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cherhys · 1 year

Text

Anything, Always

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhysand has been running himself ragged, and it hasn’t escaped your notice. In an effort to quell old nightmares, Rhysand has an interesting suggestion…

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Mild angst (pining + UTM reminder whoops), Feelings™️

Notes: The longest fic to date! I was working on some Azriel WIPs when this piece just happened. I wanted Rhys to get some well-deserved, utterly devoted, loving. Thank you for all the support so far; it means more than you know! ♡

You noticed that as the week has passed, you’ve seen less and less of Rhys around the townhouse. First, it was less frequented dinners, followed by mornings spent alone. Being High Lord is no easy task, but it’s all the more reason for you to lend a helping hand where possible. Instead, all of your offers have been promptly shut down with a wry smile leaving little room for argument since it's nothing more than I usually deal with, darling.

His words echo in your head as you approach his office, the ease with which he said them in juxtaposition with the dark circles beneath his eyes. You doubt he’s been sleeping very well; it was no secret that the High Lord preferred staying up in the evenings, but he always reclaimed that sleep the following morning. Recently you’ve observed his absence from the townhouse in favour of training even before Cassian, the earliest morning bird you know. This simply could not go on—he had to take care of himself. A male like him deserved better than that.

The door to his study was closed and after a brief knock, you slowly cracked it open to peer inside. His head didn’t so much as lift from where he was scanning his papers, a crease between his ink-dark eyebrows. The evening light filtered through the windows behind him, casting him in an iridescent glow befitting his title. He had changed into a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal solid tan forearms corded with prominent veins. He scrubbed a calloused hand along his uncharacteristically scruffy jaw. The usual sparkle in his jewel-tone eyes was lost to his evident lack of sleep.

Despite this, he was still the most beautiful male you’ve ever beheld. Even feeling ragged, Rhysand was nothing short of magnificent. No amount of stress could take away from his plush lips, the delicate column of his neck, and the elegant sweep of his collarbones leading to the strong planes of his chest. The age-old flutter in your chest surfaced, a delicate thing you had neglected for so long.

“You can come in, darling.” Finally, those tired eyes lifted to yours where you stood in the doorway. When you don’t move he sweeps a hand towards the cushioned chairs before his rich mahogany desk. You quash any semblance of that flutter until a deep void is all that remains in your chest; a talent you had mastered after all these years.

“I’d say I’m surprised to find my dearest High Lord secluded in his office on a Friday evening, but I made an oath not to lie.” You idle your way in, running your finger along the books on his shelf. You frown at the faint layer of dust over his more loved collections.

“Well, Friday evening or not, doesn’t my dearest advisor have work to do instead of chatting me up like some girl at Rita’s?” Like a delicate brush stroke, his ebony brow arched. Rhysand’s eyes tracked your approach as you walked around the spacious office, feet padding against the soft carpet. The snack you had brought him earlier remained untouched on his desk, and you clenched your clasped hands behind your back.

“Girls at bars aren't worth my time, though it wouldn’t hurt for you to try. All you do is hide away here; you’ll have the year-end papers done at this rate.”

He shrugged, nonchalant, “Better to be more prepared than found lacking, no?”

You stopped before his desk and stared, “It’s only springtime Rhysand.” At your unflinching gaze, he sighed.

“I was unimpressed with some of the projections submitted by the Court of Nightmares. Sloppy work.” His jaw worked in time to the pulse in his neck. You nodded, acquiescing as much. As Rhysand’s advisor, you were expressly aware of the substandard documents that Kier had submitted. Despite his abysmal summation of the Court of Nightmare’s projections, Kier could receive a verbal (or literal) lashing later.

“Rhys, this isn’t an express concern at the moment.” He dropped his head back to his papers, dipping the fountain pen in the inkwell. The sound of your breathing and scratching on parchment permeated the silence. The dismissal was clear, though surprisingly cruel from your usual playful High Lord.

“Rhys, look at me.” Despite your pleading tone, he remained fixed on his writing. In a few swift steps, you rounded the desk. You placed a gentle hand beneath his chin, lifting his face to your searching eyes. Where his silence was defiant, now there is only weariness.

“Rhysand… what’s wrong honey?” The endearment slips out, but your chest constricts at the sight of the defeated male before you. You miss your charming friend. Your thumb lightly caresses his cheek and his lashes flutter at the sensation. He gives you a wry smile and grips your fingers in his warm hand, “Nothing is wrong. I’m only a little tired.”

You breathed deeply, willing yourself to remain calm. Rhysand was known to undertake everything by himself, an expression of his love towards his family. While you appreciate the care he tries to show, his selflessness couldn’t happen at the expense of his well-being. This was something different.

Your silence unnerved the usually unshakeable male, and he seemed to deflate under your scrutiny. So you waited—let him process his thoughts, choose what he wanted to say.

When his grip tightened on your hand but his silence persisted, you offered an olive branch.

“I have never been able to share my feelings with ease; to feel so much… it is an overwhelming burden. And yet–” You took a steadying breath, hesitant to reveal so much but unable to help him understand otherwise. His expectant gaze was patient, if not encouraging.

“And yet, unravelling my feelings and sharing them with you is effortless. With you, I know I am safe. That I am understood. Rhysand, I want to be that person for you. You are welcome to share, and I will always be there to listen.”

When you finished, you shifted to perch on the desk space poised between his legs. Rhysand unconsciously moved his chair closer, his head pressing into your jointly entwined hands. He slowly inhaled, the scent of you a balm to his fraying senses.

“They’re back. She’s back,” Rhys didn’t need to elaborate on who and what for you to catch his meaning. You had known that nightmares plagued him often in the time since his return from Under the Mountain. Years had passed since then but the horrors he endured were not easily forgotten, “I don’t know what to do.”

The defeat in his tone nearly brought tears to your eyes, but you reigned them in—this was his opportunity to be vulnerable and you must remain strong.

“I think about all of the lives I–... I think about all of it, often. It is never not on my mind, but I can usually move past it. You all help,” At this, he squeezed your palm again, an earnest look in his violet eyes, “But sometimes the guilt–” He loosed a sigh, shaking his head, “It is unbearable.’

Rhysand pulled his hand away from yours, leaving it cold. He stared down at his hands between you both as if all of his sins were still visible. To him, you’re sure they were.

His voice was lowered to a whisper now, “When I sleep, she taunts me. She stokes that guilt from an ember to a flame and eats away at me. All I can think to do is run myself ragged, in some form of masochistic repenting.”

Rhys glances up at you, his heart dropping when he sees your eyes are closed. Even you couldn’t bear to look at him after what he had done. Clenching his jaw, he begins to pull away and prepares for your imminent disgust.

He doesn’t expect you to grip his cheeks, and pull him back to you. Rhysand’s eyes are comically large this close, your noses a hair's breadth away from touching. He has never seen your mouth set in such a serious line, your eyes blazing with such fire.

“Listen to me very closely. Everything you did? It was necessary for survival. For yours. For the Night Court’s. For our family’s. It is only normal to feel guilt—that’s what makes you the wonderful, kind male I know.” Your hands pressed almost painfully, as if you could physically push the words into his head, “But you should never regret what you did. Because it brought you back to us.” To me, but you left that part unspoken.

When he seems to hesitate you reinforce, “Any of us would’ve done it for you. If I could've traded places with you I would have done so in a heartbeat, Rhysand. And it kills me to see you blame yourself. You can repay those you mourn by living your life to the fullest in their honour.”

He regards you for a moment, plush lip pulled tightly between his teeth. Rhysand nods slowly at your searching stare, the sorrow clearing from his eyes like clouds in a bright night sky. Those stars you so love wink back at you from his midnight gaze.

Unable to help yourself, you swoop him up into your tight embrace. Rhys’s strong arms wrap around you in no time, his head at your breast. He can hear the rapid but sure beating of your heart and it brings him a peace that he hasn’t felt since the nightmares returned.

“Thank you.” His soft words lift your heart and you place a swift kiss on the top of his head.

“Always.”

You stroke his raven hair in soothing motions, running your nails lightly along his scalp. Rhys visibly relaxes in your hold, his shoulders slumping with a weight unloaded. You dare to enjoy the moment, knowing that the likes of these are few and far between; you seldom let yourself get this close, the ache in your heart too much.

Finally, you pull away, a determined look on your face, “How can I help you, Rhys?”

His face softened, and he let out a light chuckle, “I doubt you can, darling. This is just one of those things.”

“It most certainly will not be one of those things. There has to be something; maybe if we help you relax? A sleeping draught?”

He winced at that, “No sleeping draughts, preferably. I’m not fond of drugging myself.”

You scratched your chin, “No, that doesn’t seem sustainable long term.”

While you brainstormed ideas to help the male before you, Rhys glanced at you through thick lashes. He had begun to fiddle with the fountain pen, twisting the top, “I think I may have a suggestion.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, “Already? What is it?” A beaming smile stretched across your face—anything. You would do anything to help him.

He locked his eyes on yours, voice level, “Sleep with me.”

You blinked, unmoving. You stared at him a few seconds longer, the words failing to process. You’re sure you must have stopped breathing, the thumping of your heart overwhelming your senses.

Sleep with me.

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you, “I’m sorry? ‘Sleep with you’?”

A million thoughts were spinning in your head, each faster than the last. Slick skin on skin; hands fisted in sheets, in hair, scratching down a tan, tatted back; clothes haphazardly strewn around the room; pleasurable pants filling the air. You shook your head. Surely you had misheard? Misunderstood?

A cocky smile spread across Rhysand’s face, although the dusting of pink crawling up his neck isn't lost on you.

What dirty thoughts are you thinking, darling? That midnight voice lightly caressed your mental shields.

Your cheeks were flaming if the heat under your skin was anything to go by. You persevered and pursed your lips in mock irritation. You would not be undone by his aimless teasing after all these years.

Nothing that would involve the likes of you, the thought pushed right back at his adamantine mental shield.

Rhysands thick lashes lowered, his bottom lip jutting slightly. You wondered what those plush lips would taste like. Although you knew he was playing at seducing you, it didn’t stop the primal need in you from rearing its ugly head.

Would it truly be so bad with me, darling? You know I’d treat you well.

Your lashes fluttered; this had to stop before your heart wilted any further in your chest.

“What is your real suggestion Rhys?” The serious cock of your brows sobered him up near immediately. The twinge in his chest only further cooled him; the way you brushed his teasing off irritated him for reasons beyond what he dared admit.

“It is my real suggestion. I struggle with my sleep—therefore having you there will help.” The cool way he spoke, as if this was only a logical solution, helped to put you at ease. But you couldn’t help but wonder—

“Why me? How would I help?”

He shrugged, “You seem peaceful.”

Your mind whirred at his laconic response. ‘Peaceful’? You couldn’t decide what to make of the situation, but one thing had always been clear.

“I said I’d help you, however I could. If you believe me… sleeping beside you will be beneficial, then I’ll do it.”

He nodded, the same calm look plastered on his face. Rhysand’s nonchalant manner bothered you: did this genuinely mean so little to him? If so, then you would treat it with the same aloof, professional fashion.

“Alright then, we can try tonight if you’re willing?”

His ink-dark eyebrows shot up, “You wish to begin right away?”

“The sooner the better, no?” You couldn’t allow any more sleepless nights; the faster you determined whether this would work, the more time you had to find different options before Rhys ran on empty.

Rhysand’s head tilted, a panther sizing up its prey. Finally, he nodded in agreeance.

Quickly, you stood from his desk, realizing you were still perched between his legs. You dusted off your skirts and swiftly moved to the door. With a hand on the frame, you turned, “Tonight in yours?”

He swallowed, your eyes tracking the bobbing of his Adam's apple along his smooth neck, “Yes, that’ll work just fine darling.”

You stepped away from his office, the final, sure look in Rhysand’s eyes burning through you even hours later.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

You nervously tugged on your silken sleep shorts, psyching yourself up to knock on Rhysand’s bedroom door.

After leaving his office earlier, your heart had been in your throat all day. Even at dinner in the House of Wind, you’d had to be snapped out of thought multiple times by members of your family. While circumventing the reason why you had been so inattentive, your friends spared no insult and pestered you to high hell. Your face had flushed, sure that Rhysand could pick up on your nervousness. Instead, there were no teasing comments; he only returned to his meal.

Now before his room, you took a steadying breath and lightly knocked, in the unlikely event he had fallen asleep. At his faint call you entered, softly shutting the door behind you. The room was aptly decorated for a High Lord. Rich jewel tones complimented Night Court black in various opulent fabrics. Pointedly ignoring the massive bed, you took in the polished mahogany furniture, surely crafted by a masterful hand. From the intricately designed rugs, to the velvet cushions, and the elaborate drapery; it was all magnificent. However, it all paled in comparison to the male inhabiting the room.

Rhys was lounging on a plush divan, drink and papers in hand, looking fresh from the finest of paintings. The loose shirt from earlier was gone, baring his muscled chest. Your eyes tracked along the elegant dark swirls that decorated his tan skin. A pair of black sleep pants adorned his lower body, looking dangerously low on his waist. As you gently padded over, you tried not to focus on the light smattering of dark hair leading below the band. He glanced up at you, violet eyes sparkling like the stars visible through the windows beyond him.

His eyes slowly roved over your figure, noting your bare legs; how you clutched your cream robe, book in hand, a delicate lacy strap peeking out. He took a restrained sip of his amber drink. You settled on a comfortable settee across from him, the book already splayed across your lap.

“Good evening, darling. Care for a drink?” He waved his glass lightly, the ice clinking softly.

You chuckled, shaking your head, “I’m alright, thank you. Is it not a little late to indulge?”

He inspected his drink as if he might find the solution to all his problems within the crystal glass, “I find it soothes the nerves.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Are you nervous?”

Rhys lifted the drink to his mouth, only to gaze at you over the rim with heavy-lidded eyes, “With you? Always, darling. I mean—you simply strike such an imposing figure.”

You dramatically placed the back of your hand to your head, draping yourself over the settee with all the theatrics you could muster, “Oh, how I plague man with my beauty!”

A deep and joyous laugh broke the silence of the night. You glanced over at Rhysand in slight surprise to see his head thrown back, a hand to his chest. Your heart warmed at the clear mirth on his face. This was the Rhysand you had missed. You soon joined him, your laugh bubbling up with the vigour of a freshly opened champagne bottle.

Gradually, you both settled into silence, and with a wink from Rhys, you both returned to your previous occupations. The cool breeze from the open window carried with it Rhysand’s citrus and sea smell, the faint note of jasmine like a goodnight’s kiss. You basked in the peaceful mood, snuggling closer to the settee with your book. You couldn’t help but look up at Rhys every few pages, taking in his striking profile as the ambient lighting cast shadows across his elegant features. Eventually, you noticed his eyelids beginning to droop and knew he was only stalling the inevitable.

You yawned loudly, covering your mouth for effect, “I think it’s time we retire for the night.”

He smiled, gently placing his empty glass and papers aside, “I agree, darling. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Rhysand stood and stretched his arms over his head, and you quickly made your way over to his bed, refusing to stare any longer at his chest than necessary. You shed your robe and tossed it over a nearby chair while you both silently readied yourselves for bed. No longer was the silence comforting—instead, your heart threatened to burst from your chest.

You didn't realize how stiff you were until Rhys settled under the covers beside you, the shroud of night concealing your reddened cheeks. You remained rigid, arms at your side like a soldier at attention.

It’s only me, darling. The smooth voice slipped through the cracks of your mind. Rhysand’s low timber reminded you to take a deep breath—you turned towards him and lightly reached your hand out in the space between your pillows. Even in the stygian dark, his eyes shone brighter than ever. That midnight gaze fixed on your open palm. Slowly, he crept his large hand up and brought it to yours, strong fingers caressing your palm. You held your breath as he steadily entwined his fingers with yours, hand sliding across your own. You squeezed lightly in assurance, your eyes falling shut.

Before the throes of sleep could claim you, a gentle caress to your conscience pulled you back.

Can I hold you?

The whispered request was nearly lost in the haze between waking and dreams, but you would always come back for that voice. Beyond words, you pushed your consent to Rhysand’s mind.

Strong arms gently slid around you, pulling your back to a hard chest. Your synced breathing within that warm embrace finally lulled you to a peaceful sleep.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

Light filtering through the window assaults your eyes, bringing with it the realities of the morning. You stretch like a cat in the sun, silken sheets sliding across your bare legs. You hadn’t slept like that in years, Cauldron, centuries even. The sweet haze lingering from your sleep washed away once you noticed the empty—albeit still warm—bedside. You quickly sat up only to be interrupted by Rhysand waltzing in through the doors, breakfast in hand.

“Good morning, darling. I hope you’re hungry—I’m loving the bedhead by the way.” He swooped over to the bed, deftly handling the large tray in hand as he settled back beside you. You swiftly patted your hair down, “Yes, good morning Rhysand.”

Your dry tone didn’t damper Rhys’s wide smirk one bit. He was glowing this morning with an air of contentment; the full night's sleep had done him well.

He gestured to the amalgamation of various foods before you, “I wasn’t sure what you would be craving, so I grabbed a little bit of everything.” The delicious smell wafted before you, your stomach grumbling without consent.

“If this is how I’m treated, I don’t think I’ll ever leave.” You popped a berry into your mouth, relishing its succulent flavour.

“Consider it a thank you,” You paused, buttered toast halfway to your mouth, at Rhysand’s words, “For giving me, perhaps, the best sleep I have had in my five centuries.”

The earnest look in his eyes prompted you to butter your toast more vigorously, hoping he would miss the rosy flush seeping across your features.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never slept better either,” You smiled gently, hoping to not sound too heartfelt in your admission, “And there is no reason to thank me, Rhys. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You held your breath at the candid confession, praying he did not understand the real meaning behind your words.

Instead, his chest swelled with emotion. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a swift kiss to your hair.

“All the more reason for me to thank you, darling.”

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

The next few weeks continued much like that night; you would both lounge around in the evening and then retire to bed. Only, your inclination towards one another had become irresistible. The moment you got beneath the covers, you found yourself instinctually reaching for Rhysand’s embrace. Often, he held you close, your head poised at his soft neck. Occasionally, on the more difficult nights, you would swaddle Rhys tightly to your chest, caressing his hair as he was lulled to sleep by your steady heartbeat.

However much you enjoyed your time in bed with Rhysand, you couldn’t deny the increasing difficulty with which to hide your escalating feelings. What were once mere fleeting glances, were now lingering stares; no dark circles were to be found on his handsome face, his beaming grin a drug that would surely consume you. Rather than have the moments together soothe your ache like a balm, you only craved his attention more so.

As you both fell into your usual routine for the night and settled under the covers, you finally ripped the bandage from the festering wound.

“I think I may sleep in my bed beginning tomorrow night.”

Rhysand’s body froze beneath your touch, his arms still only half around you. Quickly, you continued, “Your nightmares seem to have passed—which I am eternally grateful for—therefore I don’t see any reason why I should continue to sleep here.” With you, the words didn’t need to be spoken; they loomed in the air around you.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke, “Why not?”

You gasped as he seized you closer to his chest. His breath was heaving while he squeezed you tighter in his arms. You quashed the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, reluctant to hurt your feelings further.

You sighed, eyes closing, “Again, there is no reason–”

“I want you here. With me. That is the reason why you should stay.”

You audibly swallowed, taking his words with a grain of salt. Your voice took on a placating tone as you lightly placed your palms on his chest, “I understand that you’re worried about the nightmares–”

“Darling, you understand nothing,” You stared, dumbfounded at his earnest tone.

“The agony of lost sleep pales in comparison to the loss of your presence. There is nothing more that I desire than having you here next to me as I fall asleep and as I wake. Seeing your radiant face every morning—I feel like the luckiest male in the world. And I am greedy; for your touch, your time…” He shook his head, putting his forehead to yours, “I know I am asking much of you since—”

You surged forward and placed a passionate kiss on his lips. His lashes fluttered before he was pushing back with just as much fervour. You pressed your body tighter against his, feeling the contours of his body moulding perfectly to your own. You wanted him closer—had you been one body right now, it would not have been enough. He thought he was greedy? He had no concept of the depth of your selfish desires, only scraping the surface with this ardent kiss.

You pulled back, breathless and entirely at his mercy, “You could ask for all the stars in the night sky and I would scorch my hands to deliver them to you,” He brushed his nose against your own, your swollen lips lightly caressing, “There is no limit to what I can give you Rhysand, if only you’ll let me.”

His violet eyes shone with disbelieving wonder as if he was undeserving of your affections. Rhys kissed you gently; this kiss held a promise that the others lacked. It was a promise of love, of reverence, of total, utter devotion. Your heart soared in your chest and for once, you let it; a caged bird finally tasting freedom.

That same gentle presence filled your mind once again.

I would be honoured, darling.

The message was bundled in the gossamer enormity of his feelings for you. With your heart content, you whispered under the cover of silky night,

“The honour will always be mine.”

Final Notes: Anything for my bbg Rhys <3 (Can you tell I recently rewatched Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time?) Hope you all liked it!

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x you #rhys x you #rhysand/reader #rhys/reader #rhysand #rhys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acomaf #acowar #acosf #cherhys

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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

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.”

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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