your amusement as he tipped your head back onto his shoulder.
“Stop laughing, you’ll encourage him. He’s like a rash, he’ll keep coming back.” That only furthered your amusement, and despite his groan, a flare of matching entertainment from him tugged in your chest, and he placed a kiss on your temple, before slipping his hand away from your mouth. “So, why are you here, ruining our morning?”
“I happen to have some very important information, and I thought the spymaster of the court ought to know about it.”
“You’re here to gossip.” Azriel deadpanned, dropping his head down until his nose was brushing your hair, to hide the smile you knew he would be wearing. Despite all his constant complaining and the tone of his voice, Azriel loved gossip. 
“Precisely.” Cassian seemed to know it just as much as you did, because as he shuffled onto his side, head supported on his fist as his elbow dug into the pillows, Az’s grip on your thigh tightened subconsciously with excitement. “It’s gossip about our beloved High Lord.”
“Even juicer.” You settled a little further back into your lover’s chest, his lips brushing a series of soft kisses along your temple as you did, both of your attentions now fixed gleefully and expectantly on your unexpected guest.
“So, today Rhys had told me to ensure my evening was free, because he wanted me to stop by so we could crack open a few bottles of his best whiskey and get, in his words, ‘rip-roaringly drunk’. He didn’t say way, I figured he’d just tell me when I got there, so-”
“Why wasn’t I invited?”
“Shh.” You mumbled, already invested in the story just from the sheer enthusiasm Cassian was telling with, and you received a pinch to your thigh in response, a giggle falling from your lips as you slapped his hand away from over the top of the covers.
“As I was saying,” He huffed, and Azriel didn’t bother to interrupt again. “So, I was just minding my own business, on my way to get some breakfast and try to plan what to do with the day before that, when Rhys shows up in my bedroom.”
“His poor eyes, your morning hair looks like a bird’s nest.” You muttered.
“His poor nose, your morning breath is awful.” Your friend only shot a growl at both you and Azriel, even as you reached out to pat down some of the ridiculously messy locks of hair that were tangled atop his head.
“I doubt he even noticed, because he was freaking out. He was frantic, like I’ve never seen him. He all but threw a suitcase at me and told me to pack a week’s worth of stuff and to come get you guys, before giving this weird, patchy speech about why.” Cass shrugged, your brows shooting up your forehead as he just stopped talking.
“Well? What was the speech?” The words burst out of Azriel behind you, as though he’d read your mind, both of you pinning him with matching stares as you awaited more.
“Something about a wedding and a bargain and finally having his shot. All I know is that we have to clear out for a week to the townhouse.”
“Oh, my Gods..” The puzzle pieces all seemed to click together, your mind whirring into action as your sleep-addled brain started to catch up with the day. “Feyre, the girl Rhys made a bargain with. The Cursebreaker. He never cashed in on that bargain, I never really questioned it because it’s been so busy around here since he got back. But, she’s marrying Tamlin. Today.”
Cassian’s jaw dropped into a wide O-shape, thick brows shooting up, and the rumble of Azriel’s contemplative hum buzzed against your chest. Dipping down, he left a soft kiss in the crook of your neck, and another over the shell of your ear, just to mumble; “It’s hot when you do clever spy work and deduction, my love.”
“Stop flirting! I haven’t even gotten to the best part of the story yet!” 
“Well, hurry up, then! You’re gonna’ fucking kill us.”
“So, I packed my bag and all, and I was on my way down to see you both when I heard shouting. I investigated, and you’re right. I have never seen such a hideous wedding dress. It was all ruffles and puffed-up lace and she had these gloves on.” Cassian pulled a face, his nose scrunching up as he recalled whatever monstrosity the poor girl had likely been forced into for a big Spring Court tradition. “She was arguing with Rhys for finally coming to cash in the bargain, and then when he walked away from her, she took off her shoe and threw it at him.”
“Mother above..”
“Did it hit him?” There was something hilariously cheeky laced through Azriel’s question, the kind of joy only true brothers can get at the idea of one another being hit by flying footwear.
“Right on the back of the head.”
“Good shot. Go Feyre.” Cassian only laughed his agreement, and you huffed, shuffling onto your side to press a little further into the warmth of your mate’s body, the chill in the air from Cassian’s constant shuffling was making a breeze sweep in under the covers. “Twenty gold marks says they’re fucking by the end of the year.” 
The vibrations of his voice were a steady thrum under your cheek on his chest, and you swatted idly at his side, a scoff tumbling from your lips as your eyes closed happily once again. Cassian’s laughter only boomed, and he cupped a hand over his mouth to muffle it, not wanting to give his presence away to Feyre, wherever she was currently hiding out in the mountaintop palace you all called home.
“They won’t be fucking!” Azriel’s laughter was hidden in your hair as he dipped his head down, arms tightening around your body to squeeze you close as he shook beneath you in amusement. “It was literally her wedding day! To Tamlin! Gods, what a mess that’ll be when she goes back… What do you think will happen?”
You couldn't help it, slipping into a slight bit of gossip and hypothesising; Cassian had always been so good at dragging this devious side out of you both. It was shameful, really. It was even more shameful how much you secretly loved it. The two males fell silent around you, mulling it over slowly, and you could practically feel the energy change in the room, picturing Cassian’s shit-eating grin before he even spoke. 
“Forty gold marks says they’re fucking within three months.”
Azriel broke out in fits of very un-warrior-like hysterics with his best friend once again, bursts of joyous laughter filling your chest and plucking the bond with so much warmth that eventually giggles fell from your own lips too. “You two are awful.”
“Oh, c’mon, my love…” Azriel places a sweet kiss on the edge of your temple, smoothing one hand up and down your spine, twice, before resting it again just above the curve of your ass under the covers. “Think of the fantastic date we’ll be going on with Cassian’s money when he loses.”
“When you put it like that…” 
“Oh, my. Where will we be going on this fancy date?” The bubble popped once again, with Cassian holding the metaphorical needle, wielded proudly like the greatest sword.
“Somewhere you’ll never find us.” He scoffed at Azriel’s words, and you twisted enough to press a kiss over the thudding heart contained under golden skin and thick muscles where you rested. 
“Don’t be so mean to me! I’ve already been made temporarily homeless, and now you’re rejecting me? I can’t bear it.” He folded his wings in tight, only shuffling down even more into the pillows that you’d once called your side of the bed, now resting happily atop Azriel as you crowded into his side.
“So, you’re not leaving, then?” You fired back.
“Preferably now,” Azriel added with a mutter, fingers inching a few millimetres further down, just enough to hint to you that he had absolutely not forgotten your activities before Cassian had arrived.
“Of course not. I’m not going anywhere.” Twin groans from you and Azriel made Cassian laugh. Finally, you turned back to face him, eyes cracking open to observe. He was now laying on his back, settled in and looking cosier than ever amongst the blankets and pillows, truly and completely making himself at home. Uninvited. “Can’t go anywhere ‘til Rhys says we’re clear of bumping into the Cursebreaker in the halls. Then, we all get kicked out to stay at the Town House for a week. Doesn’t that sound great? Might as well get used to it, it’ll be fun!”
His tone change at ‘fun’ had Azriel’s breath holding in his chest, eyes narrowing at Cassian’s wiggling brows, and your stomach dropped at the thought. 
“We’re not gonna’ have any alone time for a whole week.” Azriel was exasperated, as though finally realising that it wasn’t going to happen, his hand sliding back up to sit at a safe space. All the way up, until he was threading it into your hair instead, fingertips kneading your scalp subconsciously.
“I have nothing to do except make sure that by this time next week, your balls are so blue they could disappear in the night sky, Az.”
Your mate’s body tightened fractionally underneath you at the threat, squirming a little as though he could already feel the frustration and cock-blocking his best friend would unleash upon him. Cassian, the complete opposite, was looking ridiculously proud of himself, and you hoped your smile at the pair’s antics wasn’t showing.
“Don’t worry, Az,” You reached up, dragging a finger down your lovers’ jaw, his fingers twitching on your body as you did. Layering on the seduction in your voice, just to make a point, “I’ll take real good care of your balls, honey.”
His head twisted, nipping at the tip of your finger playfully, and Cassian made a show of clearing his throat in a rather disgusting and pointed series of spluttering coughs.
“So, who wants to hear about the time my big toe got infected because of a splinter?”
3K notes · View notes
cottontears · 10 months
Note
Please please please
P: #43 & #47 with C: #3
(Or if not both then just 47 with Azzie please)
high, high, neglectful lover
ೃ⁀➷ azriel x afab reader
ೃ⁀➷ word count: 1.8k+
ೃ⁀➷ a/n: i updated my prompts so i forgot which was which, since this is an old request, but i remember it being sex pollen, and size difference, or something similar, so i hope this is what you wanted, and so sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy! thank you for the wait love <3
ೃ⁀➷ warnings: aphrodisiacs/sex pollen, barely mentioned size differnece, p in v unprotected, hand job, slightly sub azriel, nonverbal azriel, only one cave/only one cot, oh no! no fire! don't worry body heat is here to save you!.
ೃ⁀➷ please reblog & leave a comment with your thoughts 🫶🏻
╰➤ linktree ╰➤ pinterest╰➤ requests: open check rules
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your legs burned as you made the trek up the mountain. flushed skin cooled by a soft drizzle of rain.
you were on a mission with the shadowsinger. to do what? you did not know. you were not paying attention when your high lord went over the details. your eyes glazed over with boredom. fingers drumming against your thigh. 
now said thigh was burning with excretion. you stared at the shadowsinger’s ass as his legs moved and progressed. his wings would twitch once in a while. 
it was a silent mission. your communication mostly wordless, but sometimes he missed the sound of your voice.
“azriel?”
he froze. his head turning slightly to look back at you.
“how come we aren’t using those wings of yours to cover more ground faster?” you panted.
the corners of his mouth twitched.
“weren’t you listening to rhysand? the plant we need to find camouflages easily… you do know we are looking for a plant?”
“a plant?” you furrowed your brows.
“yes, amren wanted it for something.”
“for what?”
“do you never listen during our meetings?” this time his lips pursed to keep from smiling.
“no. can’t be bothered.”
he hummed. he looked up at the cloudy sky, the fall of water had become less of a drizzle and more of rain.
azriel always wondered where your pretty brain went during the meetings with the inner circle. you would sit in a corner and stare. out a window, up to the ceiling, down into your lap. your eyes glazed over and pretty lips stretched in a faint smile.
he was always frustrated over the way he couldn’t smell you. no one could. you had a distinct scent. not wholly fae. but no one could smell your emotions. which was highly disconcerting. 
no one could smell your emotions, and it was something you took advantage of. spending your time daydreaming of the shadow singer.
it was getting late. you made note of that out loud. you also made note of the heavy rain.
“how about we find somewhere to rest for the night?”
he gave you a curt nod.
the cave you found was relatively small.
you shuddered, your freezing drenched clothes clinging to your clammy skin. your lips were numb. azriel set up camp, unloading the small bags you each carried, and making a makeshift cot, the bags enhanced to be larger on the inside than on the outside. just enough stuff to make one comfortable cot, just big enough for one illyrian, not that he was going to use it, but still you would be comfortable.
“should i make a fire?” you raised your palms, preparing to call upon your magic. calloused scarred covered yours. 
“no!” his voice was rough, you flinched, and he coughed, “no fires. please.” his voice whiny. eyes pleading, glistening in the last rays of sun that slipped into the cave, bouncing around softly, creating a buttery glow.
“okay. no fires. but we can’t stay idle in winter, we will get frostbite” your voice shook with cold. 
he felt guilty. you looked so delicate and breakable. your skin losing color. lips trembling, chin wobbling.
“look, please don’t be embarrassed, i don’t want you to freeze, but i can’t deal with a fire right now.”
thankfully you did not prod. “what do you suggest?” you stammered.
he flushed, you could hear his heartbeat accelerate. 
you smirked. “azriel? are you suggesting body heat?”
he could not form words, just barely managing to nod.
you nodded. rushing to take your clothes off. hands fumbling with the buckles and buttons.
from the corner of your eye, you could see his figure, shadows enveloping the cave in seconds as the sun was submerged into the horizon.
you had an impulsive thought to ask him for help, but his heart was beating fast, and you could smell his nerves. 
you removed everything except your underclothes. which hid nothing, thin and wet.
“azriel!” you pleaded. that got him out of his trance. he rushed to take his clothes off. 
averting your gaze you noticed a glint of light in the corner of your eye, you moved towards it. it was some flowers. you smiled and went to pluck them.
“no! don’t-” but it was too late.
as soon as you plucked the stem, the flowers all exploded in tandem, releasing powder into the air, it traveled fast. azriel covered his mouth but it was too late.
“fuck!” his full body froze. 
“what is it azriel?”
“that’s the plant! it is a powerful aphrodisiac!”
you sniffed, “i don’t feel any different.”
“you are not fae.” his words were gritted out. he rushed to put on his clothes. his wings expanding and contracting in rushed intervals.
“no! you aren’t going anywhere!”
“it wasn’t supposed to be like this!” he panted. 
“like what?”
“i wanted time, i want time with you!”
you grinned. you knew it was not the time. but the fae of your daydreams was revealing his feelings for you.
“with me?”
he felt hot. his skin burned. his cock pounded with the need to be buried inside you. he was lost in a haze of need, he was not filtering the words coming out of his mouth. “i wanted time to get to know you, court you, and make you mine. i wanted to take you to a huge comfortable bed. i wanted to be good to you. i don’t want to force or coerce you out of pity.”
“who said anything about coercion azriel? what do you think i daydream about during all those meetings?”
he could barely process the words, but something inside him told him to pay attention.
his cock ached. he palmed his erection, but it did more harm than good.
“kneel in the cot, i don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” his wings were tight. you had always wanted to touch them. his breaths were shallow and quick, he could not get enough air into his lungs. 
you stepped close behind him. skin ghosting his wings,
you threaded your fingers into his soft wet hair, nails scraping his scalp. he let out a guttural moan. his fists were clenched on his thighs. cock twitching, and leaking. burning with need. you ran a finger down his back, index finger tracing his sensitive skin.
he shuddered and moaned loudly, his cock heavy and aching.
“that feels good az?”
he nodded, not trusting himself to form words, he bit the inside of his cheek, keeping himself from making embarrassing noises.
“come on shadow singer, sing for me.” you splayed your hands out, and ran them over the sensitive skin of his wings
he could not stop himself from crying out, trembling. he could not make any words come out of his mouth.
he was moaning and gasping, so close to coming, not having even kissed you. he did not want to be done so quickly.
you leaned in bending softly at the waist so your lips met his neck.
his climax was quick. rope of come painting his abdomen. his full body shook. but he was nowhere near satisfied. 
he was absolutely in love with you, he did not know how to tell you, he could not speak, he just looked at you, as you walked around him and held his face in your hands. 
you swiped your thumbs under his eyes, stray tears he had not noticed swiped away softly.
your eyes met his in the dark. you fell to your knees infront of him on the makeshift cot.
your arm wrapped around his neck. the other reaching down to wrap your hand around his throbbing cock.
his jaw slackened as his hips canted. chasing your hand. your thighs tangled with his. your lips met his softly. slow. a satisfying juxtaposition to the speed of your hand. his hips jerked and spasmed. 
he could not kiss you back from the all-consuming pleasure. you nibbled on his bottom lip.
he wanted to beg and plead, but his brain could form no words. normally that would make him anxious, but you seemed to get him. he did not need to speak so much around you.
besides, you spoke enough for both of you. and there was nothing that sounded as beautiful as your voice.
“so pretty azriel. you don’t know how it feels to have you like this. writhing with pleasure. giving you such pleasure you cannot form words. but that’s okay. i know what you want. i can see it in your eyes.”
he trembled, ass falling to rest on his heels.
you spread your legs, shuffling to slide one thigh over his hips. his change in position making it easier for your hips to meet.
he moaned and gasped, so close, his tip not even fully inside you.
one of your legs wrapped around his waist, opening up your cunt. your hands around his neck. he palmed your ass with both scarred hands.
you sighed in pleasure.
you sank in, enveloping him. he was deliciously big, stretching you, making your walls burn and clench. pussy gushing with pleasure. his hands pulled your hips closer unconsciously. you kissed his neck. 
he toppled you over so you layed on your back.
his jaw was slack, your walls tight around him. his dick ached and throbbed with the need to move. 
and move he did. he slid a hand between your bodies as he thrust in and out, half a mind to look for your bundle of nerves to make you feel as good as he did. you screamed and clenched so hard around him he saw white.
shadows twisted and twirled dancing over your skin. covering your limbs. ghosting over your nipples. 
selfish little things, they also wanted a piece of you. your nipples pebbled and you felt warmth build in your core. you screamed as his blunt nail scraped your clit softly. orgasm sneaking up on you. you made a mess of the cot. providing slickness, making it easier for him to pound into you faster. you scraped your nails on his back, bit into his neck, so hard you tasted blood. 
he froze inside you, body shaking softly as he came. his moans were delicious.
you were delicious, and now some part of him would always be inside you.
and maybe, he could make you his permanently with his come.
as if reading his thoughts, your legs tightened around his hips. he was still slightly hard. sensitive. but there was no way in hell he was going to pull out. 
he spread his wings. ran his hands up your sides.
he still could not speak.
but you knew. you always knew. you could understand how he felt, how he burned for you. 
you were perfect and he was exhausted. you pulled him closer into your arms, his full weight on you. you could barely breathe. but his body on yours was heavenly.
he closed his eyes and felt himself lose consciousness. dick pounding softly inside your sticky cunt.
“me too azriel. me too.”
583 notes · View notes
azsazz · 1 year
Text
Lips of an Angel (Part 2)
Azriel x Reader
Summary: Part 2 to Lips of an Angel per the request of many. The OG request came from @eddiesbixch696 : This randomly came to me because the song came on the radio but an absolute angst fest of an Azriel fic based on the song Lips of Angel by Hinder. The whole “my girl is in the next room but sometimes I wish she was you” lyric as he watches Elain. Ugh I love breaking my own heart sometimes 😭
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 3,512
[Part 1]
_________________________________________
This winter is one of the most bitter he’s experienced in Velaris. Or maybe it’s just him, his feelings as of late, the cold and empty cavern that is his heart without you, his thoughts wandering towards the female he’d left behind for the one who he’d thought would be his end all be all.
He turned out to be so fucking wrong about Elain.
She’s at dinner with the rest of the Inner Circle but Azriel had chosen not to go. She’d begged him, tugged on his arm and gave him that doe-eyed look that normally would have him giving in to any of her demands. Now it just makes him grimace. 
He could hardly think about eating with the guilty thoughts swirling through his mind, consuming him completely.
What is wrong with him? He wanted Elain, and he had got it, at the price of hurting you. Azriel hadn’t seen a glimpse of you or heard a whisper about you in years. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were even still in town, how you’re doing now. 
He’s been distancing himself as of late, and if the middle Archeron sister has any worries about it, she didn’t voice them to him. It’s hard to be around her when all he does is compare everything she does to you. They way she hugs him with her arms around his neck, staring up into his eyes when you would wrap your arms around his middle and burrow your head into the crook of his neck. The way that she goes on and on, needing to fill any and all silence with stories and anecdotes, whereas with you, the two of you could just enjoy each other’s company, no words needed.
He’d hardly been coming to bed, unable to sleep because of the constant running thoughts of his ex. The drink he usually had was more like a bottle, but did nothing to aid his insomnia. Flying didn’t seem to help either, nor sparring. It’s like all his favorite things had been tainted with the thought of you, in his arms gliding over the city or the smile on your face when you’d landed your first strike on him with the practice sword after six months of giving it your all.
Azriel doubted you’d kept up on your training after he’d ended things.
When he was able to get a few minutes of shut eye it was when he was away and could hold the necklace you’d left behind in his hand. His only reminder that you were ever really his to begin with.
It was the only thing he’d had left of you. You must’ve dropped it behind the dresser some time before you’d cleared the home of your things and he’d found it when Elain had wanted to move the furniture around in his room. Something about a more peaceful mind, if the bed was slid to the wall that didn’t face the door. He’d caught sight of the gleaming metal and tucked it away before she noticed.
He’d tried to regift it. First to Gwyn, because he still wanted to see it, gleaming, wrapped around another pretty neck. He’d gone so far as to give it to Clotho before promptly asking for it back thirty minutes later with crimson cheeks and a heavy heart.
He’d even thought about giving it to Elain for a special occasion. Surely she wouldn’t even know that it used to be yours. He’d imagined mouthing at the pendant hanging between your breasts every time you wore it. He hadn’t had the gall to give it to Elain.
So Azriel had hid it in a secret drawer of his desk after that, promptly forgetting about it because he’d been so enthralled with the breath of fresh air that was Elain.
He doesn't know what he’s doing in the city. Usually he opts for a long flight or time off in a different court, hoping that the warm sun of Summer would burn his feelings away or the fresh breezes of Autumn would clear his head.
But he’s here, shrunk down into his coat because he hadn’t thought to put a hat on, the bitter winds kissing his cheeks and neck annoyingly, and it reminds him of you. Of course it does, because he can’t seem to stop thinking about you, the way you’d always press your freezing fingers up under his shirt for warmth on a cold day.
Azriel’s hair keeps getting blown into his eyes and as much as he tries to shove it back it only slaps right back. He needs to get it cut but doesn’t even have the energy to do that, with everything going on in his mind lately.
He blinks harshly at the tendrils poking his eyes. He stumbles slightly, a strand stuck, and he’s trying to claw at it while grumbling, not quite watching where he’s going because he assumes that everyone will give him a wide berth like they always do–
He runs straight into someone, stumbling back as he frees the piece of hair from his eye. He blinks, an apology already rolling off the tip of his tongue when he realizes exactly who stands before him–
He’d forgotten how perfect you were.
An angel in the flesh.
“Azriel,” you breathe, stunned, and it makes his heart fracture in his chest.
You’re not alone like he wished you would be when he’d thought about all of the times this could happen, should he be so lucky. There’s a child with you, immediately tucking behind your leg at his appearance.
“(Y/N)...It’s really good to hear your voice,” he forces around the thickness in his throat. Saying my name goes unsaid.
Azriel can’t stop looking down at the little boy, hiding behind his mother’s leg. You’ve got a protective hand curled around his thick knit hat, the other clasping a to-go mug of what he scents as hot cocoa from the best bakery in Velaris. The one they used to frequent together, though he always remembered that you were more of a warm cider kind of female. Oh how you’ve changed.
It’s clear the babe is nervous, by the way he keeps tugging on the bottom of your coat. You don’t hesitate, hauling the little boy into your arms even with a hand full.
Azriel’s breath catches and his heart hammers in his chest because there’s tiny wings poking out of the child's fluffy coat.
“This is Wren,” you introduce awkwardly, shifting on your feet anxiously.
He looks closer now, noting how he’s around three or four, from what he can tell, and his heart aches because surely there is only one explanation for this. There's a burning in his chest, even though he knows he shouldn’t feel this way, that he’d moved on even quicker.
Those eyes…
Azriel’s brows furrow, his mouth parting but no words come out. His mind is whirling because Wren’s eyes are a mirror of his own and the longer he looks the more he can see himself in the child. The natural downturn of his mouth, almost apathetic in appearance, his wide eyes, lids lowered a touch over his perfectly round irises - the most stoic child he’s ever seen.
His eyes are glued to the small boy. He has your nose, your ruddy cheeks that nearly give every emotion you’re feeling away. Your cheeks are red right now, in fact. He’s sure that if he tugged the hat off of the child’s head all he’d see is inky black hair.
“Is he–” 
There’s no way he’s not.
You’re quick to intervene, pressing your wrist over the boy's ear and leaning his head into your shoulder, blocking out your response from his tiny ears. “Yes, he is.”
Everything freezes. The snow fluttering down pauses its tracks, the wind is no longer a nuisance brushing the back of his neck with cold fingers, all of the sounds of the bustling city are drowned out by the ringing in his ears.
His hand twitches, lifting as if to touch the child, make sure he’s real, maybe pull that hat off after all. He knows that you’re telling the truth, you were never one to lie about anything, would rather suffer the consequences than talk your way out of it.
But this…
You turn, shifting away from the hand that’s reaching out.
Azriel flinches, arm falling back to his side. He physically cannot look anywhere else besides his son, who seems perfectly content in your arms, head shoved where your neck meets your shoulder. His gloved fingers clutch tightly to your jacket but his wide hazel eyes stay locked on male in front of him.
A punch in the gut is all he feels as he nearly collapses under the child’s gaze. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, the pulse that has his neck throbbing. There’s a dull ache inside of him, a numb feeling humming around his hollow chest where he wishes your mating bond would lie. Countless nights he’d prayed to the Mother to tether the two of you together - each night had without answer. 
He never prays for Elain.
“He doesn’t know,” you admit, and it burns your throat like acid. You hadn’t had the guts to tell Wren that his father had broken your heart into a million pieces a few nights before you found out that you were pregnant. 
You hadn’t had the heart to tell Azriel either.
Hadn’t thought it necessary, as he was perfectly happy with Elain while you were slowly putting yourself back together for the babe growing inside of you. You were determined not to let Azriel affect your life from then on, and it had been hard, but you’d finally gotten that feeling shoved so deep down inside of you you could pretend that you were okay, for Wren.
You hadn’t been expecting to run into Azriel ever again, and now that he’s standing in front of you, that part of your chest has been blown wide open.
He nearly looks the same as he did that night years ago. Hair disheveled from the winds, never thinking to bring a hat with him when his mind was awry, like he didn’t deserve to be warm. His eyes had dark rings around them much like they do now, the hazel color shroud by shadows, like the ones wrapped around his legs, the same way Wren had cuddled into yours before you’d picked him up.
His lips are chapped from the cold and even from beneath his thick coat you can tell that he hasn’t been eating well, sleeping either. Something awful must be going on. 
He’d seemed so much happier with Elain that day he left. 
You don’t have the heart to wonder what must have happened. 
But as much as you want to ask, it’s no longer your place. You shouldn’t care about the male before you, eyes looking so painfully similar to your sons, it was hard not to think about Azriel every time you looked at Wren, even with the wings to match.
He nods once, finally breaking contact with the mini version of himself. He swallows and it hurts, there’s a lump of emotion caught in his throat because he hadn’t been prepared to run into you out and about in the city after years of not seeing you, but now he has a child. A child that doesn’t know him from the next male walking down the street.
He’s not sure what to say, what he can say. I’m sorry doesn’t seem good enough. I still love you won’t have an effect on the female who surely doesn’t believe that could be true.
He startles when a figure draws closer. He had been so caught up in what was going on before him that he hadn’t noticed the approaching male or heard his shadows repeating the information to him.
The male stops next to you, catching your attention with a hand on your lower back. He immediately senses something wrong when you look up at him with a forced smile. His mouth turns into a frown, emerald gaze taking in the shadowsinger standing across from you, immediately recognizing him.
“Azriel,” and there’s your fucking perfect mouth speaking his name. His heart still leaps in his chest when you do, and he wonders how he ever could’ve been so stupid as to choose Elain over you. “This is Malik.”
The man nods at him, eyes sparking with an emotion that’s gone before even Azriel can pick it up, so he responds the same, tilting his head but offering no words to the male who’s stepped up beside you.
He watches the male beside you with his spymaster’s eye. The one that’s kissed your cheek and has a hand caressing your back, when it should be him who’s doing that. It should be him who Wren is reaching out to.
“Daddy,” Wren smiles, and Azriel’s heart twists in his chest, splits down the center at the utter confidence in his son’s voice, claiming this male to be his father.
Malik is…handsome, Azriel supposes, in his own way.
Azriel studies him and finds that the male his son is calling his father looks quite similar to him. Dark hair shoved under a matching knit cap, thick lashes dusted with snow, fluttering over his piercing green eyes. Instead of lines around his mouth from centuries of frowning he has them by his eyes, like he’s the happiest male on the planet.
If he’s truly with (Y/N), he is.
“Would you mind giving us a minute, Malik?” you request gently, passing the babe over. The male gives you a soft smile that makes the fire in Azriel’s stomach grow. He watches Malik lean down to press a chaste kiss on your cheek, and Azriel doesn’t miss the way that you lean into it before flinching back, turning your guilty gaze on him like he’d just caught you cheating.
No, it had been the other way around, hadn’t it?
“Mommy?” Wren questions with a glance towards Azriel. He stretches his wings out behind him and Azriel’s eyes prick with emotion, seeing wings so little. 
Wren is already so much like his father, with his dark hair and pouty frown, gleaming eyes and controlled temper. But those tiny wings hurt you that much more.
A not so subtle reminder to Azriel of all of the flaws he passed down to his son. Never a babe with Elain, though. The children he used to imagine all had your eyes and smile, your calming aura and beautiful laugh. He’d never thought his son would be a spitting image of him, with his hair, his eyes, his nose, his wings.
“I’ll be right there baby,” you reassure, passing your cup of cocoa to Malik. Azriel watches the brush of your fingers against his and his throat clogs with emotion. The skin of his hand is flawless, smooth and stretching across muscle and bone, nothing like his, marred with callouses and scars.
“It was nice to meet you, Azriel,” Malik says in that low voice, one that Azriel would feel like is completely genuine if he weren’t kissing his (Y/N) and holding his son.
“Likewise,” he answers stiffly because he doesn’t want to upset you. He’d done enough of that.
Wren doesn’t say anything as they depart, keeping his big hazel eyes on Azriels. They widen slightly when his gaze brushes over his wings but he’s not as impressed as Azriel would’ve thought, and he doesn’t know why the response doesn’t sit well with him.
“I know you must have a lot of questions,” you begin when they’re out of earshot.
“I do.”
“And I know that,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut for a breath while you twist your fingers together. You’re nervous. Hadn’t planned on telling him ever, and now that he’s seen Wren up close there’s no denying it now.
Of course you’d thought this day might come, but now, every scenario you’d thought thorough in your head disappears.
“He doesn’t know,” Azriel states again because all of this seems like a dream gone rogue. He wonders if he’s somehow slipped into an unconscious state, a lucid dream perhaps, which didn’t seem unlikely because he hasn’t been sleeping lately.
“No,” you agree, “And I don’t want him to.”
His head snaps up, mouth parted in disbelief. He’s ready to argue, slipping so easily back into the way he was right before he’d ended things, emotional and utterly a wreck.
You speak before any words can escape, “Whatever it is you’re going to say, don’t. You have no say in my son's life. You gave that up when you gave me up.”
“I didn’t even know you were pregnant.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Azriel stays silent.
Your voice is thick when you respond and he hates that he’s made you feel like this again. 
“Exactly.”
He doesn’t even know what to say. There are so many questions racing through his mind he doesn’t even know where to start so he just blurts out the first thought his tongue grabs onto.
“Who’s going to teach him to fly?”
“Rhys said that he would,” you answer, and the flicker of anger that cuts across his eyes tells you that he hadn’t been aware his brother knew he had a child. The muscle in his jaw ticks and his shadows sweep around his feet now, just like they always do when he’s upset. “He’s taking care of us.”
Azriel needs to calm down, he knows he does, but he feels completely blindsided by his own brother right now that he doesn’t know what to do. He’s torn between winnowing right up to the River House to give Rhys a piece of his mind or jumping up into the air to release all of the rage and sadness that’s consumed him tenfold.
He’s taking care of us.
Azriel should be the one taking care of you.
“He knows?” His voice is deathly calm and it sends shivers up your spine. 
It’s why Wren didn’t look impressed by his wings. Because he has seen Rhys’ before.
His shadows are whipping around erratically and Malik takes notice, questioning your safety with a single look.
You reassure you’re okay with a nod and he relaxes slightly, letting Wren to the ground when the little boy squirms in his grasp.
Azriel watches how the male places his hands on his son’s shoulders, holding him in place.
“I asked him not to tell you,” you admit wetly, “Begged him, really.”
He’s brewing.
“Don’t,” your voice is stern, not liking how he’s stewing. “Don’t you blame him. It was my choice.”
“And what about my choice?”
Your mouth goes slack, “Your choice in what?”
“This,” he roars because he can’t take it anymore. His shadows flare around him, a wall of darkness sweeping up from the ground to his shoulders.
Wren screams, pushing away from Malik and rushing over to where you’re facing off with Azriel. 
“Mommy!”
The utter terror in the little boys voice makes Azriel’s spine straighten and his stomach churn. 
Wren’s on him in an instant, little fists shoving and hitting his thighs. It shouldn’t have the slightest effect on him but it does. He’s defending his mother because some strange male has raised his voice at her.
Each point of contact is a stake to his heart. Azriel stands helplessly, watching the little boy go at him until you’re crouching down and pulling him away, Malik pressing behind you with his hands on your arms and a glare in Azriel’s direction.
You look up from where you’re hugging Wren tightly to your chest that’s throbbing painfully, heart racing from something akin to fear, something you’d never felt for Azriel before. There’s tears brimming in your eyes from the sight, from the conversation. He’d never raised his voice at you like this.
This male…you don’t even know who he is anymore.
Your voice shakes when you speak, “You don’t get a choice, Azriel. You lost that a long time ago and you know that.” Your eyes wash over him, up and down. He nearly melts, when venom laces your voice, despite the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “You made that choice.”
“(Y/N),” he reaches out to try and stop as you stand, lifting Wren into your arms again. You shrink away from him.
“I have to go,” you mutter, allowing Malik to usher you and your son away from the stewing Illyrian. You’d always been able to fight for yourself, even without the training. Malik surely knows that, but it still disgusts Azriel how he’s done nothing to defend you.
Azriel turns to look at the babe one last time. He’s stood frozen, head hung and snow falling into the back of his jacket like a fool, watching the love of his life walk away from him again, but this time, he’s the one who’s heartbroken.
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lily-s-world · 2 months
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When Rick said that we were going to have a Sally x Poseidon flashback, my mind thought about a nice day on the beach when they were getting to know each other. But no, oh no, that would have been too nice for Rick “I destroy lives” Riordan.
Instead, we got this heartbreaking moment of Sally desperately calling on Poseidon, because she is lost, she thinks she is doing everything wrong and that the only option is taking Percy to a place she doesn’t want him to go. And Poseidon shows up like 0.5 seconds after that calling, because ruling the sea can wait if Sally is crying, and he lets her talk and take out her frustration on him; because deep down he knows that is his fault. It is in his world that Percy is in danger, it is because he is his son that he will not have an easy life. Then Poseidon looks at this small child after Sally ask him if he want to talk to him, but he knows he can’t, no matter how much he wants too; because if Percy is already attracting monsters the presence of a god will only make it worse.
In that scene, they are just two parents trying to decide the best outcome for their kid in an incredibly unfair situation.
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assassinsblade · 3 months
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Arrows and Ashes
You and Cassian are ambushed when trying to meet with Eris in the Autumn Court. When an interrogation ensues that leaves you permanently scarred, how will Azriel react?
WC: 4.7k
Warnings: Pining, friends to lovers, gross gore, injury, violence, blood, vomit, all that kind of stuff.
Part 2
—————————————
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It was damp. From the cold, wet floor to the musty air and your blood-soaked skin.
How long had you and Cassian been here? How long had it been since Autumn soldiers had ambushed you in the woods of the Autumn Court, shooting arrows directing into the war general?
It couldn't have been more than a day. You didn't even think it was night time yet. But it felt like it had been an eternity.
From the interrogations to watching Cassian writhe around in pain due to the faebane arrows protruding from his wings... time continuously ticked slower.
You ached. Your entire body cold with sweat despite your lack of clothing. Dirt and blood coated your skin, and you tried to ignore how uncomfortable it felt against your normally soft flesh. You couldn’t though. You couldn’t ignore the situation you were in. Not when it only seemed to be getting worse, and you had no escape in sight.
You might not make it out of here.
You had left that morning expecting to return home quickly. You had left with a plan to meet Eris Vanserra and return to the House of Wind for a bath, to read a book, to have a nice dinner with friends, and maybe even get to spend time with your mate.
Azriel. You wondered what he was doing right now.
If you focused hard enough, you could almost picture him bursting through the cell door, blue siphons ablaze with power and face molded into an expression of beautiful fury.
But he wasn't here. And you might never see him again.
"Cassian..."
"Don't." He demanded. His voice was cracking with weakness, but he tried to sound resolute. "Rhys is coming."
He didn’t sound convinced, and you could tell that he was worried you were running out of time too. It might not have been long enough for Rhys and the others to be concerned, but it was long enough for the Autumn Court to inflict permanent damage.
You let out a shaky breath, grief already swimming in your chest. Grief for what could have been with you and Azriel if you hadn't been so scared. If you had told him sooner about the bond that had snapped for you. If you hadn't been so focused on him wanting you for you and not the idea of the bond.
“I need you to promise me you'll tell him."
Tears leaked from your eyes, and you tried to hold back your cries. You didn't want your life to end so sadly. You wanted to be able to speak with your friend, pretend like everything was okay, reminisce on the happy times you had with the people you loved.
Instead, you were laying nearly completely bare on a concrete floor, shackled, covered in blood, tears, and vomit. Your body had been taken apart, your skin flayed open, beaten. You thought you must look like an animal on a butcher's board, your body a canvas of gore.
Cassian was not unharmed either. When they had captured the two of you, they had shot him down with faebane arrows: a dozen or two of them. His wings were severely injured, and his power was subdued from the faebane. He had taken beatings as well, but when they realized how well-trained the general had been in withstanding interrogations, they turned to you.
Inflicting damage on your body was a way to get either yourself or Cassian to talk. They taunted him with your pain, and you felt guilty that this would most likely haunt him as much as it haunted you. Would he forgive himself for doing the right thing and protecting his court?
The two of you were on your way to meet with Eris to go over some plans when you were ambushed by Beron's men. Based on their line of questioning, they still did not know of the eldest son's plans of a coup, but they were suspicious of the Night Court presence in their land.
They used the opportunity to not just ask why you were there, but to interrogate you about the new Night Court addition: Nyx. They wanted to know about his powers, how strong he seemed to be, if he can be used as a weapon, how many guards are constantly with him...
But you and Cassian would never betray your family nor your court.
So when Cassian refused to answer, and the whip came down on your torso, you tried to block out his yells, his growls, his apologies. You tried to block out the pain as the leather cleaved into your skin, flaying it open until muscle showed. You focused on what you would do when you got out of here; how you would go to the library with Nesta and pick out new books, how you would go shopping with Mor, how you would go flying with Azriel.
You focused on happy memories with your friends as fists landed on your cheeks, dug into your ribs. As Cassian took blows, you tried to remember the way he'd make you laugh, contorting his groans of pain into his teasing hums and chuckles.
But as you laid in a pool of your own blood, the taunts of the soldiers echoed in your head, and you knew what was coming.
Your wings would be next to go, and with that, so would you.
Despite yourself, you wondered how Azriel would react. If he would mourn you, if it would hurt him as badly as losing him would hurt you. You wondered how Cassian would tell him about the mating bond, if he would have Azriel sit down first, if Rhys would be there for support as well.
"We are getting out of here," Cassian said, voice stronger and more determined. "And you are telling him yourself."
But then the cells were opening, footsteps marching down the hall, and three males were walking toward you with purpose. They gripped you by your forearms, pulling you up harshly, and you closed your eyes and tried to swallow your panic down.
The lacerations on your arms and abdomen from the whip were burning with a vengeance, infection certain to be spreading from the dirt pressed into them on the concrete. The males' hands twisted around your wounds, and you gasped weakly at the pain as they hauled you to your knees.
The shackles were connected to a hook on the wall, lifting your arms slightly, allowing them full access to your back. Your back that they had not whipped, because they were waiting for this.
"Daisy," he called your nickname -- the one given to you by Azriel when you all were only kids. "Look at me. Just look at me, alright? I'm here."
Your whole body was shaking, trembling with fear and anticipation at what was to come. Panic was suffocating you, building in your chest and making its way up your throat, and you thought your bladder might have even released with how petrified you were.
Cassian's voice was still echoing in the background, but you could only focus on the clanging of chains, the footsteps behind you, the sound of a sword unsheathing.
Your fingers dug into the shackles, fingers white with how hard you were gripping them, trying to steel yourself for what was to come.
"Lord of Bloodshed..." one of the males taunted, spinning the sword around in his hand. "I think you know what this is for."
You drowned out the male's voice. His nasally, grating, voice that seemed to irritate your ears. You drowned out the words that would doom you, focusing instead on listening to your own breathing and heart beat.
You were alive. You were strong.
There was silence after a while, and you squeezed your eyes shut, gritted your teeth, tried not to sob.
“I’m sorry, Daisy,” Cassian cried.
You tried to suck in a breath, tried not to let his protection of his nephew, his protection of his brother, of his court, hurt you. But the sword came down, and your lungs were not yet filled with air.
You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t breathe.
It was like your limb was being torn from your body, nerve endings flaying open, on fire, agony coursing through your veins and sending a shock through your body all the way to your head.
You thought you might have made a noise, but you couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears, and your chest seemed stuck.
Blood splattered across the wall as he pulled the sword out of your wing. It hadn’t gone all the way through; instead, it had gotten stuck in one of the lines of thick membrane, and you gagged when he pulled it from where it had stopped, tissue separating with the motion.
It came down again, a hacking motion, unclean and barbarous, dragging through tendons and nerves.
You had never been in so much pain before. You thought you might be going into shock, your body shaking, stomach nauseous, vision going fuzzy, ears ringing with white noise.
You were only semi-aware of the burning coming up your throat, of the smell of your own vomit.
Cassian’s voice was muffled, drowned out in your mind, but you could hear the sorrow, the panic, the guilt.
Your hands were limp in the shackles, body slumped forward into the wall when the first wing fell to the floor with a thump.
You thought you heard Cassian retching.
And when the sword came down toward the second wing, your adrenaline now out of your system, you couldn’t help the piercing scream that echoed off the walls. You screamed and sobbed and shook until the hacking broke through the second wing too, slicing and grinding it to the floor.
Your entire body was covered in sweat. Cheek pressed to the wall, arms hung above your head but body hanging limp. You tried to stay conscious. You tried to focus on the sounds of Cassian’s sobs, the way he called your name and tried to get your attention. You tried to blink the dizziness away, tried to focus on the blood pooling around you into a large circle.
But everything ached and stung.
As the shackles were released from the wall, weight now imbalanced, your body didn’t even know which way to fall.
You landed in a puddle of your own blood, urine, vomit, and tears. But you were too tired to move, too hurt to move. So you laid there, cheek pressed into the sticky, hot, red liquid, and watched as your friend begged you to stay awake.
Breath stuttering in your chest, blood wavering in front of your mouth with each heave, you reached a hand out to your friend. Just barely. With only enough strength to inch your fingers forward, your body twitching with pain and exertion, you made the motion, tried to communicate that you did not blame him, that you understood, even if your chest ached with hurt.
And then you were going in and out of darkness.
There were times you could hear voices, ones you recognized. Other times it was peacefully quiet. You tried to bask in those moments, where there was no pain or noise—only you and your mind. Where you could pretend like everything was fine and you and Cassian had never left for the Autumn Court early that morning. Or that you had met with Eris as planned, gotten the intel you needed, and returned in time for supper.
But those voices would interrupt your peaceful state, arguing and panicking.
You’d hear glimpses.
You make one wrong touch and you’re dead.
Big threats from a bedridden brute.
You were only brought back to full consciousness briefly when you felt a searing hot pain in your back, pulling you from your sleep gasping for air.
You were on fire, dear gods, you were burning alive.
And then Cassian was in your eyesight, his hazel eyes shining with concern. His hand reached out to cradle your head where it laid atop a pillow, the other stretched across the tops of your shoulders to keep you held down onto the table.
“I know, I know,” he reassured quickly. “It’s okay. It’ll be over soon. You’re okay.”
But you didn’t believe him. How could you be okay when you felt like this? When you didn't even understand what was happening?
You were choking on your own cries, on the tears and drool pooling in your mouth. Cassian tried to wipe them away, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, whispering encouraging words into your ear.
Your fingers grasped at the wood underneath you, your legs kicking at an invisible weight holding your lower half down.
“Please-“ your voice shook as your body trembled. “Stop.”
You could feel yourself losing consciousness again, your vision going spotty, the pain too much for your weak, shocked body to handle.
“Eris…” Cassian warned, his tone threatening.
“Do you want her to live?”
You didn’t think you would live past this though. This was unbearable. Pure hot torture raging across the skin of your back and melting the muscle, nerves, and bone.
Distantly, you realized what they were doing. They were cauterizing the wounds. Burning the flesh to stop the bleeding, to give you a chance at healing before it was too late.
Mouth dry, your voice gave out, and you let out hoarse squeaks of pain.
It could have been sixty seconds or five minutes, but it felt like an eternity before the weight on your legs shifted, and the fire edged away.
Your lashes and cheeks were wet with your tears, tongue bitten in your screaming. And as you tried to breathe again, tried to focus on Cassian’s voice as he addressed Eris, on his hand stroking your hair back, you thought of where you could be. If you were actually going to make it back to the Night Court, if you were actually going to survive this.
Gruesome lashes ached on your legs, abdomen, and arms. The weightlessness at your back paired with the smell of burnt flesh brought an image of barbecue to your brain that had you gagging again.
You might survive, but your body wouldn’t. This was no longer you, no longer the body you would have willingly given to Azriel, with the glowing bond in its chest he remained unaware about.
It was hacked and burnt and damaged and-
“We’re gonna get you home,” you heard Cassian speaking softly to you.
Eris moved around in the background, gathering and packing up supplies in another room of whatever isolated home he had brought you to. You never thought you’d be so grateful to see the auburn-haired male, or that he’d actually put his ass on the line to save you, but here he was.
Had he heard you were captured upon your missed meeting? Did he release you himself?
You knew he would have to find a way to explain how you two got out from the cells. It would most likely end in some form of physical abuse toward him from Beron. The thought made your stomach turn with more sorrow and guilt.
“Eris sent a letter to Rhys. He knows where we are, and he’ll be here soon.”
You let the words comfort you, your eyes fluttering shut and muscles trying to relax after being attacked.
A sharp pain separate from the physical torture you endured burned in your heart, though, as you realized how everything was going to change. Your wings were gone. They took your wings, and with it any happiness or confidence you had felt.
You felt tears swim in your vision, your eyes so exhausted you could barely keep them open enough for the liquid to fall down your cheeks. Cassian immediately wiped them away with his thumb, his brow scrunched in concern as he watched you.
“My wings-” your voice wobbled, and Cassian immediately brought his head to yours in a makeshift hug.
“I know,” he tried to soothe, his voice pinched with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Daisy.”
Eris appeared once again, carrying a blanket and what looked like a loose nightgown. You only then realized how bare you still were from the dungeon and your injuries.
“Here,” the usually cold Autumn lord set the clothes to the side, pulling the blanket out instead. He draped it across your body, adjusting it so it covered from your shoulders to your toes. Cassian gave him a somewhat surprised and suspicious glance, but nonetheless nodded his head at the male gratefully.
“Rhys responded and should be here any minute. The wards are open to him. I assume he is collecting his own healer-”
Eris didn’t even have a chance to finish before shadows materialized in the corner of the room, an intimidating presence taking up the space and charging for the auburn-haired male.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Azriel-” Cassian jumped to his feet, pulling the shadowsinger back. Azriel’s eyes remained locked on the Autumn Court heir, though, his eyes promising a pain he knew all too well how to deliver. “He got us out. We got caught, and he helped us. Without him, she'd be dead.”
Azriel swallowed harshly, body tense with anger. He seemed to take the moment to consider the words, to consider if he believed in their truth. Ultimately, he dropped his hands and turned toward where you laid.
His face crumpled, all anger and drive deflating into devastation.
Feet carrying him over to you, he fell to his knees in the same spot Cassian had just occupied.
“Oh gods…” he breathed, shaking hand coming to rest against your cheek.
You tried to blink up at him, but your vision was still slightly blurred. You could still see the concern in his eyes, though. The way the green and brown melded together with worry and care, sparking the gold tether in your chest alive.
“My sweet Daisy,” he muttered to himself. “What have they done to you?”
Daisy. The nickname was sweet on his lips, sweet as the day he labeled you as his flower. The young boy who had taken a look at the young Illyrian female ravaging her horrible family's garden in a rage and had endearingly called her Daisy. Had compared her to the pretty life that could grow in a horrible place, in horrible soil that kept preventing her from sprouting.
You didn't know what to tell him. Your body still shook with pain, adrenaline, and shock.
You heard Rhys arrive, heard Cassian and Eris explaining what had occurred to the high lord and his healer. You heard Madja curse at the arrow wounds in Cassian's wings, and Cassian insist she help you first.
"You're going to be okay," Azriel placed a soft kiss to your fingertips peeking out from the top of the blanket. "And I am going to make them pay. They are going to regret ever touching you."
You tried to focus on his pretty eyes, his dark eyelashes highlighting the light hazel. He looked so worried, so hurt himself.
Shuffling behind you made your breath hitch, and then the blanket was being moved down your back, exposing your wounds to the cold air.
You winced, a sound you would equate to a wounded animal echoing into the solemn room. Azriel’s hand gripped your own, eyes watching your reaction intently.
But you watched as his eyes moved from your own to glance at what everyone else was seeing—what Madja was here to work on. His face immediately paled, his jaw clenching tight, and his fingers digging into your own.
Did it look as bad as it felt?
You wondered if someone would be able to find you beautiful after this. If Azriel would be able to look at your skin and see a pretty female and not someone who had been put through a meat grinder.
He swallowed harshly, ripping his eyes away from your back and locking onto your own again.
His chest was rising and falling heavily, as if he was trying to contain himself, reign himself in from exploding.
“I didn’t tell them,” you finally spoke. Your voice was hoarse from screaming and throwing up, and dry from lack of water.
Azriel looked as if you had hit him, and you heard Rhys immediately come to your side next to the shadowsinger. He knelt down and placed a kiss to the sweaty skin at your temple, stroking your hair lovingly before looking at you sternly.
“All we care about right now is that our friend is alive and safe. Don’t worry about anything else right now. I’m not.”
“They wanted Nyx,” you croaked.
Rhysand looked haunted but not surprised. “Cassian told me. We will figure it out and plan for the worst.”
You didn’t answer the high lord, focusing on your breathing as Madja began skimming her hands over the gouges in your back.
Violet eyes met your own, and the hazel eyes next to him watched the healer’s actions with intensity. “I will never be able to repay the price you paid to keep my family safe. I am forever indebted to you.”
Tears fell down Rhys’ cheeks, and you wished you could hug him, the male you think of as a brother. But then you thought of how odd that would feel for you—for him—to hug without your wings.
You remembered his story of being captured during the war. How he said he went through endless abuse and torture, but they didn't touch his wings. He had said that touching them would have been the one way to get him to talk.
But you didn't.
“I’d do it again-” you began to say, but you were cut off by Madja’s actions, a piercing pain shooting through you. You gasped, eyes squeezing shut and hand clamping down on Azriel’s.
“Rhys.” Azriel demanded. What he was demanding, you weren’t sure. But his voice was firm, strong, a tone you hadn’t heard him use before with his brother.
Rhys seemed to understand though, because he stood and walked a few steps to the top of your head, putting a hand there.
“Can I take some of your pain away?” He asked gently, voice still strained from the emotions he showed.
You could barely give a nod of your head with how badly your muscles were tensed in agony. But he saw it, and as you felt the mental talons drag along the walls of your mind, your tear-filled eyes met Azriel’s.
“I’m so proud of you,” the shadowsinger said, eyes gleaming with sorrow. “My strong Daisy. My brave, brave girl.”
And with some of the pain gone—there, but now slightly more bearable as the healer worked—you could breathe a bit easier.
Azriel continued speaking to you, distracting you from the work going on around your body. “Before you know it, we’ll be back in Velaris. We can go to that bookstore you like and pick out as many books as you want. I’ll read one with you, if you want. Even one of those romances you like so much.”
He tried to give you a soft smile, but it looked sad, and it made your heart hurt.
A rough twist near your back and a sob escaped your mouth. Rhys’ energy swarmed stronger in your mind, and Azriel was quick to lean forward, face inches from your own, eyes drowning in fear and worry.
“I’ve got you,” he repeated, voice heavy with panic. “Just focus on me. I know it hurts, but we’ve gotta do it. You’re almost done, sweetheart. Just hold on a bit longer.”
Your cries were becoming louder and you could hear Azriel cursing, could see through your tears the way he tipped his head up to look at Rhys in desperation.
“Can we put her to sleep?” He asked toward the healer, and if you didn’t know what he asked, the sound of his voice would have made you think he was begging.
It was silent for a moment, and you could feel Azriel’s hands start shaking around your limp one in his grasp.
Madja finally responded, sounding grim. “She’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t want to risk it.”
“What can I do?” Azriel pleaded toward the healer.
You tried to control your sobs, control the way your body convulsed at the touches of the healer behind you. But it was excruciating, the lack of wings, the deep tendons, muscles, bones, and nerves ripped from your skin and haphazardly cauterized despite possible infection. And now to try to fix the rushed burns, to check for infection and draw it out...
“Keep her awake.”
Azriel’s head dipped down for a moment, either in sorrow or in order to compose himself. But then he was looking at you, so lovely and beautiful you nearly felt like you were dreaming.
And he tried to sound positive, his voice going up a bit to sound lighter, but it was strained and not entirely convincing.
“I found that cat you have been following around Velaris. The stray that tries to sneak into the coffee shop? I guess some of the customers feed him. They call him Bix, and he lives under the porch of the place.”
Your vision swims as you try to pay attention to what he is saying, and his fingers lightly tap your cheek.
“I'll take you to visit him soon. Okay? I'll even pet him this time."
You tried to smile at the image of the stoic shadowhunter holding a cute stray cat, but even the muscles in your face felt heavy and lethargic.
"Maybe we can get you a cat," he continued when he saw you listening. "I know you’ve always wanted one. And Rhys would probably give you fifty now if you asked.”
His voice was soothing, and the more he spoke, the more you wanted to sleep. His presence was like a balm to the last ten hours, the scent of him, the feel of his hand in yours, the sound of his voice in your ear, all reminded you that you were safe again.
Rhys’ power rushed through you, and you could feel your body start to go numb, the pain ebbing away thanks to your friend and high lord.
Now you were just tired. So so tired.
“Hey-” Azriel sat up a little straighter, the movement pulling your eyelids open once more. “You gotta stay awake, sweetheart. You can sleep soon, I promise. Just not yet.”
But you could barely hear him. Your mind was already falling, vision warping into a blurry vignette.
Azriel was here. You were safe.
“Madja-” Azriel's voice became more frantic as he watched you start to fade. In a panic, he stood from his position at your side and gripped your face in both his palms.
His fingertips were gentle on your face as they lightly tapped, trying to get your attention without hurting you. When you didn’t respond, your heavy eyelids beginning to succumb to sleep, he began to tap a little harder, his strong hands trying to pull you back up.
The last thing you heard before finally allowing a pain free and peaceful rest to overtake you was Azriel pleading your name, a shuffle of two bodies, and then his touch being gone, his deep voice suspended in the room instead—a darkness trailing underneath it that would have had you on your knees if not for you floating into unconsciousness.
“Prepare for a war, Rhysand. Because if she doesn’t wake up, I will slaughter every last member of the Autumn Court.”
Before darkness enveloped you, you briefly wondered if their bodies would look like your own when he was finished.
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