I needed this gif to be on here because it’s SO funny you have no idea how much this silent communication means to me. The fact that Jason shushed his own brother. The fact that Dick LISTENED.

Azriel: You have an impressive pain tolerance.

Nesta: Thanks, it's the trauma.

Eris: I love making parties more interesting by telling strangers "I want you to know that I, personally, have no problem with you being here."

Cassian: What are you talking about, Azriel? You love it here!

Azriel: I'm not sure I do, I think I've just developed Stockholm Syndrome.

The Night Court’s Tiny Protector

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: Azriel discovers that his fiercest protector isn’t his shadows—but his own child, who takes their job far too seriously.

genre: fluff

Azriel was feared across Prythian. He was the Shadowsinger, the spymaster, the silent specter that haunted the nightmares of his enemies.

But today?

Today, he was the father of a menace.

All Over Again

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're drunk. Your mate is trying to get you home. Only problem is—you're really, really drunk.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Drinking, absolutely zero attempt to establish a pov on my part

a/n: A cute little drabble because if it all fell is making me a tiny bit sad and I love this trope <3

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

The world spun around you as you let out a delighted laugh, faerie wine pulsing in your veins. This was bliss, and—admittedly—the most fun you’d had in months. The workload you’d been dealt this last year was one for the books. 

“Exactly how many drinks did you have?” Feyre asked you, red and green rays lighting up her face in time with the beat inside Rita’s. 

“So many,” you yelled back, flinging your arms around her shoulders. “So many and I’m going to have more!” 

Fanfiction is becoming people’s primary form of entertainment right now because most media right now is so cheap, bland, recycled, and sponsored by people who love money more than the source material. Fanfiction is written for free by people who genuinely love what they’re writing about. That’s why it’s better. That’s why it’s more satisfying. Fanfiction is a home-cooked meal made for yourself and for your friends. Media today is junky fast food spoiled by too much grease and the knowledge that the people producing it are being criminally mistreated and underpaid. 

FANFICTION IS A HOME-COOKED MEAL

WOW. BRO.THAT’S. 

New portrait time!! It's Morrigan!!! I wanted to design an outfit that she would wear into the Nightmare Court where she can rub it in everyone's faces how much of a goddess she is, with her come out of that darkness and creating her own light. I really had to work on this one to get it right, she went through many versions to get here, and im really happy with the result! she'll be on redbubble too!

Watching, Waiting, Wanting (Extended Version)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel was never a good man, not when it came to her—his darkness, his obsession, his carefully crafted devotion was something no one, not even the Mother herself, could sever.

Y/n didn’t know he was there.

She never did.

Not really.

Soft Hands, Sharp Edges

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel doesn’t know what to do with kindness. It unsettles him more than any blade, any shadow-drenched secret he’s ever carried. But when Y/N comes into his life, he begins to realize that maybe love isn’t spoken in grand confessions but in the quiet acts of care he’s spent a lifetime denying himself.

Azriel had spent his entire life repaying debts.

Debts to the shadows that had carried his whispered prayers in the dark when no one else had listened. Debts to the Night Court, to Rhysand, to the only family he had ever known. Debts to the people who needed him—the ones who relied on his skill, his efficiency, his quiet, lethal devotion.

Kindness, though—kindness was a language he had never been taught.

It was why, when Y/N pressed a steaming cup of tea into his hands one evening at the House of Wind, he hesitated.

I cackled while making this

Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was weird. But he swore he couldn’t do it.

He just couldn’t fuck you, couldn’t have you writhing beneath him, screaming his name while your collection of plushies sat there on the bed, their little beady eyes watching as he stuffed your pretty pussy full of his cock.

Their innocent little faces stared right into his soul. And to make it worse? You’d named them. Made it personal.

So now, as you stood in the kitchen, making his favorite meal, Simon was busy.

Gathering armfuls of plushies from the bed and tossing them onto the couch, completely focused. It was almost endearing.

“Simon, what are you doing?” you laughed, glancing over your shoulder.

“Yer makin’ my favorite food,” he grunted. “Gotta repay you tonight. And I can’t with those—” he pointed accusingly at the plushies like they’d personally offended him “—watchin’ me.”

“Stuffed animals? The big bad lieutenant can’t handle a few stuffed animals?” You dragged out the words, teasing, your grin widening when his glare deepened.

“They creep me out.”

And so, it became a routine.

Anytime you two planned on fucking: in the bed, on the couch, against the wall, even on the damn kitchen counter. Simon always took a minute to move your little “army” out of sight.

But on the nights when he got impatient, like when you were lounging in nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties— he settled for the quickest solution: grabbing a blanket and tossing it over them like he was shielding their innocent little eyes.

And after sex, when you were both exhausted, he’d scoop you up and carry you back to bed, to the very same plushies he had just evicted. His favorite, for now, was Henry the Hippo, who he begrudgingly tolerated as long as he wasn’t watching.

Azriel definitely lets off work steam in the bedroom. Get ready, Ms. Gwyn

A Sleeping Guide for Insomniacs — Part Two

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: After a family dinner leaves him feeling more alone than comforted, Azriel finds himself at your shop once more. He's unsure why he’s come again—only that something in him, and in his shadows, is drawn to you.

Warnings: some self-deprecation, envy, loneliness, insomnia, fluff, fun, deep introspection, az and his relationship with his shadows

Word Count: 4.3k

Part One | Series Masterlist |

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Step Two: Learn the Language of the Dark

Sleep does not come when called, nor does it linger where it feels watched. It prefers to arrive unnoticed, slipping in through the cracks of an unguarded mind. If you search for it too directly, you may find it has disappeared entirely.

The trick is patience. Let the dark settle. Listen to the quiet things—the crackling of a fire, the rhythm of your own breathing, the steady pulse of something unseen. Do not demand sleep’s presence. Let it believe it has found you first.

— (A Sleeping Guide for Insomniacs, 27)

Azriel tried his best to control himself. 

Truly— he did. But a few nights later, around half past two, Az found himself outside of your shop once more. 

He hadn’t planned to come here. Had told himself he wouldn’t. But the moment he left the River House, he knew he wouldn’t be going home. He couldn’t bring himself to. He knew that tonight, even more than usual, the townhome would feel like a mausoleum. A place for something long dead. And he would be the only ghost haunting it.

Drunk on You

Azriel x Reader

Velaris hums with life around you, the midday sun painting golden ribbons across cobblestone streets. The air is thick with the scent of spiced cider and honeyed pastries, threaded through with the briny whisper of the Sidra. Laughter swells and fades between vendors calling out their wares—bolts of silk that shimmer like liquid light, books with gilded spines that promise adventures, trinkets that glint like they’ve been kissed by starlight.