(what if?) all i need is you
azriel x fem!reader
summary Your first fae cycle is awful. Azriel just wants to help.
word count 3.9K
warnings Hurt/comfort, mild angst (mostly fluff), brief mentions of parents passing away and canon-typical violence, loverboy Az <3
notes I am aware that there are already a million period fics but I’m on my period so here is my (very self-indulgent) contribution <3
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You hadn't expected your first cycle as High Fae to feel so different.
The fatigue, the cramping in your stomach, and the migraines had all been mild at first - isolated enough that you hadn't expected your biannual cycle to be the cause, least of all so soon after being turned fae.
Azriel had noted the signs too. His presence, though not constant, had been a comforting sort of consistent, ever since you'd met in the human lands.
It had been an unnervingly quiet afternoon at Beddor Apothecary. Though, you supposed it was a relief that no villagers had knocked on the doors today with unnerving cuts and bruises.
The shop had been left to you in their will after the Beddors had passed. Not your family by blood, but in a way that perhaps mattered more. Their death had killed a part of your soul, one more difficult to patch than. A well-loved family, healing patients in the village for generations. Killed in a seemingly random fire. It hadn't made sense.
Their daughter, Clare, had been younger than you, far too young to leave so soon. Even as a child, she’d always hung around the shop while you worked, offering tools and cheeky smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief that had remained even as she grew into adulthood.
You’d heard that the fire took mere minutes to consume the house. But you knew that no human flame burned so rapidly.
Lost in thought, you’d jumped at the knock on the door. Patients rarely knocked, knowing the door to be unlocked. Instantly on alert, you’d grabbed the pointed steel spatula near your fingertips, before walking to the door and yanking it open.
Azriel had heard your hammering heart as you walked the short distance to your door, immediately feeling guilty as you eyed him warily. He stood preternaturally still as you quickly scanned over his frame, the distrust in your eyes slowly dissipating as you registered his wings, the siphons on his hands, before you'd craned your neck up to meet his gaze.
The tension had left your shoulders, then.
Feyre had written a few weeks ago, her most recent letter explaining the chronic pain suffered by her friend Azriel, who she’d previously described as “classically handsome” and something about “wingspan” that had flown over your head. Feyre had asked if you’d make a healing salve for him, like you made for her father. You’d readily agreed, looking forward to meeting a new patient, keeping busy to keep your wind from wandering to less-than pleasant thoughts.
This must be him, you’d thought.
In front of you, the large male smiled softly, his voice gentle as he said, “Hello. I’m Azriel, Feyre’s friend.”
He'd left later that evening, holding a generously filled tin that you'd refused payment for. And every two weeks, he returned for a new tin of salve.
Every two weeks, Azriel sat on a wooden stool beside your bench, transfixed as he watched your brilliant mind make the smallest modifications to the formula after asking for feedback.
“May I try something, Azriel?” you'd asked gently, a few visits in. Your hand had hovered above his own as you looked up at him, eyes patient, soft. “The application of the salve makes a difference too. I think that you should be more gentle with yourself,” you’d said, words deliberate.
Their double meaning hadn’t been lost on Azriel. For a moment, he’d considered, before nodding. Azriel’s eyes had snapped shut as he slowly swallowed, throat bobbing. But then, his gaze met yours again, face more open, trusting, as he flipped his hand and lightly pressed his palm on the table. “Please, go ahead.”
He’d watched as you gently pressed the cream into his scars, movements professional but tender, somehow. You’d taken your time, working systematically over the expanse of his hands, explaining your motions as you went, explaining the research with an endearing passion that had Azriel’s lips curving into a small smile, mind nearly forgetting that someone was touching his hands.
Once you'd finished, you’d scanned his face, almost nervous, only to find some emotion swimming in his eyes you hadn't been able to name.
And you’d let the words pour from your heart before you could second-guess them.
“You are brave, Azriel. And there is no shame in feeling pain, in being gentle with yourself.”
He’d stayed longer than usual that night, pressing soft lips to your forehead softly at the threshold. He’d promised to be back in two weeks.
The next time you saw him had been on the battlefield, and everything had changed.
“Here, let me.” A warm palm covered your left hand, wrapping around the knife that you gripped loosely, foggy mind not understanding why the fillet wasn't splitting into pieces.
You nodded distractedly, still glaring at the offending piece of steak on your plate. Your right hand reluctantly slipped out from under Azriel’s, the soothing heat of his palm feeling.With precise, even strokes, Azriel quickly had your meal in bite-sized pieces. You snorted quietly, watching him work. The throbbing at your temple wasn’t so awful that you didn’t register the irony of the Spymaster of the Night Court using his knife skills, honed through centuries of training and battle, to slice meat for his temporarily incapacitated friend.
Lips quirking up, he pushed the plate back toward you, eyes shining with poorly disguised concern.
Azriel knew you were so used to looking out for others that you sometimes struggled to do the same for yourself. Independent, perhaps to a fault.
But the knowledge didn't quell the urge to feed you himself, to look after you the way you deserved. Even if Azriel wasn't sure he deserved the honour of doing so.
“Thanks, Az,”you mumbled, slowly lifting your fork to your mouth.
“Of course,” he replied, voice soft in the way it always seemed to be when he spoke to you.
You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously as you chewed slowly.
Eyes already on you, Azriel scanned your features worriedly.
“I'm okay, Az. I promise. Just not hungry.” You finally swallowed, fork quietly clattering back onto the plate.
“A few more bites, and then you can stop. Please - you need the iron."
You didn't understand why.
“I can't, it-” you stopped suddenly, pushing your chair back, “excuse me.”
Azriel watched you hurry to his bedroom, to the ensuite inside. He hesitated only a moment before he followed after you. If you asked him to, truly wanted him to, he would leave, even if it would kill him.
He found you, forehead leaning against the ceramic basin as you took exhausted, heaving breaths. His shadows swarmed forward, lifting your hair off your overheated neck. A moment later he crouched down, hand moving down your back in broad, sweeping strokes.
Eyes squeezed tightly shut, you concentrated on the feeling of his calloused hands against the thin fabric of your shirt. Familiar. Safe.
“I don't understand why I can't eat. I love your steak,” you mumbled defeatedly, voice breaking in frustration.
“I know, Y/n,” he soothed, “you’re not well, sweetheart.” Azriel's voice was gentle, patient as he explained.
“Hmm. I don't feel well.”
“It's your cycle, angel. You've been more tired this week, not just from the training. The migraines, and now the nausea.” Azriel paused, voice somehow even softer, “it’s all normal. Awful but normal."
A black shadowy tendril darted forward, brushing your neck, providing cooling relief to the hot skin.
You exhaled. “Okay. Thank you, Az.” Turning to him, you added with the most convincing smile you could muster, “you can leave now.”
Azriel's brows furrowed. In your delirium, you reached out a thumb to smooth away the crease.
You rarely touched Azriel’s face. Azriel was your friend; tender face-touching wasn’t really something that friends did. The realisation took a second to register, and you startled, quickly retracting your hand and letting it fall to your lap.
Azriel’s hand engulfed yours a second later, squeezing reassuringly. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, honestly.
You looked up to his earnest face, hazel eyes patient as ever. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. The last man I was with-” you winced, quickly shaking your head. “It doesn't matter,” you trailed off, cheeks heating with embarrassment.
Azriel looked appalled. “He was truly pathetic, then,” he bit out, eyes burning with fury. More calmly, he continued, “you didn't do anything wrong, angel. It’s natural for your body to do this. I hate that you’re in pain, but I’m not uncomfortable. Not at all.”
You smiled at him gratefully, chest feeling lighter.
He reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You fought the urge to cringe - it was drenched with sweat, clinging to your face by your eye. But Azriel seemed unfazed, his touch reverent.
Strange.
“Can I take you to bed?”
You opened your mouth to reply, just as a sharp pain tore through your abdomen. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips.
Just then, Azriel looked pained, too. You wondered why. Was he injured somewhere, too?
“I know it hurts, sweetheart. I'm sorry,” Azriel said, voice sympathetic as his thumb brushed your cheek.
You shifted your focus back to Azriel’'s hand on your back, still moving soothingly along your spine, on taking even breaths. But once the haze cleared, your senses narrowed on the faint metallic tang of blood permeating the air between you.
“Oh. This is-” your voice broke, tears finally slipping out, “you shouldn't be here. You can’t be here, Az.”
At your panicked tone, Azriel pulled away, quickly - reluctantly - giving you space. You averted your gaze, but he nodded, reassuring. “I can go, sweetheart. I will go if you truly want me to.”
You didn't want that, not even a little. But how could you ask him to stay? It was a miracle that he hadn’t already left, given how many times you’d asked, albeit half-heartedly. He rivalled you in sheer stubbornness, though this fact had never made your chest ache in the way it now did.
“But, you once told me there was no shame in feeling pain. That there was no shame in being gentle with yourself,” he paused meaningfully, “there is no shame in asking for help when you need it either, sweetheart. You were the one who helped me learn that.”
You looked up at that, meeting his eyes. Tears were falling in earnest now and you opened your arms, reaching out, voice cracking in a small sob.
You weren’t sure who moved closer first, but you were instantly bundled in Azriel’s arms, sitting across his lap as he held you close. His wings came to wrap around you in a protective embrace, the cool membrane impossibly soothing against the overheated skin of your arms.
Azriel weathered all of it, holding you close as the waves of pain continued piercing through you. His arms around you were firm, steadfast, and Azriel rested his cheek on top of your head, utterly content to hold you like this as long as you needed. He did not falter for a moment as you cried into the soft cotton of his shirt.
As your heaving breaths began to slow, sobs finally growing quieter. you wondered how everything could feel so easy with him. How you could feel so safe. It was rare - you would never be able to find anything like this again.
And that thought had the tears falling fast once again.
Azriel’s arms around you tightened further in response. It should have been impossible.He remained quiet; nothing needed to be said between you, anyway.
In the time you’d known him, you’d quickly learned Azriel wasn't chatty. Yet when he did speak, it was always what you needed to hear, uncomfortable truths or otherwise. But the silences were equally comfortable. Azriel was steady, enduring. You wouldn’t change a thing.
Ear against Azriel’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, you were vaguely aware that time continued to pass. If that fact weighed on Azriel, if his legs had numbed from your weight pressing into them, he certainly didn’t let on.
But you couldn't hide from reality forever. And the blood that you now felt starting to soak through your leggings was a harsh reckoning.
You pulled away, sliding off Azriel's lap as his wings eased from around you, arms following suit.
He smiled at you softly. “Better?”
“Better,” you murmured. You’d let yourself indulge today, but didn’t deserve him. Not even for a moment.
Azriel stood slowly, beginning to walk away from where you sat on the tiled floor.
He’d realised the same.
He was leaving.
It was hard to quell the disappointment beginning to churn through your stomach. You didn’t have the right to be disappointed. Azriel was your friend, and your pain was not his responsibility.
You were not his.
The realisation was a punch to your gut, the hurt somehow feeling more debilitating than the cramping sensations that continued to flood your abdomen.
But you’d lived more than two decades of your life without depending on him, on anyone, really. You could learn to do it again, however painful it would be.
Self-aware to a fault, you recognised that you weren’t easy to be with. Least of all, your breakdown today was a glaring indication. And Azriel had endured a difficult childhood, and overcome so much. His life was still complicated, busy, and he deserved someone easier.
You didn’t have a home - your parents passed young and the Beddors had been the closest thing you’d had to a family before they suffered the same fate. And once you’d finally begun to process everything, to tread water, you’d nearly drowned in the cauldron, and turned fae.
Lost in thought, it felt like your other senses had halted, too. It was no wonder you didn't register the familiar baritone cutting through the silence - not the first time, nor the second. Maybe not even the third.
“Y/n?” Azriel tried again, voice gentle. His gaze was worried as you finally heard him and met his eyes.
Azriel was by the door, leaning down and reaching into the top drawer under the large sink countertop.
He’d gotten up, but he hadn’t left.
Your vision became blurry again. Distantly, you registered Azriel moving towards you, carrying something in his hands.
Moving to crouch in front of you, Azriel’s brows furrowed, again.
“I thought you might want to wear a pad,” Azriel explained, unravelling the outer fabric wrapping to reveal a cloth pad inside. Your heart squeezed. “It’s cotton, not hemp. I know you’re allergic,” he added quietly.
It was so matter-of-fact, an explanation rather than an invitation for gratitude. You felt it, anyway.
You’d mentioned your allergy once, months and months ago, when you were still human. Azriel had come in the afternoon, earlier than usual, nearby due to a Spring Court visit. He’d grinned, explaining Cassian’s seasonal allergies and you’d laughed hard before telling Azriel about the time you’d made porridge with hemp seed instead of oatmeal and broken out in hives. Very alarmed at first, he’d eventually chuckled at the sound of your contagious laughter.
It had been a tongue-in-cheek comment, completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
A few more tears fell from your eyes.
“Oh no, please don't cry, Y/n. I’m sorry.” Large thumbs moved to swipe under your eyes with a heartbreaking tenderness that had you wanting to cry all over again. You squeezed your eyelids shut.
“Fool. Why are you sorry?” you sniffled exasperatedly. It was misplaced frustration, the true culprit being your own lack of emotional regulation. “You're an angel, Az. Truly.” Under your breath, you mumbled, “your girl will be the luckiest faerie in Prythian.”
Azriel broke out into a wide smile bringing out his dimples, eyes bright and twinkling. He looked at you, gaze knowing in a way that you couldn't even begin to unpack in your current state, lest you come up with a truly delusional answer.
“You deserve to have someone who cares about you as deeply as you do for others. More,” he said easily, eyes sincere.
Flustered, you had averted your gaze. You focused on keeping your hands by your sides and not raising your cold palms to your rapidly overheating face.
“I’m honoured that you trust me enough to care for you like this. Especially after everything,” he said, voice quiet. After Hybern.
“That isn't on you, Azriel. Do not think for one moment that you are responsible, because you are not. I most certainly do not hold you responsible for Hybern’s actions,” you said fiercely.
Azriel’s free hand hung limply by his side. You reached forward holding it between both of your own.
“Despite everything that has changed in my life, I will always be grateful that you are in it.” Perhaps for the first time today, your voice did not waver. The only thing you were truly sure about.
“Thank you,” Azriel said, voice hoarse. “Tell me you know that I feel the same.”
“I do know, Az,” you assured gently. It was true. He had shown you countless times before today, too.
A pause. Then, “do you want me to run you a bath?” Azriel’s eyes searched your face.
“Yes, please. In all honesty, I’m ready for a nap but it would be nice to feel clean,” you mused. Another cramp tore through your stomach, and you winced. Azriel frowned, looking so deeply distressed that you had to laugh. “I’m sure the warm water will help too,” you grinned wryly.
Azriel smiled then. “Good idea.” He walked to the large tub, twisting both bronze taps, testing the temperature with a finger under the faucet, before adjusting again, testing the temperature, repeat.
You watched Azriel fuss over the bath, feeling your heart grow another ten sizes.
When he returned to your side, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing into his chest. He returned the embrace, folding you in his arms. You grinned.
Azriel felt your smile through his thin cotton shirt and chuckled. “Should I get your clothes?” Azriel asked, before adding, almost shyly, “or you can wear some of mine. If you'd like.”
“Thanks, Az. I’ll wear your cobalt blue henley. If that's okay?"
“My blue... what?”
“Henley,” you repeat, slowly, drawing out both syllables. You pulled back, relaxing your hold to stare at him.
Azriel’s quizzical expression didn’t shift. “I have no clue what that is.”
You burst out laughing, pulling away at last. You reached for his hand, and Azriel swiftly laced your fingers. “Let me show you.”
Leading him from the room, you walked to his large dresser, reaching on tiptoes for the top drawer. Hand on the bronze knob, you pulled the drawer open with a small huff, the contents heavy.
You turned back to look at Azriel with jokingly narrowed eyes, “you own way too many clothes.”
He huffed a silent laugh, hand gesturing to his dresser, curious to see how exactly you would pick out this “blue henley” when you couldn’t actually see the clothes inside.
Your smile became smug, following his train of thought. Maintaining eye contact, you felt around the drawer with your hands, sifting through layers of folded garments with practised ease, before gently pulling out the shirt in question.
You held it up for him, grin unfaltering.
Azriel’s jaw fell open, expression now awed. “How did you know?” he asked quietly, eyes soft.
Smile shrinking, you fought the urge to shirk away from his fond gaze. Your cheeks heated before you admitted, “I… wear it sometimes when Rhys sends you away for longer missions.”
Azriel broke into a broad smile, so bright and radiant that you quickly decided the mild humiliation you felt was worth it. He didn’t say anything, just smiling at you with dimples and sparkling eyes. Looking so handsome that you didn't know what to do with yourself.
So, you kept talking.
“I worry sometimes. Often. I know you are over five hundred years old and you have been doing this job for a long time. But you have all said that we face bigger threats than Hybern. And I know you can handle yourself, Az, but your self-sacrificing tendencies really freak me out,” you say quickly, before pausing for breath.
The exact combination of emotions swirling in his irises was difficult to pinpoint. But his gaze remained warm, safe. It gave you the courage to continue. “Somehow, that shirt always smells like you. Even after I wash it. I wear it to bed sometimes because it just feels like... you’re not as far away,” you finished with a shy smile.
Azriel's gaze did not falter from your face, the love radiating so brightly from him that no creature in Prythian, blind or otherwise, could deny that he regarded you with a reverence unrivalled by even the suns that orbited the galaxy. He closed the gap between you in a single step pulling you to him so fast you stumbled into his chest with a small, startled huff. You quickly braced your palms on his shoulders, balancing yourself.
Azriel pulled back slightly, soft lips placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before he pulled you close once again, sighing contentedly. “I know my job has its risks, and you have every right to worry. But I promise that I will do everything in my power to come back home to you, angel. Always.” He added, less serious, “I am sure Rhys or Cass or Mor or Amren can confirm that I have been much less self-sacrificing since you came into the picture.”
“Oh?”
“You can ask them yourself,” Azriel confirmed. Later, he’d also tell you about the preservation charm he suspected Rhys had placed on that shirt. Reluctantly, Azriel pulled back, but interlaced your hands as he added, “bath first, though. It'll help.”
“Cassian was right. You really are a mother hen,” you grinned, allowing him to lead you back to the bathroom nonetheless.
“Cassian is my biggest hater,” Azriel groaned. “Worst wingman ever,” he mumbled under his breath.
You laughed. “Please. You have never needed a wingman, Azriel. Don’t even pretend like your shadows don't tell you what all the ladies of Prythian think about your wingspan.”
Azriel choked. Then, quickly recovering, "and how would you know?"
“...Guilty.”
Entering the bathroom, Azriel led you to the tub, swarmed by shadowy tendrils. Two distinct black shapes swirled around the taps, twisting them off.
“Thank you,” you whispered, smiling as they swirled happily in response.
A larger cluster of shadows gathered at the tiled surrounds on the opposite end of the tub, swirling around a small wooden tray of small vials. The water itself was now filled with warm and lots of bubbles. You grinned.
A tiny shadow lifted a small brown bottle with a purple label, while its friend twisted off the stopper.
You watched as a few drops of the pale yellow liquid fell into the tub.
“Is that lavender?” you asked, turning to Azriel.
“Yes. Essential oils. I wish I could take credit, but the idea was entirely theirs.” His eyes twinkled as they met yours.
You burst out laughing.
Azriel’s eyes crinkled, the melodic tones of his laughter filling the space, combining with your own, echoing through the chamber. As the tangerine neon light of the sunset poured in through the window, illuminating his beautiful face, you knew this was all you needed.
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Thank you for reading 🩷
