Hi, welcome. She/her. Mid 20s. I am, in fact, a yapper. 🥰 |💚 ko-fi ❤️ | Gaza Family gofundmes
Currently working on
I write a lot of x reader fics for Azriel, Cassian, Eris, Lucien, and Nesta. I also have some Non-reader fics as well as some room for more poly x reader fics.
I have also participated in a couple of fun event weeks like my 1k Celebration, my 2k Celebration, Eris Week 2024, and Gingerfucker Week 2024
Azriel’s Cat Cafe - a collection of stories around Cat Lady Azriel
Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor (Azriel x reader) - Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.
Gingerfucker (Eris x Rhys’s sister!reader) - no one is more surprised than Eris Vanserra to find that he is capable of much more than just political ambition
I got cursed like Eve got bitten (Azriel x Rhysand’s Sister!reader) - reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried - COMPLETED
Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one (Eris x Azriel x reader) - secrets threaten to swallow you whole as you work up the courage to tell Azriel about being his mate. Unfortunately, you aren’t the only one with secrets
Being seven months pregnant was not something I had ever pictured for myself.
Last year at this time, I had been worried about rent increases and overdue emails. My body had been mine in a way I never questioned. My future had been narrow but predictable.
Now I couldn't see my own feet.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror that morning, turning slightly to the side, staring at the undeniable curve of myself. My stomach rose proudly, impossibly round, stretching the soft cotton of my sleep shirt tight.
When I leaned forward to try and glimpse my toes, all I saw was skin and the faint, silvery lines that had begun to map it.
"Unbelievable," I muttered.
The baby shifted in response a slow, rolling drag beneath my ribs that made me suck in a breath.
Seven months. There was no hiding it anymore. No strategic angles. No oversized sweaters capable of disguising what I carried. I had popped.
And with it had come a new kind of dependence.
Azriel and Eris no longer asked if I needed help. They simply anticipated it.
Shoes appeared by my feet already unlaced. Chairs were pulled out before I reached them. Water glasses were refilled before I realised I was thirsty.
It wasn't suffocating. It was careful. And that made it harder to resist.
The smaller living room had become my preferred territory lately. The couch in there was deep and soft and entirely unforgiving once it swallowed you whole.
Tonight, I had miscalculated.
I'd sunk into it after dinner with a content sigh, one hand absently stroking the curve of my stomach while Azriel read across from me and Eris typed something on his laptop.
The baby was particularly active, sharp little jabs low and then higher, as if testing the boundaries of their growing home.
"I swear they're rearranging furniture in there," I murmured.
Eris glanced up immediately. "Violent?"
"Enthusiastic."
Azriel's mouth twitched faintly.
After a while, I realised I needed to stand. That was when the problem revealed itself.
I leaned forward, planting my palms against the couch cushion and pushing. Nothing. I tried again, exhaling sharply, rocking slightly for momentum. Still nothing.
The couch held me hostage, cradling my hips in a way that would have been luxurious if it weren't humiliating.
I gritted my teeth and tried once more, adding a small, undignified grunt for emphasis.
Before I could attempt a fourth time, the room shifted.
Eris was already there. He didn't tease me. Didn't comment. He simply slid one arm behind my shoulders and the other beneath my forearm, bracing carefully at my back.
"Ready?" he asked softly.
I nodded, cheeks warm.
He lifted gently, not hauling, not rushing just guiding, giving me leverage where I didn't have it. I rose with surprising ease.
The relief was immediate. So was the sting of it.
"Thank you," I murmured, adjusting my shirt self-consciously once I was upright.
His hand lingered at my back a second longer than necessary, steady and warm. "Anytime," he replied.
His other hand shifted instinctively to my stomach. The baby kicked hard, right beneath his palm.
Eris went utterly still. Then his entire face transformed. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't restrained. It was wild and bright and open in a way that made my chest ache.
"There you are," he whispered, awe threading through the words. Another kick answered him.
I couldn't help it, I smiled too.
Azriel had moved closer without my noticing. His hand joined Eris's, resting just above it, the two of them feeling the movement together.
For a moment, the three of us stood there in silence, hands overlapping, breath held in shared wonder. This tiny, unseen life binding us in ways none of us had predicted.
And then it passed.
The baby settled. Their hands dropped. The moment folded in on itself like something fragile and sacred.
Bittersweet didn't begin to cover it.
Somewhere along the way, I had stopped thinking of Azriel as simply composed and capable. I had started noticing the way his voice softened only for me. The way he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking, not calculating, not clinical, just... careful.
And Eris.
Eris, with his sharp tongue and impossible warmth. The way he would drop everything the second I inhaled too sharply. The way his hand always found my stomach like it belonged there.
I cared for them. Not in the fragile, fleeting way I had promised myself this would remain.
In the slow, dangerous way that roots. And that terrified me.
Because caring meant wanting. Wanting meant staying. And staying meant risking the possibility that I had misunderstood everything.
The contract had been clear. The expectations had been outlined.
I had told them I would leave. Hadn't I? I had been the one to say it.
But was that what I wanted? Or was that what I'd needed to believe so I wouldn't fall apart in month three... or five... or now?
The baby shifted again, a slow stretch that distorted the shape of my stomach briefly beneath my palms.
I inhaled sharply, emotion rising too fast to swallow.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," I whispered. The question lingered long after the room had gone quiet again.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do.
I carried it with me down the hallway later that night, into the bathroom with its soft golden sconces and clawfoot tub that had once felt indulgent and romantic and now felt like an obstacle course designed specifically to humble me.
My back ached in that deep, dull way that only pregnancy seemed capable of producing, and the weight of my belly tugged relentlessly at the small of it.
A bath sounded heavenly—weightlessness, warmth, relief.
I lowered myself carefully into the water, gripping the edge of the tub as I went. It took strategy now. One leg in. Shift. Balance. The other leg. Slow descent.
By the time I settled fully, water lapping just beneath my ribs, I was already slightly winded.
But then the heat seeped in. It loosened everything.
The tight band across my hips softened. The constant pressure in my spine dulled to something manageable.
I leaned my head back against the porcelain and exhaled, long and slow, closing my eyes as steam curled around me.
For a few precious minutes, I let myself float. The baby rolled lazily beneath the surface, movements slowed by the warmth, and I traced the curve of my stomach under the water, watching the faint distortions as they shifted.
My body felt foreign these days, stretched and claimed and undeniably changed but here, suspended, I could almost pretend it belonged to me again.
Almost.
When the water began to cool and my fingers pruned, I sighed and opened my eyes. Reluctantly, I braced my hands on either side of the tub and prepared to stand.
It did not go well.
I pushed. Nothing. The porcelain was slick beneath my palms, and my centre of gravity had become a cruel joke over the past few months.
I tried again, angling myself differently, attempting to gather momentum without sloshing water everywhere.
My abdominal muscles protested immediately. The baby shifted in irritated response.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath, attempting to keep my dignity intact. "We can do this."
I could not do this.
The edge of the tub suddenly looked much higher than it had fifteen minutes ago. My feet slipped slightly when I tried to reposition them, and a sharp spike of panic shot through me, not for myself, but for the life inside me.
The image came unbidden. Losing balance, falling backwards, the awful crack of porcelain and bone.
My pride warred violently with my common sense.
I hated needing help. I hated it. But I hated the idea of risking the baby more.
I sat there for a full thirty seconds, water cooling around me, before I finally swallowed and raised my voice.
"Azriel?" It came out softer than I intended. Silence. I cleared my throat. Louder this time. "Eris?"
The reaction was immediate. Footsteps thundered down the hallway. A door hit the wall with a force that made me jump.
"What happened?" Azriel's voice was sharp, already edged with alarm.
"Are you hurt?" Eris was right behind him.
They were in the doorway within seconds, scanning the room like they expected blood, broken glass, catastrophe.
I blinked at them from my bath of lukewarm water, mortified.
"I—" I hesitated, heat flooding my face. "I can't get out."
There was a beat of silence. Not mocking. Not exasperated. Just processing.
Eris's shoulders dropped first. "You scared us," he exhaled, one hand braced against the doorframe.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I just didn't want to risk—" My hand drifted instinctively to my stomach beneath the water.
Understanding replaced panic instantly.
Azriel stepped fully into the room, already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "You did the right thing."
No teasing. No commentary about stubbornness. Just that.
Eris grabbed a thick towel and set it within reach, his movements efficient but unhurried now. "All right," he said, voice gentler. "We'll make this simple."
I shifted awkwardly as Azriel knelt beside the tub. Up close, his composure softened into something intensely focused.
"I'm going to help you sit up first," he murmured. "Slowly."
His hands slid beneath my arms, firm and steady, careful not to jostle. The contact was warm and grounding. Eris moved to the other side, one hand braced against my back, the other ready at my forearm.
They counted softly "One, two, three" and lifted together.
Water cascaded down my skin as I rose, heavy and ungainly and deeply aware of how exposed I was.
Instinctively, I crossed an arm over my chest, embarrassment flaring.
Neither of them looked at me like that.
Azriel's gaze stayed on my face, checking for strain. Eris focused on where his hand supported my weight, ensuring I didn't slip.
It wasn't sexual. It wasn't charged. It was intimate in a way that felt almost more dangerous.
"Careful," Azriel murmured as my feet found the bath mat.
They kept their hold until I was steady, until my balance reasserted itself and the immediate risk passed.
Only then did Eris wrap the towel around my shoulders, tucking it securely across my front with surprising delicacy. His knuckles brushed damp skin as he adjusted it, and I felt the faint tremor in his hand, not from desire, but from the leftover adrenaline of thinking something might have happened to me.
Or to the baby.
"I should have asked sooner," I admitted quietly.
Azriel's thumb brushed a stray wet strand of hair from my cheek. "You called before you fell," he said. "That's what matters."
They didn't step away immediately.
Eris crouched slightly, hands settling at the sides of my belly through the towel as if confirming for himself that everything was still as it should be.
The baby shifted, a slow, reassuring movement beneath his palms.
He exhaled.
Azriel's hand came to rest at the small of my back, rubbing gently in slow circles to ease the tension that had tightened there during my failed escape attempt.
The bathroom was warm with steam and something else, something softer, heavier.
My heart beat too fast, not from fear anymore but from the closeness of it all. From the way they handled me like I was something precious and breakable and fiercely important.
I had never been cared for like this. Not without expectation. Not without a ledger.
And that was the cruellest part.
Because this tenderness, this wordless coordination, this instinct to protect without claiming ownership made leaving feel less like strength and more like self-sabotage.
"I hate needing help," I whispered, not quite looking at either of them.
Eris's hand stilled briefly before resuming its gentle pressure. "You're growing a human," he said softly. "You're allowed."
Azriel leaned his forehead briefly against my temple, a gesture so fleeting and so intimate it made my throat tighten.
"You don't lose independence because you accept support," he murmured. "You're choosing safety."
Safety. The word echoed uncomfortably.
Because safety had been the reason I told myself I would leave. It had been the shield I'd wrapped around my heart when this began.
Don't attach. Don't assume. Don't stay longer than you're meant to.
And yet here I was, wrapped in a towel and in their arms, letting them steady me as if I belonged there.
The baby kicked again, a firm, insistent thump that made all three of us still.
Eris's lips curved faintly, and Azriel's hand instinctively spread wider across my back.
For a suspended moment, we were a single unit breathing in sync, anchored by the small, relentless life between us.
Bittersweet didn't even touch it anymore. It was something deeper.
Something that felt dangerously like a family.
And as they guided me carefully out of the bathroom, I realised with a quiet, terrifying clarity that the thought of walking away from this, of returning to an apartment where no one anticipated my unsteadiness, where no one panicked at my raised voice, where no one knelt beside a bathtub without hesitation—
It no longer felt brave. It felt unbearable.
Eris's POV -
The sun had been relentless all morning.
Not unpleasant just bright enough that the entire house seemed to hum with it.
The light spilt through the tall windows, pooling across the floors, warming the stone walls until even Azriel had eventually glanced outside and said, almost reluctantly "we should take her out."
She'd been restless all day. Not unhappy exactly, but trapped in that slow, heavy discomfort that had become her constant companion these past few weeks.
Seven months had changed everything.
The pregnancy had stopped being something that could be tucked neatly beneath loose clothing and polite conversation.
Now it announced itself.
Her belly curved proudly beneath the soft fabric of her sundress, the cotton stretched gently over the full swell of it, the shape unmistakable from every angle.
She had reached the stage where she could no longer see her own feet without leaning forward, where tying shoes had become a two-person operation, where standing up from certain chairs required negotiation.
And yet the moment the door had opened and the sunlight touched her face, something had shifted.
She had smiled. Not the polite ones she gave when she didn't want us worrying. Not the small, careful expressions she wore most days now.
A real one. It had been enough to convince us.
So we walked. She moved slightly ahead of us down the quiet neighbourhood street, one hand resting instinctively beneath her belly as she walked.
The breeze toyed with the hem of her dress, lifting it just enough to reveal slow, careful steps in soft sandals.
She looked beautiful.
There was no other word for it. The sunlight caught in her hair, outlining the curve of her shoulders, the proud fullness of the child she carried.
"Give it five minutes," Azriel murmured beside me, voice thoughtful in that quiet way of his. "At that pace she'll need to sit."
I glanced at the determined way she continued down the sidewalk, chin lifted slightly as if daring gravity to challenge her.
"Three," I replied.
Azriel's mouth twitched.
We didn't rush her. That had been one of the first lessons of the last few months, she hated feeling monitored.
So we followed at an easy distance, close enough to step in if needed, far enough that she could pretend she wasn't being watched.
Exactly three minutes later, her pace slowed.
Her shoulders dipped slightly as she exhaled, the effort finally catching up with her. A bench sat beneath a broad tree just ahead, and she lowered herself onto it with visible relief, one hand bracing her lower back.
Azriel glanced sideways at me. I lifted an eyebrow. He didn't comment.
But I saw the satisfaction in his eyes.
She leaned back, breathing out slowly, both hands resting across the top of her stomach now. The baby shifted beneath the fabric, an unmistakable ripple that made her pause mid-breath.
Then something bright flickered across her expression.
A jingle floated down the street. Soft at first. Then unmistakable.
Her head turned immediately, eyes widening.
Across the road, a small ice cream truck had pulled to the curb, the familiar melody chiming cheerfully into the summer air.
Her entire face lit up.
"Oh my god," she murmured softly, pressing both hands around the sides of her belly like she was consulting with the occupant. "The baby would love a mango sorbet right now."
Azriel and I exchanged a look. "The baby would," I repeated slowly.
"Yes," she insisted, already smiling wider. "They absolutely would."
Azriel folded his arms. "Interesting. I wasn't aware fetal taste preferences were so—specific."
She leaned back against the bench dramatically. "You two are denying a pregnant woman fruit."
"I don't recall denying anything."
She lifted an eyebrow.
I sighed theatrically and turned toward the truck. "Come on," I muttered to Azriel. "Before she accuses us of cruelty."
Azriel followed easily enough, though I caught the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as we crossed the street.
By the time we returned a few minutes later, two cups of mango sorbet in hand, something had changed.
She wasn't alone anymore. An elderly woman had settled beside her on the bench.
The conversation didn't appear hostile at first glance. The woman leaned forward slightly, hands clasped atop a small purse, the universal posture of someone curious and eager for polite conversation.
Still, something about the tension in her shoulders made me slow. Azriel noticed it too.
We approached quietly.
"...and how far along are you, dear?" the woman asked brightly. "You're huge!"
The comment was delivered with the kind of blunt enthusiasm only older generations seemed capable of.
She shifted slightly on the bench, one hand sliding automatically to support the underside of her belly.
"Seven months," she replied.
The woman's eyebrows shot up. "Seven! Good heavens. And are one of these handsome gentlemen the father?"
Azriel handed her the sorbet first before either of us spoke. She accepted it gratefully, murmuring a soft thank you before glancing up.
"Yes," she said simply.
The woman's face lit with approval. "Lucky girl! Now tell me—which one?"
There was a pause. It was small. Barely noticeable. But I felt Azriel still beside me.
She glanced between us briefly before answering. "Both."
The word landed softly but the effect was immediate. The woman blinked. Once. Then again. Her pleasant curiosity drained slowly from her face, replaced by something tighter, more brittle.
Her gaze moved between the three of us again, this time slower. Assessing. Judging. Her mouth pursed.
"Young people," she muttered, shaking her head with a quiet tsk. "And your strange ideas."
The air shifted. Subtle, but unmistakable. Azriel's shoulders straightened slightly.
The woman continued, voice lowering with disapproval.
"Such unnatural arrangements," she said, glancing pointedly at her stomach. "Poor child coming into a world like that."
My jaw tightened.
Beside her, I saw her posture change too, her spine stiffening slightly, her hands curling protectively over the curve of her belly.
But the woman wasn't finished.
Before any of us could react, her wrinkled hand reached forward. Not violently. Not aggressively. But with a casual entitlement that made something hot and sharp flare in my chest.
Her palm settled against the fabric stretched across her stomach. A slow, almost pitying touch.
"Poor baby," the woman murmured.
She moved instantly. Both hands came up, blocking her belly, pushing the stranger's hand away with surprising firmness.
"Please don't touch me," she said.
Her voice wasn't loud but it was steady.
The woman recoiled as though offended. "Well!" she sniffed, drawing back sharply. "No need to be rude."
I stepped forward then. Not aggressively. Just enough that the distance between us disappeared.
"Actually," I said mildly, my tone pleasant enough that it took a moment to register the edge beneath it, "there is."
The woman looked up at me, clearly startled.
Azriel had moved too, positioning himself slightly behind her bench, close enough that she wasn't alone in the interaction anymore.
The woman huffed indignantly. "I was only expressing concern. Children deserve proper families."
The words hung there. Ugly. Heavy.
I felt the shift beside me before I even looked down. The way her shoulders curled slightly inward, the way her hands tightened over her stomach like she was shielding the baby from the conversation itself.
And something inside me snapped. Not explosively. Quietly. Coldly.
"Our child," I said evenly, "is going to have parents who adore them."
The woman scoffed. "That's not natural."
I smiled. Not kindly. "Neither is commenting on a strangers reproductive choices in public parks," I replied.
Azriel placed a hand lightly on her shoulder then. Grounding. Steady.
"You should go," he said quietly to the woman.
There was something in his voice that made her hesitate. Something calm. Final.
She muttered something under her breath, another disapproving comment about "modern degeneracy" before finally pushing herself to her feet and shuffling away down the path.
Silence lingered after she left. The street felt quieter somehow.
I looked down at her. Her hands were still resting protectively over her belly, fingers spread wide across the fabric of her dress.
"You alright?" I asked softly.
She nodded but her voice came out smaller than before. "People stare sometimes," she admitted.
Azriel crouched slightly beside the bench, his gaze gentle. "That's their problem," he said.
She looked between us, uncertainty flickering across her face.
And then the baby kicked. Hard. Her eyes widened. "Oh—"
Her hand pressed down instinctively, and Azriel's followed a second later, his palm settling over the movement. I added mine a moment after, the three of us forming a small shield over the life inside her.
The baby kicked again. As if answering. And just like that, the tension cracked.
She laughed softly. A real one. The kind that made her eyes close slightly at the corners. "You see?" she murmured to the baby. "Already dramatic."
I glanced at Azriel. He was watching her. Not the baby. Her.
Like the sight of her laughing in the sunlight was the most precious thing he'd seen all week. I understood the feeling completely.
Because for the first time in days, maybe weeks, she looked happy.
And I would gladly buy every mango sorbet in the city if it meant seeing that expression again.
A/n - Pregnancy said "independence? that's cute" and immediately introduced forced proximity, reluctant help, and a whole lot of soft, intimate moments that hurt in the best (and worst) way!!
Things were getting a little too heavy, so we hopped into Eris's POV for a bit of teasing and lighter energy. Of course, because it's me, we couldn't stay there without reality knocking but we do end on something softer, warmer, and maybe a little more hopeful :)
🫶🏻summary: you and azriel decided to tell your friends the news at dinner. nyx decided he wants to help.
Azriel was whipped. He was so completely gone that Cassian had started teasing him again, but the Shadowsinger hadn't even tried to deny it. And why would he?
He had been whipped the exact moment the mating bond snapped into place between the two of you. Honestly, he had been whipped this entire time—ever since you pulled him into your orbit and wrapped him securely around your pinky finger. But learning that you were carrying his child? That made Azriel truly, utterly, and unapologetically whipped all over again.
"I think we should tell them," you said one night, as Azriel's fingers slowly traced across your stomach.
He had developed a habit of doing it since the day you told him you were pregnant. Like he still can’t believe there’s a little life forming under your heart.
Azriel nodded, though only because he didn't want to burst the bubble the two of you were living inside.
Call him overprotective and jealous, but he wished this knowledge was only his and yours.
Your little life.
Your little secret.
But Madja and Feyre already knew anyway. So, you finally agreed it was time to tell the rest of the Inner Circle at dinner.
—-
"Ah, you look so beautiful!" Feyre said, coming over to hug you tightly. A huge smile was plastered across her face as she looked up at Azriel. "Come in, dinner's ready."
Azriel took your cloak and hung it up next to the front door. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "You're nervous."
He was. He was so fucking nervous. Anxiety had never really been on his radar before, but right now, it was all he could feel.
"Are you not?" he asked in a low voice.
"I am, but it's a happy nervous," you giggled.
Gods, she's so beautiful and radiant, he thought, trying—and failing—to stabilize his racing heartbeat.
He stepped further into the River House, his pace slow as he watched your back while you practically bounced on your toes toward the others. But the tension broke the moment you greeted Rhysand, who was holding Nyx. The toddler practically launched himself into your arms with a loud, happy shriek.
"Oh!" you laughed, your eyes widening in surprise. "Well hello, you chunky baby."
Azriel was internally screaming, breaking into a nervous sweat at the sight on his right.
Nyx had apparently decided that sitting in his own highchair during dinner was out of the question. Instead, he occupied your lap, insisting on eating from your plate and immediately snoozing the moment he was full. The toddler's grip on your sleeve was so fiercely tight that any attempt to gently peel him away would have been completely useless.
You, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind at all.
Azriel, however, was fighting off an existential crisis because the view was just so overwhelmingly wholesome. He couldn't even remember eating his own dinner; he had spent the entire evening captivated by the sight of you eating, feeding Nyx, and cradling the boy as he drifted off to sleep in your arms.
He couldn’t even remember responding to any remark or question thrown his way.
He couldn't help but imagine this exact scene with his own baby. How he would want his Mom, how he’d want him - to hold, carry, protect, and watch over their own little one.
Azriel's heart leaped into his throat the moment you turned and looked at him. You looked so content. Happy. Completely at ease.
You were entirely ready to be a mother. And looking at you now, Azriel couldn't help but be a little more excited about becoming a Dad.
"He's never been quite this clingy before," Rhysand’s contemplative voice suddenly snapped Azriel out of his thoughts. Rhys was watching his son sleep peacefully in your arms.
"Yeah, I wonder why," Feyre chimed in with a knowing smirk, tossing a quick wink in your direction.
You bit your lower lip, trying your best to hide the excited smile breaking across your face.
"We kind of want to tell you guys something," you announced suddenly, throwing a shy glance toward Azriel.
He slowly but surely smiled, giving you a reassuring nod as he draped his arm securely over your shoulders.
"Aww, look how he's just staring up at her," Mor cooed, looking down at Nyx. The little boy had just decided to wake up in your lap.
And indeed, he looked completely in awe as he gazed up at you. You couldn't help but laugh.
"You might just be his first-ever crush," Cassian joked, which immediately earned him a fierce death glare from Azriel.
"You know what's happening, don't you?" you softly asked Nyx, reaching out to brush a stray lock of unruly hair away from his forehead.
Nyx just beamed back up at you, his smile all gummy and drooly.
A sudden gasp broke the silence.
Rhysand had actually gasped. His violet eyes were wide with shock, but they were already beginning to twinkle with pure joy.
"Holy gods," he breathed. He turned, pointing a finger down at Nyx. "He feels it." He looked up, his gaze locking onto Feyre.
Feyre simply nodded, her joyful smile shining.
"What?" Cassian asked, looking around the table completely dumbfounded by everyone's shocked, knowing expressions.
"I'm pregnant," you replied.
"Oh my gods," Cassian whispered, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Azriel.
"Oh my gods! How did it happen?" He surged out of his chair, startling Nyx slightly as he jumped a little in your lap.
"How do you think it happened, dumbass?" you laughed, smacking him playfully upside the head as he rounded the table to squeeze the both of you.
"Az, my brother, you actually know how to use your magic stick!" Cassian beamed, entirely unbothered by the swat.
"It's not a stick," you muttered under your breath.
Azriel shot you a warning glance, which you met with a teasing smile.
"I feel faint," Cassian continues to be dramatic. He immediately bombarded you with questions.
"How far along are you? Do you have any cravings yet? Morning sickness? Any weird food and smell sensitivities?"
"Cass, it's not your baby," Rhysand chimed in, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, it is! I'm going to be an uncle again!" Cassian declared proudly, throwing his arms around Azriel and hugging him tightly.
“You'll be a fantastic dad, Az. You took care of me and were always there for me. I know you're gonna take good care of your own baby, too,” Cassian murmurs against your mate’s shoulder.
Your eyes immediately tear up.
Azriel visibly tensed at first, but as the weight of Cassian's words truly sunk in, he relaxed and melted into the tight hug.
"Thank you, brother," Azriel said, his voice thick with emotions.
Everyone made their way over the two of you, enveloping you into hugs so tight and warm, tour heart squeezed inside your chest.
But it was Rhysand's quiet words that completely tore through your defenses.
"Thank you for making my brother happy."
You looked at your beautiful mate, this strong, fierce and loyal man, who keeps on bringing down to your knees, who makes your heart beat wildly.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3k
𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: fluff!! littlest hint of spice. like a little angst too bc they have a brief fight??? idk
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:
You lose something and Azriel gets it back for you.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:
im too soft for this pls its too much. i almost made this a smut but i am wholesome and refuse to listen to the little devil on my shoulder. also this is unedited
The ground shook as the air cleaved and two bodies fell to the floor from the mass of shadow above. A wave of cold river water surged out, slickening the marble tile with a slight greenish tinge.
You were retching up water on your hands and knees, drenched hair plastered to your face and your neck. A large slice of skin was exposed diagonally across your collar from where the siren had scratched you, a red ring around your wrist quickly turning purple from where it had grabbed you and dragged you under. That was all before Azriel had dove in from the sky, as graceful and lethal as a bullet with his wings tucked tight and limbs flush to his sides. In but a flash of blinding, brilliant blue did he slay the faerie, the life just starting to leave its gaze before firm hands had snatched you and you’d slipped away into the shadows.
Now the shadowsinger was coughing violently, all the while glaring at you as he braced his scarred hands on his knees, heaved over. His large, dark wings were dripping, a mist showering over you as he shook them free of moisture. You could feel his stony stare fixed on you as the puddle on the floor gradually grew, both your bodies dripping.
The moment you regained some semblance of control you were up on your feet and jabbing a finger into the male’s broad chest, a vicious growl emitting from your mouth and your eyes ablaze.
“What the hell is your problem?!”
He had the audacity to look shocked by your outrage, a dark brow scrunching and lips pulling back to snarl something back at you but you were quicker than him.
“I had it, Azriel, what the fuck?”
“The only thing you had was a watery grave,” he instantly barked back, now standing upright so he loomed over you as usual.
Somehow he looked even more devastating fully drenched, his clothes sticking to his lean frame, revealing his rippling muscles to you with every movement. His dark locks were pitch black and curling at the tips, heavy, shiny droplets collecting at the very ends. Hazel was lit aglow beneath that darkness, his gaze lit with some unknown wrath that you didn’t quite know how to place.
It was just plain unfair how good he looked after nearly drowning.
“Fuck you,” you scoffed, even if he was right. The ache in your lungs remained from your lack of breath, the creature having dragged you underwater so deep that your ears nearly popped with the pressure.
You turned away from him as your fingers ran over your chest, toward the spot that your necklace usually laid upon. But now there was only a shallow slice where the siren had swiped it from you, and the tattered edges of your top. Tears welled in your eyes at the barren expanse of skin you felt, but you refused to let them fall in front of the shadowsinger, refused to let your anger turn to sorrow before you were in the privacy of your own room.
“I think gratitude would be more appropriate,” Azriel spoke harshly, still glowering from his position behind you. “You know, for saving your life?”
You whirled around, fists clenched at your hips. “Would you just shut up!” your hiss morphed into a gasp as you trembled with the effort of curbing the sob that tried to escape.
The haughty look instantly dropped from Azriel’s face, his eyes flicking over every inch of you to assess you for any sign of physical damage. When all he came up with was the cut on your collar and the bruise around your wrist, his brow furrowed.
You were shaking, frustration peaking as you ran your fingers through your sopping hair, starting to pace before the male. “I had it, it was right there…” you muttered to yourself, quickly swiping away a rogue tear, praying he hadn’t seen it.
The shadowsinger remained rooted where he stood, watching your display of upset with quiet intensity. After you had paced for a minute, he finally asked, “You had… what?”
His voice was deep as it sliced the silence in the room. The chill of his chambers was now starting to leech into your bones, your arms crossing over your soaked midsection.
You pinched the spot between your brow and nose bridge, willing any nearly-boiling emotions to relax to a simmer, at least while you were still in front of your long-time crush. “Just forget about it…”
You weren’t looking at him so you didn’t see the way his plush lips pursed.
“Forget about what?” he pressed. His persistence forced an annoyed sigh from you, and you shot him a quick glare before continuing your pacing.
“It’s nothing,” you said, trying to shut him down again. You didn’t know why enlightening him of the true reason you were so upset seemed somehow embarrassing. Maybe it was because the male had never shown profound emotion to you and therefore cueing him in on your own felt… too intimate.
But Azriel wasn’t having it.
“If it’s really nothing—”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me.”
You turned again, facing the male before you and gauging his stance. With one look you knew he was not dropping it. Any excuses you would attempt would be futile.
“It took… my necklace.”
You held your breath, waiting for him to explode, for him to belittle you and call you stupid and materialistic and any other insult he could produce. But all he did was stand there, and look at you.
Eventually, he said, “So you’re telling me that you nearly drowned… for some jewelry?”
Your eyes fell from his to the floor. You knew he wouldn’t understand.
“Risking your life for such a thing is extremely reckless and I don’t care to entertain it,” he stated, callous.
“It’s not just some jewelry!” you quipped, standing your ground. You didn’t care if it made you look weak, stupid. Yes, you thought he was cute and funny and usually kind, but this meant a lot to you and you were going to hold your own.
Azriel sighed, stepping closer to you. “I don’t think you understand the value of your life, or the importance of your existence in others’.”
You brushed off whatever that meant.
“It’s the only thing I have left from my mother,” you finally revealed, the words fading softer toward the end. You regretted it immediately, but you knew from the emotion that flashed in his eyes that he had heard it, and there was no taking it back now.
You had never mentioned her to him before, only the fact that she was dead and had been for a long time. And Azriel hadn’t pushed, so you hadn’t felt the desire to give any further detail.
But now he was looking at you with some sentiment you couldn’t quite place. It seemed like… maybe it was… empathy.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
You were surprised by his immediate apology, hadn’t expected it. A somber smile graced your lips and you nodded, gaze drifting down to your feet again, turning to head back to your room to wallow in self-pity. “It’s okay, it’s just a necklace.”
Three steps into your retreat Azriel cleared his throat.
When you turned to look at him he was still standing there, but he now had a little smirk on his lips as he held out a clenched fist. He released his grip and out dropped a small, silver-laced heart pendant, the chain bouncing from its coil around his fingers.
“You mean this necklace?”
Your breath was genuinely sucked out from your lungs, your eyes tearing up as you blinked furiously, unsure if he was really holding your most prized possession.
“Az,” you blubbered, choked up and your lip quivering. “That’s…” Two slow steps and then you were flying into his arms, your limbs wrapping around his torso as you clung to him and laughed.
Azriel stumbled back just slightly, unprepared for your abrupt launch into his embrace. But he quickly recovered, his free arm wrapping around you so your bottom was secured by his elbow, his hand at your waist. He chuckled as you squeezed him, fingers reaching out to stroke the pendant that now lay in his open palm, to make sure it was really here and you hadn’t lost it. Your longtime crush had saved you and somehow managed to sneakily grab your necklace at the same time.
“Thank you,” you sniffed, tears welling up with relief, “thank you, thank you so much, thank you Az.” You whispered it over and over, tucking your face in against his neck, breathing in that soothing cool cedar scent you loved so much.
The shadowsinger was blushing with your proximity and your praise, near giddy from your outright gratefulness. He allowed himself to nuzzle your ear just once, not wanting to toe the line. “Of course, sweetheart… anything for you.”
You sat back so you could look at him, your beaming smile reaching your eyes. Azriel couldn’t help but grin back at you.
“I can’t believe you got it! You’re the best, Az!” you cheered, fingers now resting on his palm, pleased to find the necklace was indeed there and not lost at the bottom of the river.
The Illyrian was basically looking at you with heart-eyes now, not used to such overt flattery. You wiggled in his grasp, totally overjoyed. The display of your content was making his heart feel funny, his icy exterior completely melting for you.
“I’m so happy right now, I could just—”
You planted your mouth on his, hands coming to cup his strong jaw and hold his face flush to yours.
Azriel went stiff, his eyes widening as his grip on you became steel. But you were undeterred, pulling back to plant a few more swift, equally-firm kisses on his lips and then across his hot cheeks and nose.
When you pulled back, Azriel was gaping at you, lips now parted and his cheeks and the tips of his ears a soft, warm pink. Your smile faded as you took in his expression, settling into the knowledge that you’d just assaulted him with a barrage of kisses.
“Shit— I— I’m sorry Az,” you laughed, embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck. “I just— got a bit excited, I guess.”
You shifted so he would let you down but he refused to budge, arm taut around you. His wings were held high and tight behind him, still buffering as he tried to process what you had just done.
Your cheeks were becoming the same shade as his now, and you swallowed, uncomfortable under his intense stare. You weren’t accustomed to being able to look him head-on like this; he usually towered over you. He was so handsome up close, it made your heart drop into your stomach at the thought that you had just kissed him. About ten times, give or take.
It seemed like an eternity had passed before the shadowsinger finally blinked and closed his mouth, his eyes falling to linger on your lips. You felt aflame as you watched his tongue dart out, tasting the spot your lips had just claimed. “That’s alright,” he murmured, the hand that was holding the necklace coming to tuck your wet hair behind your ear, fingertips gliding down your jaw, leaving you wanting more. “Seems like a worthy reward for returning your most prized possession to you.”
Then he was setting you down, your ankles suddenly weak as your feet touched the ground.
“Allow me,” he said and gently placed his hand on your hip, turning you away from him.
You held your breath as the rough pads of his fingers coasted up your shoulder, the familiar weight of your mother’s pendant heavy against your rapidly-beating chest while he secured the clasp. You tried to calm yourself down but it wasn’t happening, your body leaning back against him on its own.
Azriel hissed lowly, firm hands grasping the back of your forearms and holding you out, far from where your back had grazed him. “Careful— you’re not the only one excited here.”
Your face burned and your core stirred at the same time.
“Sorry…” you whispered meekly.
He sighed a soft laugh, one hand rubbing your arm. “It’s alright. You go and run a hot bath, you’re drenched and I can hear your teeth rattling from here.”
You turned and smiled smally, grateful he was offering you an escape. You took extra care in keeping your eyes locked with his, no matter how bad you wanted to look down and see just how excited he was. “Thank you again, Az. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
And with that, you slipped from his chambers, the sound of your wet feet pattering down the hallway.
Azriel watched the spot where you had disappeared around his door, his shadows now surging out and dancing around him with glee, flickering across his mouth to get a taste of you. He didn’t care that he was still dripping wet as he flopped back onto his bed, his fingers coming to trace his lips. He recalled how your mouth felt on him, closing his eyes as he tried to preserve the feeling as best he could.
“No sweetheart,” he spoke to no one in particular, a confession only the stars in the sky would hear, “you’ve no idea how much you mean to me.”
Five months of nausea turning into hunger. Five months of tiny flutters becoming unmistakable kicks. Five months of learning the rhythm of a house that had once felt too large for me.
By now, I knew the way the afternoon light spilt across the kitchen counters. I knew which floorboard outside the guest room creaked. I knew that Azriel preferred silence when reading contracts and that Eris hummed under his breath when he cooked.
Five months ago, they had been strangers with careful smiles and a proposition.
Now they were the first voices I heard in the morning and the last shadows moving under my door at night to make sure I was asleep.
And still nothing had changed.
Tonight, the house felt different. Polished. Prepared.
Azriel and Eris had business associates over, something small, they'd said. Intimate. Just a handful of people they trusted. A dinner to smooth over months of half-attended meetings and postponed obligations.
They'd asked me three times to join.
"You don't have to hide upstairs," Eris had told me, leaning against the doorway while I adjusted the soft wrap dress that now barely tied over my stomach.
"I'm not hiding," I'd insisted.
Azriel's gaze had softened in that quiet way of his. "You'd be welcome."
I knew that.
But tonight the baby had decided my internal organs were enemies of war. Sharp little jabs beneath my ribs. Sudden rolling pressure against my bladder. An ache low in my back that made sitting upright feel like a negotiation.
"I'll just ruin the ambience by groaning," I'd said lightly.
Eris had smirked. "We can market it as realism."
Still, I'd declined.
So they went downstairs without me, and I settled into the guest room with a pillow wedged beneath my hip and one hand resting absently over the curve of my stomach.
From below, laughter drifted up. Glasses clinked. The low murmur of conversation rose and fell like a tide.
I told myself I didn't mind. This was their world. I was simply living in it for a while.
Hunger had become relentless lately. Not gentle cravings. Not polite suggestions. A gnawing, insistent need that ignored time and pride and comfort.
By ten, my stomach was growling so loudly I half-expected someone downstairs to hear it over the conversation.
"Fine," I muttered, pushing myself upright with a soft grunt. "You win."
I padded down the hallway slowly, one hand braced at my lower back. The house smelled rich, roasted herbs, wine, something buttery and indulgent.
The dining room doors were mostly closed, warm light spilling through the narrow gap between them.
Laughter burst from inside just as I passed.
I slipped into the kitchen quietly, grateful that no one noticed. The island still held remnants of preparation, cheese boards, sliced fruit, a half-covered loaf of bread.
I reached for a plate, cutting myself a modest slice, adding a handful of grapes. Something simple. Something quick.
I didn't mean to linger. I didn't mean to listen.
But as I stepped back toward the hallway, my name drifted through the crack in the door. Clear enough to halt me mid-step. I stilled.
"...No, truly—congratulations," a male voice drawled, thick with wine and self-importance. "On securing such an easy surrogate."
The word hit before the meaning did. Surrogate.
The room hummed with polite amusement.
Another voice chimed in, lighter, a woman this time. "Yes! Most of them are so high-maintenance and needy. You two got very lucky."
I stepped back before I could hear more. Before they could hear me.
The hallway felt longer now. Colder. The laughter resumed behind the doors, muted and distant, as if I'd already left.
This house is theirs. The thought came without bitterness at first. Just clarity. The art on the walls. The polished floors. The dining room filled with important voices and easy confidence.
The baby is theirs. Planned. Anticipated. Toasted over wine glasses.
And I am—temporary. The word settled heavier this time.
I looked down at my stomach, at the firm curve beneath the soft fabric of my dress. The baby shifted, a slow roll that pressed outward against my palm. I swallowed.
"You're theirs," I whispered before I could stop myself. Not mine. Not really.
I had agreed to this. Signed for it. Understood it. And yet—
The image of Azriel kneeling beside the toilet at six in the morning. Eris tracking appointments in his phone with meticulous care. The way they both cried at the first scan.
Had that just been... professionalism? Good clients managing their investment?
My throat tightened at the thought, because I knew that wasn't fair. They had never treated me cruelly. Never dismissed me. Never reduced me to anything in private.
But in that dining room, in front of people who mattered to them I was an arrangement. A smooth process. An easy surrogate.
The plate in my hands felt absurd now.
I didn't want the bread anymore. I didn't want to hear the laughter. I didn't want to walk back into the guest room and pretend I hadn't listened.
For the first time since moving in, I felt the edges of the house. The invisible boundary lines. Where I stood. Where I didn't.
Upstairs, I closed the guest room door softly behind me.
The laughter downstairs continued. Life as usual.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed both hands to my stomach, breathing slowly through the ache rising in my chest.
The ache didn't rise all at once. It gathered. Slow. Patient. Like water seeping through cracks you hadn't known were there.
I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed long after the laughter downstairs softened into background noise. Long after the sound of cutlery faded. Long after a door opened and closed somewhere below.
I told myself I wasn't going to cry. I had known what this was.
I had signed papers. Initialled clauses. Agreed to terms in ink that had not trembled the way my hands did now.
The baby shifted again, a firm little nudge beneath my ribs, and I let out a shaky breath.
"I know," I whispered to the curve of my stomach. "I know."
My chest tightened anyway.
Downstairs, chairs scraped. Voices drifted toward the front hall. Coats rustled. Polite goodbyes echoed faintly up the staircase.
I waited. I didn't want them to hear me.
The front door shut. Once. Twice. Silence settled over the house again, deep, familiar, intimate.
That was when it broke.
The first sob slipped out before I could stop it, small, startled, like it didn't belong to me. I pressed my fist to my mouth immediately, horrified at the sound.
No. No, no, no.
I slid back onto the bed, curling onto my side, pulling a pillow against my chest as if I could compress the grief into something manageable.
The tears came anyway. Hot. Silent. Relentless.
I buried my face in the pillow to muffle it, shoulders shaking despite my best effort to stay quiet. The baby shifted again, unsettled by the movement, and guilt flared through me immediately.
"I'm okay," I whispered hoarsely, though I wasn't sure who I was reassuring.
I cried for the house that wasn't mine. For the dining room I didn't belong in. For the way they had offered for me to join them and how I hadn't trusted that offer enough to accept it.
I cried because part of me had started imagining staying.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
A soft knock sounded at the door. I froze. Another knock. Quieter.
"Are you alright?" Azriel's voice low, controlled, but threaded with something tight.
I didn't answer quickly enough.
The door opened anyway. They must have heard something. A hitch in my breathing. The mattress shifting.
The hallway light spilt in around them, outlining their silhouettes before they stepped fully inside.
Azriel reached me first. He was at the bedside in two strides, crouching immediately, one hand hovering near my shoulder but not touching yet.
"What's wrong?" he asked, already scanning me. "Is it the baby? Are you in pain?"
Eris closed the door softly behind him, his expression stripped of all sharp humour. "Is it cramping? Is it sharp? Tell us."
Their urgency only made it worse.
"No," I managed, shaking my head quickly. "No, it's not that."
Azriel's hand settled carefully on my upper arm. Warm. Steady.
"Then what?" he asked.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because what was I supposed to say?
That I had eavesdropped? That someone had called me easy and it had lodged in my chest like a splinter? That I had started wanting something I had no right to want?
"I'm just..." My voice broke. I swallowed hard. "Hormonal."
Eris didn't look convinced. "Love," he said quietly, moving closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Talk to us."
I shook my head harder this time. "I can't."
Azriel's brows pulled together. "Can't or won't?"
"Both," I whispered.
Silence stretched between us. Not angry. Not offended. Just concerned.
Azriel's thumb brushed absently over my sleeve, grounding. "You're sure it's not pain?"
"I promise."
Eris studied my face like he was trying to read what I wouldn't say. His jaw flexed once, tension there, but he didn't push.
"Alright," he said finally, voice gentler. "Then we won't interrogate you."
That almost made me cry harder.
They exchanged a glance over me, silent communication I still didn't fully understand. Then, without another word, Azriel stood and toed off his shoes. Eris did the same.
My breath caught. "What are you—?"
"Moving," Eris replied simply. Azriel pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed.
"This is a guest room," I protested weakly.
"And?" Azriel asked.
Before I could argue further, the mattress dipped behind me as he slid in carefully, one arm coming around my middle. Eris stretched out in front of me, facing us, his hand settling lightly over mine where it rested on my stomach.
They were warm. Solid. Real.
"You don't have to tell us tonight," Azriel murmured near my hair. "But you don't have to be alone either."
That did it. The sob that escaped me then was quieter, but deeper.
Eris shifted closer, brushing his thumb slowly over my knuckles. "We've got you," he said.
I turned my face into the pillow again, but this time it wasn't to hide. It was because I didn't know how to survive the tenderness.
Their breathing eventually evened out, slow and steady, anchoring me between them.
Azriel's palm rested protectively over my stomach sometime during the night. Eris didn't let go of my hand.
I lay awake longer than they did, staring into the dark.
Temporary. By morning, the word had hardened into something almost practical.
I stopped saying "our baby" after that. I didn't do it consciously at first. It just... slipped.
When Azriel asked how I was feeling at breakfast, I answered, "the baby kept me up half the night."
When Eris rested his hand over my stomach and murmured, "our little menace," I smiled faintly but didn't echo it.
Just "they've been active."
Small shifts. Almost unnoticeable. But I saw it. And eventually, I knew they did too.
I stopped drifting into the kitchen when they cooked. Stopped leaning into Azriel's side on the couch without thinking. Stopped reaching for Eris's hand when the baby kicked hard enough to make me gasp.
They still touched me gently, hands at my lower back when I climbed stairs, palms warm against my stomach at night but I grew careful. Polite. Measured.
If Azriel's fingers lingered too long at my waist, I'd shift slightly, pretending not to notice.
If Eris brushed his lips against my temple in passing, I'd smile but step away before it could become anything more.
They didn't push. That made it worse.
I stopped initiating entirely.
No more curling into them during movies. No more quiet kisses pressed into the hollow of a throat just because I felt like it. No more sleepy murmurs through half-lidded eyes.
It wasn't punishment. It was survival.
Because every time I leaned into them, every time I let myself forget the contract and the calendar and the ticking inevitability of it all—it hurt later.
So I started preparing. Quietly.
At night, when they thought I was asleep, I would prop myself against the headboard with my laptop balanced carefully above the curve of my stomach.
I filtered by price first. Always by price. The numbers had to make sense.
I opened my debt spreadsheet next, colour-coded cells, careful calculations, the one piece of my life that had always obeyed logic.
The compensation after delivery. Minus remaining credit cards. Minus student loans. Minus a modest emergency fund.
What would be left? How long would it last if I was careful?
I stared at the final number until it stopped looking like security and started looking like a countdown.
It would be enough. Not luxurious. Not comfortable. But enough.
Temporary had always been the point.
They felt the shift. Of course they did. Azriel grew quieter around me, watching instead of speaking sometimes. Eris's humour sharpened at the edges, like he was trying to coax me back into something warmer.
One evening, they were both in the living room with travel brochures spread across the coffee table.
Actual brochures. Eris insisted physical copies made things "feel real."
I had been in the kitchen, rinsing a glass, listening to the low murmur of their voices.
"We should go before the third trimester," Azriel was saying. "Somewhere quiet."
"Coastal," Eris replied. "Or countryside. Somewhere she can rest." A pause. "After the birth, too," Eris added more softly. "Once things settle. Just the three of us for a few days."
My hands stilled under the running water. Just the three of us.
I dried them slowly and walked into the living room. They both looked up immediately.
Eris smiled. "Perfect timing. We're planning your babymoon."
"My what?"
"Babymoon," he repeated. "A final indulgence before sleepless nights."
Azriel's gaze was gentler. "We thought somewhere peaceful. You deserve that."
Deserve. The brochures looked beautiful. Soft beaches. Rolling hills. Sunlight over quiet terraces.
For a split second, I let myself picture it.
Waking up somewhere unfamiliar but safe. Azriel reading beside an open window. Eris complaining about overpriced room service. The baby shifted lazily beneath my ribs while we laughed over nothing.
A family. The image bloomed so vividly it almost knocked the air from my lungs.
And that was exactly why I couldn't let it stay. I sank into the armchair instead of joining them on the couch.
"When the baby's born," I said, keeping my voice steady, "I'll leave."
The room went very still. Eris blinked first. "What?"
"That was always the plan," I continued carefully. "I'll recover for a bit, obviously. But after that... I'll move out."
Azriel's hand, which had been resting on one of the brochures, curled slowly into a fist.
The silence that followed wasn't confusion. It was impact. I could see it.
The way something shuttered in Eris's expression. The way Azriel's jaw tightened, his breathing evening out in that deliberate way he used when he was containing something.
"We know what the contract says," Azriel replied quietly.
"This isn't about the contract," I said.
It was entirely about the contract.
"And the trip?" Eris asked, voice too casual. "That doesn't include you?"
I swallowed. "It shouldn't."
There it was again, that word. Shouldn't. Because this house was theirs. The baby was theirs. And I was—
Temporary.
Azriel's POV -
The distance had become an obvious thing. It wasn't subtle. Not to me. Not to Eris.
She thought she was being careful, softening her tone, stepping half a pace out of reach instead of a full one, smiling just enough to make it seem natural.
But I had spent my entire life reading what wasn't said. And she was retreating.
It started with language. "Our baby" became "the baby."
It happened gradually enough that anyone else might have missed it. I didn't. Eris didn't either.
Then it became physical.
When I brought her ginger tea in the mornings, she thanked me politely. When I knelt behind her on the couch to rub the tension from her shoulders, she'd let me for a minute, maybe two, before gently shifting forward.
"I'm okay," she'd say.
You don't have to. Three words she never spoke aloud but they lived in her posture.
Eris tried in his own way.
He'd come home with whatever she'd mentioned in passing. Green apples at midnight. A very specific strawberry pastry from across town. That ridiculous sparkling water she'd declared tasted "like static but good."
She'd smile but it didn't reach her eyes anymore.
One night he came back with an armful of tulips because she'd once said they reminded her of something soft and hopeful.
She stared at them like they were an apology she hadn't asked for.
"They're beautiful," she said carefully.
Carefully. I hated that word.
One evening, after she'd gone upstairs early with the excuse of being tired, Eris poured himself a drink and didn't touch it.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him watch the untouched glass.
"She's leaving," Eris said finally.
It wasn't an accusation. It was confusion wrapped in something heavier.
"I know," I replied.
He exhaled slowly. "Is this some kind of nesting thing? Hormones? They say month five is when it shifts."
I didn't answer immediately. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was us.
"She's different," he continued. "You feel it too."
"Yes."
That was the only certainty.
"She barely lets me touch her anymore," he said quietly. "Not like before."
I thought of the way she'd angled her body away on the couch earlier. The careful smile. The polite thank you.
"She's tired," I offered, though it sounded thin even to me.
Eris's eyes flicked to mine. "She's been tired for months. This is new."
He wasn't wrong.
"She said she'll leave when the baby's born," he added. "Like she was reminding us."
I leaned back against the counter, folding my arms. "That was always the plan," I said.
"Yes," he agreed immediately. "But it didn't sound like a plan. It sounded like a warning."
That unsettled me. A warning.
"She's overwhelmed," I said after a moment. "Halfway through. Body changing. Everything's real now."
Eris rubbed a hand over his mouth. "So you think it's just... panic?"
"I don't know."
And I hated that. I was good at reading people. At anticipating. At preparing. But with her, every time I thought I understood the shift, it moved again.
"She used to say our baby," Eris said quietly. I looked at him. "Now it's just the baby."
I hadn't realised he'd noticed that too. "It could mean nothing," I said.
"It doesn't feel like nothing."
Silence pressed in around us. Upstairs, a faint creak in the floorboards. Both of us stilled instinctively.
"She flinched when I kissed her," he said.
"She didn't flinch," I corrected automatically.
"She pulled away."
I replayed it. The way her smile had lingered a second too long. The way her hand had dropped from his arm.
"She said she could manage when I offered to rub her shoulders," I admitted. "That she didn't need help."
Eris let out a humourless breath. "Since when does she not need help?"
Since when does she not let us give it? That was the part neither of us said aloud.
"I saw apartment listings on her laptop," I added after a moment.
His head snapped toward me. "What?"
"It was open. I didn't snoop."
His jaw tightened. "So she's planning."
"Maybe she's just being responsible."
"That's not comforting."
No, it wasn't. We fell quiet again. The not-knowing was worse than an answer. If she were angry, we could fix it. If she were hurt, we could apologise. If she were afraid, we could reassure her.
But this? This felt like something internal. Something she wasn't sharing.
"Do you think we did something?" Eris asked finally. The question was softer than I'd ever heard from him.
"I don't know," I admitted.
That silence again.
"She cried the other night," he said. "And wouldn't tell us why."
I felt that low in my chest. "She said it wasn't pain."
"So what was it?"
I had no answer. Hormones, I told myself. Stress. The reality of what's coming.
"She's five months," Eris said quietly. "Halfway."
Halfway. The word echoed strangely. Halfway to sleepless nights. Halfway to handing over something that had lived inside her. Halfway to change none of us fully understood.
"She might be bracing," I said slowly. "Creating space so it hurts less later."
"For her?" he asked.
"For all of us."
Eris stared at the staircase like he could see through it. "I don't like it," he muttered.
"No."
I didn't either. I didn't like the polite smiles. I didn't like the way she stopped reaching for us first. I didn't like feeling like a guest in her grief, whatever it was.
"I don't want to push," he said.
"If we push, she'll retreat further."
"And if we don't?"
I held his gaze. "I don't know."
That was the truth of it. Not clarity. Not certainty. Just unease.
Upstairs, another soft shift of movement. Alive. Present. Still here. And somehow already pulling away.
Eris ran a hand through his hair. "I want that child," he said quietly. "I've never been more sure of anything."
"I know."
He swallowed. "But I don't want to feel like we're losing her before we even get there."
Neither did I. And the worst part? We didn't know whether we were imagining it. Or if she was already preparing to disappear.
The house had never felt so full. Or so fragile.
A/n - We finally have the switch in her POV and yeah... it hit exactly how it was always going to, this was never meant to be permanent :(
Meanwhile, Azriel and Eris are absolutely spiralling, they're confused, a little heartbroken, and trying to piece together what changed (they have theories, of course... some more accurate than others x)
Things are getting a bit fragile in this house... and we're only halfway there!!
Warnings - Sexual content (oral and fingering), emotional vulnerability
<- prev || series masterlist || next ->
Morning sickness was a liar.
It suggested something delicate. Something pastel and cinematic. A woman pressing her fingertips to her lips and excusing herself politely from breakfast.
It was none of those things. It was violent and undignified and relentless.
Each morning, my body revolted against me with a precision that bordered on cruel. I would wake with a thin sheen of sweat at the base of my neck, the taste of metal already rising in my throat, and barely make it across the hallway before collapsing to my knees in front of the toilet.
There was no glamour in it. No soft-focus glow.
Just shaking arms braced against porcelain and the humiliating sound of retching echoing against marble tiles.
The first time it happened in their house, I tried to be quiet. Ridiculous, in hindsight.
Azriel was at my side before I finished heaving. I hadn't even heard the bedroom door open.
One steady hand gathered my hair away from my face. The other rested warm and firm between my shoulder blades, not rubbing yet just anchoring me.
"It's alright," he murmured, voice low and even, like he was speaking to something fragile that might shatter if startled. "Just breathe."
I hated that he sounded calm.
Eris appeared a moment later, barefoot and sharp-eyed despite the hour, a glass of water already in hand.
"I looked it up," he said, crouching beside me with far more composure than I felt. "Small sips after. Not now. After."
"You researched it?" I croaked.
His mouth curved faintly. "Obviously."
Another wave hit before I could say more.
Afterwards, I ended up slumped against the cool tile, cheek resting against the cabinet, too drained to move.
Azriel didn't rush me. He simply shifted so I could lean into him instead of the floor.
"I'm sorry," I muttered.
"For what?" Eris asked immediately.
"For... this." I gestured weakly toward the toilet. "For ruining your mornings."
Azriel's hand stilled against my back. "You are not ruining anything," he said quietly.
Eris handed me the glass. "If anything, you've given our mornings purpose."
"That's dramatic," I whispered.
"It's accurate," he replied.
They rotated like that every day. One of them waking with me before the nausea even peaked. One holding my hair. The other pressing a cool cloth to my neck.
Sometimes Azriel would carry me back to bed afterwards without comment, as if I weighed nothing at all.
They stocked the kitchen with ginger biscuits and bland crackers. They argued over which prenatal vitamins were best.
Eris downloaded an app that tracked the baby's weekly development and read it aloud in the evenings like a ritual.
"Eight weeks," he announced one night, stretched across the foot of the bed while I lay propped against pillows. "The baby is the size of a raspberry."
Azriel, seated beside me, looked scandalised. "That seems very small."
"That is because it is very small," Eris replied dryly.
I laughed despite myself. And then the laughter turned into tears. Hormones, I told myself. It had to be.
The first scan was at eight weeks.
The clinic smelled sterile and faintly floral. The waiting room was too bright. I sat between them, hands folded in my lap, trying not to think about the fact that this was the first time the pregnancy would be visible outside of symptoms.
Eris was uncharacteristically quiet. Azriel's knee brushed mine, steady and grounding.
When the technician called my name, my pulse jumped into my throat.
"You'll need to lie back," she said kindly. "This one will be transvaginal since it's early."
My cheeks burned.
Eris's hand found mine without hesitation. "Do you want us to step out?" he asked softly.
I shook my head before I could overthink it. "No."
The room dimmed. The monitor flickered to life in shades of grainy grey. I tried to make sense of it, static and shadows and indistinct shapes.
"There," the technician said, pointing.
I squinted. "I don't—"
And then a flicker. Tiny. Rapid. A heartbeat. The sound filled the room in a fast, rhythmic flutter that did not belong to me.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
"Oh," Azriel exhaled.
It wasn't a word so much as a fracture.
Eris made a sound I had never heard from him before, something raw and unguarded. "That's..." he swallowed. "That's ours."
Ours.
My vision blurred. I hadn't realised I was crying until Azriel brushed a tear from my temple with his thumb.
Eris was openly weeping, not dramatically, not theatrically just tears sliding down his face as he stared at the screen like it held something sacred.
"It's strong," the technician said gently. "Everything looks exactly as it should."
Azriel bowed his head briefly. "Thank you," he whispered though I wasn't sure who he was thanking.
I felt split open. Terrified. Overwhelmed. And something else I didn't dare name.
The drive home was quiet. Not heavy. Just reverent.
Eris kept glancing at the printed ultrasound image in his hands as though it might disappear if he blinked too long.
Azriel drove slower than usual.
When we stepped inside the house, it felt different again. Fuller.
They moved around me with even more care that afternoon, as though I might shatter now that the heartbeat had a sound attached to it.
"You should rest," Azriel murmured.
"I've done nothing," I protested weakly.
"You grew a heart," Eris replied. "That seems sufficient."
I laughed, but it caught in my chest.
Later, when they were in the kitchen debating dinner, something bland, something I could tolerate, I found myself standing in the living room alone.
The ultrasound photo rested on the coffee table. I picked it up carefully. A blur. A pulse. Proof.
My free hand drifted to my abdomen.
This was temporary. That had always been the understanding. I would carry the child. They would raise it. I would leave.
The plan had been so clear when it was theoretical.
But standing there in their house, in the home they had made space for me in without hesitation, I felt something shift dangerously inside me.
I didn't want to leave. The realisation was quiet. Almost shy.
I didn't want to pack my life back into boxes. I didn't want to hand over the baby and reduce myself to a visitor. I didn't want mornings without Azriel's steady presence or Eris's sharp humour cutting through my nausea.
I felt cared for here. Not managed. Not used. Cared for. And that was the problem.
Because this wasn't mine. This house wasn't mine. This life wasn't mine. Even the child wasn't entirely mine.
I had agreed to that.
I reminded myself of it now, standing alone with a grainy photograph and a heart that beat too fast for my own good.
Temporary. I repeated the word to myself until it almost felt convincing. Temporary affection. Temporary comfort. Temporary proximity.
I inhaled slowly and pressed the ultrasound photo back onto the coffee table, aligning it carefully with the edge as if order could restore sense.
In the kitchen, a cabinet shut. Eris's voice carried faintly through the hall. Azriel's lower reply followed. Domestic. Warm. Dangerous.
I turned away from it.
Pregnancy, I was learning, did not ask for permission before shifting the rules. The nausea had been cruel. The exhaustion relentless. My emotions unpredictable.
No one had warned me about the rest. It began subtly.
A restless warmth low in my stomach that refused to dissipate. A sensitivity to everything, fabric against skin, the brush of my own fingers along my arm, the sound of their voices in the next room.
I told myself it was nothing. Hormones. Just hormones.
By evening, it was decidedly not nothing.
They were both in the study finishing emails when it crept up on me fully, a slow, insistent ache pooling between my thighs that made sitting still nearly impossible.
I shifted on the couch. Crossed one leg over the other. Uncrossed them. Heat flared sharper.
My breath caught.
This was humiliating. I pressed my thighs together subtly, hoping the pressure would ease the tension curling through me.
It did not. If anything, it intensified it.
The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the lights and the ticking of the clock above the fireplace. I told myself to get up. To go to my room. To handle it privately like an adult.
But when I stood, the movement sent another pulse of heat straight through me and I had to sit back down.
"God," I muttered under my breath.
The study door opened. Of course it did.
Eris stepped out first, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair slightly mussed from running a hand through it. Azriel followed a moment later, expression thoughtful until his eyes landed on me.
I must have looked strange. Rigid. Breathing a little too carefully. Eris's brow arched almost immediately.
"Are you in pain?" Azriel asked, already crossing the room.
"No," I said too quickly.
He slowed slightly. "You don't look well."
"I'm fine."
Another pulse. I pressed my legs together again, this time less subtly. Both of them noticed. Of course they did.
Eris's gaze dropped for half a second before flicking back up to my face, something shifting there, recognition dawning.
Azriel crouched in front of me, searching my expression. "Talk to us," he said gently.
Heat flooded my face. "It's nothing."
Eris tilted his head. "It does not look like nothing."
I swallowed. This was mortifying. "I just—" I stopped.
How was I supposed to say this?
Hello, I am carrying your child and also currently overwhelmed with the sudden, uncontrollable urge to climb one of you?
My thighs pressed tighter together.
Azriel's eyes darkened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "Are you uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
"How?"
I stared at the fireplace instead of at them. "It's a pregnancy thing," I muttered.
Eris stepped closer now, interest unmistakable. "That narrows it down very little."
"Don't," I warned weakly.
"Don't what?" he asked, far too innocent.
I exhaled sharply through my nose. "I'm just... sensitive," I admitted finally, the word barely audible.
Azriel's head tilted. Eris's mouth curved slowly. "Sensitive," he repeated.
My pulse spiked. "It's hormones," I rushed. "Apparently that happens. Increased blood flow and all that. I read about it."
"You read about it," Eris echoed.
"Yes."
"And?" Azriel prompted quietly.
"And it's... distracting."
The silence that followed was charged. Not crude. Not aggressive. Just aware.
Eris leaned one shoulder against the back of the couch, studying me with open amusement now. "So," he said smoothly, "you're telling us that you are currently sitting here—"
"Eris," I snapped, mortified.
Azriel's lips twitched despite himself. "You could have gone to your room," he observed mildly.
"I tried."
That slipped out before I could stop it. Both of them went very still.
"Tried," Eris repeated slowly.
My face burned. "I mean I was going to. But it's—it's just... intense."
Azriel's gaze softened, but something darker threaded through it now. Something controlled. "You're embarrassed," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"You don't need to be."
"That's easy for you to say."
Eris pushed off the couch and moved to sit beside me instead, close enough that the heat of him made the ache worse. "Is it?" he murmured.
My breath faltered.
"You think we're unaware of what pregnancy does?" he continued, voice lower now, less teasing and more deliberate. "You think we haven't noticed the way you react when we touch you lately?"
My head snapped toward him. "I do not."
Azriel stood slowly. "You do," he corrected gently.
My heart was racing now. This was spiralling. "I wasn't going to say anything," I insisted. "I can handle it."
"Handle it how?" Eris asked softly.
The implication hung between us.
I looked from one to the other. Azriel's restraint was visible, jaw tight, hands relaxed but purposeful at his sides. Eris's expression was sharper, amused but attentive. Not judging.
That was the part that made my chest tighten. They weren't cornering me. They weren't mocking me. They were worried.
And gods help me, that care was what broke the last of my resolve.
One thing led to another, touching hands, a breath too close, Eris's fingers brushing my hip as if by accident and somehow I found myself perched on his lap.
My oversized shirt had ridden up, his knees easing mine apart with unhurried confidence until I was open over him, straddling the heat of his body. My back rested against his chest, solid and warm, and I could feel the steady thud of his heart through his shirt.
His hands were patient at first. Exploring. One palm smoothing over my thigh, the other sliding up beneath the fabric, higher and higher until my breath caught sharply in my throat.
I should have protested. Instead, I melted.
His fingers slipped between my legs, finding the slick heat there with embarrassing ease.
A soft, satisfied hum brushed against my ear as he slowly worked his fingers inside me, stretching me with deliberate care.
"This feel good?" he murmured against my skin, his lips grazing the shell of my ear before his teeth caught my earlobe in a slow, possessive bite.
I leaned my head back against his shoulder without meaning to, exposing my throat as pleasure rippled outward from where his fingers moved inside me.
"Yes—yes," I panted, hips rocking helplessly, chasing the rhythm of his hand.
The ache that had plagued me for days, weeks, began to dull under his touch, replaced with something molten and dizzying.
Azriel moved then.
He sank to his knees before us, silent as falling night, his dark eyes half-lidded but intent. Reverent.
His hands slid up my thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he guided them wider over Eris's knees. The cool brush of his fingers skimmed my skin, heightening every sensation until I felt unbearably exposed, unbearably wanted.
I could see it on his face, that restraint again, fraying now.
He leaned forward, breath warm against my most sensitive skin before his mouth followed. His lips closed around my clit in a slow, deliberate suck that made my entire body jolt.
A broken sound tore from my throat.
Eris's fingers curled inside me at the same time, finding that devastating angle, and they worked together with effortless coordination, as if they'd done this a thousand times. As if they knew exactly how to take care of me.
To soothe me. To prove I didn't have to "handle it" alone.
My hands dove into Azriel's hair, fingers threading through the dark silk as I held him there. My hips moved without shame now, grinding down, chasing that mounting pressure as his mouth and Eris's hand kept pace.
Pleasure built fast—too fast.
It coiled low in my belly, tightening, tightening, until I couldn't breathe around it.
Azriel's tongue flicked in a precise rhythm while Eris's fingers thrust deep and slow, his other arm tightening around my waist to keep me steady as my body began to tremble.
"That's it," Eris murmured against my throat, voice rougher now. "Let it go."
The words shattered what little composure I had left.
Release tore through me in a violent, shuddering wave. My back arched hard against Eris's chest, a cry spilling from my lips as pleasure crashed over me again and again, blinding and overwhelming and so achingly needed.
Azriel didn't stop until I was wrung completely through it.
My fingers slackened in his hair as the last tremors faded, leaving me breathless and boneless in Eris's lap.
Eris's fingers slipped out of me slowly, deliberately, as if reluctant to leave the warmth of my body.
Azriel lifted his head, dark gaze burning as he brought Eris's slick fingers to his mouth without hesitation.
He wasted no time licking them clean.
The sight alone made heat flare through me all over again but beneath it, stronger than the lingering pleasure, was something deeper.
They hadn't teased me. They hadn't dismissed me. They had watched. Noticed. Understood.
And when I'd tried to shoulder it alone, they'd stepped in, not to take control, but to take care of me.
Eris's POV -
It happened in the quiet.
Not in the middle of laughter. Not in the heat of one of her shy smiles. Not even while she slept down the hall with one hand curved instinctively over her stomach.
It happened when the house was still and the dark felt honest.
Azriel was beside me in our bed, one arm folded beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling as though it had personally offended him.
I'd been watching the faint spill of light under her bedroom door for nearly an hour before it finally went dark.
"She's asleep," Azriel murmured without looking at me.
"I know."
Silence settled again. It felt different lately, not empty, but heavy with something neither of us had named aloud.
I exhaled slowly, the words pressing at the back of my throat until they refused to be swallowed any longer.
"I think..." I began, then stopped. Gods, when had I ever hesitated to say anything?
Azriel turned his head slightly.
"I think I'm falling for her," I said quietly.
The admission did not echo. It did not shatter the room. It simply existed between us.
Azriel didn't laugh. Didn't look surprised. Didn't even look at me like I'd lost my mind. He just closed his eyes briefly, as if acknowledging something inevitable.
"I know," he said.
"You know?" I asked dryly.
"I've known."
That almost irritated me. I rolled onto my side to face him fully. "And you didn't think to mention that I was unravelling?"
He huffed a faint breath that might have been amusement. "You aren't unravelling," he replied. "You're attached."
Attached. It sounded clinical. Manageable. It was not.
"This was supposed to be straightforward," I said. "An agreement. Stability for her. A child for us."
"And it still is."
"Is it?" I pressed. "Because I'm not certain agreements usually involve wanting her to stay."
That got his attention. He turned his head fully now, dark eyes meeting mine in the dimness. "You want her to stay," he said carefully.
"Yes."
The word came without hesitation. I scrubbed a hand down my face.
"I want this baby," I continued, voice lower now. "But I don't want to take it from her. I don't want her walking out of this house with nothing but a check and a thank-you."
The thought made something sharp twist in my chest.
"She pretends she's prepared for that," I muttered. "Like she's already halfway gone."
Azriel was quiet for a long moment. "I feel it too," he said finally.
I stilled. "You do."
"Yes." There was no drama in his tone. Just truth. "I try not to," he continued. "But every time she laughs in this house, it feels... correct."
Correct. Not convenient. Not temporary. Correct.
"I don't think our time is unlimited," I admitted. "She reminds herself constantly that it isn't."
"She's protecting herself."
"From us?" I asked.
"From wanting something she thinks she can't have."
That sat heavily. I stared at the ceiling. "I want this baby," I said again, more quietly. "But I want her in the picture."
Azriel's throat worked. "So do I."
The confession felt like stepping off a ledge. Neither of us said what would follow if she didn't feel the same. We didn't have to.
The next morning felt deceptively normal.
She insisted on going grocery shopping despite Azriel suggesting delivery for the third time that week.
"I'm not fragile," she'd said, pulling on a soft cardigan and tying her hair back loosely. "I just throw up sometimes."
"You say that like it's minor," Azriel replied.
"It's routine," she countered.
I watched them from the kitchen doorway, something warm and unsettling blooming in my chest.
She looked... settled. Comfortable. Like she belonged there. Which was precisely the problem.
The grocery store was busy, weekend crowd, carts squeaking, children weaving recklessly between aisles.
She walked between us without realising she'd positioned herself there. Instinctive.
Azriel reached for items on higher shelves. I steered the cart. She compared labels with earnest concentration, lips pursed slightly as she debated brands of ginger tea.
Domestic. Again that word.
I was reaching for a carton of eggs when I noticed him.
Mid-thirties. Too confident. Lingering too long in the produce section while pretending to examine avocados. His gaze tracked her openly.
I felt it before I fully saw it, that subtle shift in my spine.
She stepped slightly away from us to grab some apples. He moved in.
"Hey," he said smoothly. "Those are always bruised at the bottom. You have to check."
She blinked up at him politely. "Oh. Thank you."
Azriel and I both turned at the same time.
"I could show you," the man continued, smile widening. "I shop here all the time."
"I'm alright," she said lightly, though her smile tightened at the edges.
He didn't leave. "You new to the area?" he pressed.
I was already moving. Azriel matched me stride for stride. "We're not," I answered for her.
The man glanced up, finally noticing us.
I stepped closer, not aggressive, not loud, simply inserting myself between them with effortless precision. Azriel came to her other side, one hand resting lightly at the small of her back. Possessive. Intentional.
The stranger's gaze flicked between us, assessing. "Oh," he said slowly.
"Yes," I replied evenly.
"She's with us."
It wasn't shouted. It didn't need to be.
The man's smile faltered. "Right," he muttered, stepping back. "Didn't realise."
"I'm sure," Azriel said pleasantly.
We didn't move until he did.
When he disappeared down the aisle, I looked down at her. "You alright?" I asked.
Her cheeks were faintly pink. "I can handle someone talking to me," she said, though there was no bite in it.
"I'm aware," I replied. "I simply didn't care for the way he was looking at you."
Azriel's thumb brushed gently against her spine in agreement.
She looked between us then, something soft flickering in her expression. "You two are ridiculous," she murmured.
"Correct," I said without hesitation.
But she didn't move away from Azriel's hand. Didn't step out from between us. If anything, she leaned in slightly.
The cart rolled forward again. The world resumed its noise.
Yet something inside me felt sharpened. The jealousy hadn't been about ego. It had been instinct. Not ownership. Protection.
And as we stood in the checkout line with her absentmindedly resting her hand over her stomach, I realised something with uncomfortable clarity—
I wasn't afraid of losing the agreement. I was afraid of losing her.
And that was far more dangerous.
A/n - A little glimpse into some domestic beginnings... which, naturally, leads to something a bit spicier x
Eris's POV starts with a few truths finally being admitted, followed by a small moment of jealousy that really just proves how much they both want her—and maybe how much they're already in deeper than they planned :)
And in my bank account. And in the fragile scaffolding of hope I'd once so carefully built around myself.
They hand you a degree with a smile and a handshake, as if it isn't stapled to a lifetime of debt. As if champagne at graduation somehow drowns out the numbers waiting in your inbox the next morning, numbers with too many zeros, numbers that feel like a countdown.
I walked across that stage with honours cords around my neck and grief braided tight beneath my ribs.
Because while I had been writing theses and promising myself it would all be worth it, my parents had been quietly drowning.
A car accident. Rain-slick pavement. A phone call at 2:17 a.m.
Their debts didn't die with them. They passed down like heirlooms, only instead of silverware and photo albums, I inherited maxed-out credit cards and a mortgage I couldn't afford to keep.
Fresh out of grad school, I should have felt accomplished.
Instead, I waitressed at a diner that smelled like burnt coffee and fryer oil, smiling at strangers while collection notices arrived stamped in red urgency.
My life, to put it mildly, was a spectacular shitshow. No safety net. No one to help shoulder the weight. Just me and the numbers.
It was a passing comment that cracked everything open.
A few nights ago, wedged into a booth at the back of a bar sticky with spilt beer, a friend-of-a-friend had laughed too loudly.
"I can't imagine the things people do for money. I heard Stacey got herself knocked up—on purpose—but get this, as a surrogate. Can you believe it? Sacrificing your body for some cash. Wild."
The table had erupted in amused disbelief. I'd laughed too. Reflex. Automatic.
But the word surrogate had lodged itself somewhere deep.
Later that night, lying awake in the dim blue glow of my phone, the thought returned. Not with laughter. Not with mockery.
With possibility.
There was nothing inherently wrong with it.
Women did it all the time. Women with kind hearts and steady lives and families who supported them. Women who wanted to help others build the happiness they themselves already had.
And I had nothing tying me down. No partner. No children. Just debt and grief and a future that felt more like a threat than a promise.
The idea didn't feel bizarre. It felt... practical. Generous, even.
What was nine months compared to a lifetime of freedom from suffocating loans? What was discomfort compared to finally breathing without the constant pressure of numbers clawing at my spine?
That's how I found myself curled on my secondhand couch, scrolling through a surrogacy website that looked far too polished for the desperation thrumming in my veins.
Profiles flickered past. Smiling couples. Hands intertwined. Stories of infertility. Years of heartbreak condensed into tidy paragraphs.
And beneath each one—numbers.
Compensation packages that could wipe everything clean.
Debt-free. The words shimmered in my mind like a mirage.
I chewed on my bottom lip, reading every detail, every requirement. Health screenings. Psychological evaluations. Contracts thicker than any textbook I'd ever studied.
It wasn't reckless. It was structured. Legal. Careful. It was a transaction, yes, but also something more.
The chance to give someone their miracle. The chance to salvage my own life in the process.
My finger hovered over the trackpad as another profile loaded.
This one was different.
No staged beach photos. No saccharine captions. Just two names and a message that was direct. Honest. Intentional.
They wanted a family.
And the number listed at the bottom—it was enough to change everything.
My heart pounded so loudly I could feel it in my throat. This wasn't theoretical anymore. This was a line in the sand.
Before this moment, and after it. The cursor blinked in the message box.
Hi. My name is—
I stopped. Closed my eyes. Fear coiled low in my stomach. But beneath it? Resolve. I was tired of feeling powerless.
My fingers moved before doubt could catch up. My pulse thudded.
And before I could second-guess myself, before I could retreat back into the small, shrinking version of myself I'd become I hit send.
The message disappeared into the digital void.
The next morning, my phone buzzed before my alarm. For one fragile, suspended second, I didn't remember why my heart was already racing.
Then I saw the notification. A response. From: Azriel and Eris Vanserra.
My stomach dropped. I opened it with trembling fingers.
They thanked me for reaching out. Said they appreciated my honesty. Said they had been together for a long time and were ready, more than ready, for a child.
Adoption attempts had fallen through. Circumstances. Legalities. "Unfortunate complications." Their wording was careful. Controlled. Polished.
They asked if I would be willing to meet. Today.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
I stared at the message for a full minute, thumb hovering over the screen. This was moving fast. Too fast. Normal people took time to consider something like this.
Normal people also didn't have collectors calling before breakfast.
I typed back before fear could talk me out of it.
Now, standing outside the café doors, I was reconsidering every life choice that had led me here.
The place was upscale but understated, brick exterior, gold-lettered signage, the kind of place that charged nine dollars for coffee and called it an experience. My scuffed heels suddenly felt painfully obvious against the polished stone sidewalk.
I caught my reflection in the glass. Simple clothes. Hair pulled back neatly. Minimal makeup. Professional. Capable. Not desperate.
Even if desperation hummed beneath my skin.
I inhaled once, steadying myself, and pushed the door open.
The scent of espresso and warm sugar wrapped around me. Low conversation filled the space. Soft jazz drifted from unseen speakers.
And then I saw them.
They sat toward the back corner of the café, as if the space had subtly arranged itself around them.
Devastating didn't begin to cover it. Both men were beautiful in a way that felt deliberate. Polished. Dangerous. And wealthy.
You could tell immediately.
Not in the flashy, logo-plastered way. No. This was quieter. Tailored coats draped perfectly over broad shoulders. Watches that caught the light just enough. Posture that spoke of confidence so ingrained it didn't need to be performed.
Eris was the first thing my eyes snagged on.
Tall. Lean. Composed like he'd been sculpted rather than born. His fiery red hair was swept back neatly, revealing sharp cheekbones and pale, flawless skin. Amber eyes, bright and assessing lifted as the door chimed, landing on me with unsettling precision.
He looked like art. The kind displayed behind velvet ropes.
Azriel sat beside him, and where Eris burned, Azriel simmered.
Golden-brown skin stretched over a powerful, muscular frame that filled his dark button-down in a way that made my mouth go dry. Inky black hair fell slightly over his forehead, just enough to soften the severity of his features.
Hazel eyes met mine. And held.
There was something about his gaze, something steady and unreadable that made heat creep up my spine.
He didn't smile immediately. He observed. Like he was cataloguing me. Measuring.
The air between us shifted the moment they both focused fully on me.
I became acutely aware of everything. Of the sound of my heels against the floor, of the way my pulse fluttered in my throat, of how small I suddenly felt beneath their combined attention.
God. What had I done?
Eris leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, but his eyes never left me. His mouth curved, slow. Knowing.
Azriel, on the other hand, straightened. Intent.
Together, they were an impossible contrast. Fire and shadow. Sharp edges and quiet strength. Power, wrapped in expensive fabric and controlled expressions.
And they wanted a child.
I swallowed and forced my spine to remain straight. Professional. Remember?
I lifted my hand in a small wave, hoping it didn't look as uncertain as I felt. "Hi," I said when I reached their table, my voice steadier than I expected. "I'm—"
"We know who you are," Eris said smoothly, rising to his full height.
He was taller up close. Of course he was. Azriel stood a heartbeat later, towering just as easily. Up close, the effect was worse. Or better. I wasn't sure.
Their presence pressed in from both sides, subtle but undeniable. Not crowding. Not inappropriate. Just... consuming.
Eris extended his hand first.
"Eris Vanserra," he said, as if I hadn't read the name a dozen times already. His grip was warm. Firm. Controlled.
Azriel's hand followed. "Azriel."
His voice was lower. Quieter. It slid over my skin like velvet and something in my stomach tightened. I told myself it was nerves.
It had to be.
Because standing there between them, under their steady, assessing gazes, one thought echoed far louder than it should have.
They were rich. They were powerful.
And they were sexy as hell.
Azriel's POV -
The woman who might carry our child sat across from us and for a moment, I forgot every carefully prepared question.
She wasn't just pretty. She was... striking in a way that caught you off guard.
Not polished or dramatic. Not trying too hard. Just naturally beautiful. Soft features, expressive eyes, a nervous determination written plainly across her face.
She looked like someone who felt things deeply.
And that made my chest tighten.
She had dressed carefully. Professional. Composed. Like she wanted us to take her seriously. As if we wouldn't have the moment she walked in.
I noticed the way her shoulders squared when she saw us. The split second of hesitation before she continued forward anyway. Brave.
Eris leaned back slightly beside me, and I could practically feel the shift in him. He noticed too.
"You are beautiful," he said simply when she reached the table. Not teasing. Not sharp. Just honest.
Her cheeks flushed immediately, and something warm flickered in my chest at the sight.
I shot Eris a look, not disapproving, just surprised.
"What?" he murmured lightly. "It's a good thing."
She ducked her head a little at that, clearly not used to being addressed so directly.
"Let me get you a drink," I said before she could grow more flustered. I stood, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "My treat. What would you like?"
Her fingers twisted together briefly in her lap before she answered. "Caramel latte, please."
Her voice was soft, not weak. Just careful. Like she was trying very hard to get this right.
I nodded and made my way to the counter, needing a moment to steady myself more than anything.
Because here was the truth I hadn't anticipated.
I liked her immediately.
Not because she was beautiful. Because she felt genuine. There was no performance. No attempt to impress us with exaggerated warmth or rehearsed enthusiasm.
Just quiet honesty. And vulnerability she was trying very hard to hide.
When I returned with her drink, she looked at me like I'd done something kind, not transactional.
"Thank you," she said, wrapping her hands around the cup like it grounded her.
Eris smiled faintly. "He's annoyingly polite."
"I was raised well," I replied dryly, taking my seat again.
But I couldn't help noticing the way her hands steadied around the warmth. The way she seemed to exhale once we began speaking about ordinary things.
We kept the conversation light at first. Background. Education. Health history. Why she had reached out.
She answered everything honestly. Too honestly. There was no rehearsed desperation. No sales pitch.
Just quiet truth.
When she excused herself to use the restroom, I watched her disappear down the hallway before speaking.
Eris didn't wait. "Well," he said, swirling his espresso lazily. "I like her."
"That was fast."
"I knew the moment she walked in."
I exhaled slowly. "She's younger than I expected."
"She's stable," Eris countered. "Educated. Healthy. No record. No visible addictions. No partner complications."
"You ran a background check before we even met her."
He gave me a flat look. "Obviously."
Of course he had.
I leaned back slightly, folding my arms. "She's almost too perfect," I murmured.
She looked at us like we were something intimidating. Powerful. She didn't fully understand what attaching herself to us would mean.
Our lives were not small. Not quiet. And certainly not simple.
Eris tilted his head. "You're worried she'll back out."
"I'm worried," I said slowly, "that I don't want her to."
Silence stretched between us.
That was the problem. I already wanted this to work. And I did not make decisions based on want.
Eris's mouth curved, slow and knowing. "You like her."
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. He already knew.
"We'll make sure she's comfortable," Eris said finally, more serious now. "If she agrees, she'll be taken care of. Completely."
Protected. Provided for. Respected.
Footsteps approached. Conversation ended. She returned to the table, smoothing her hands over her thighs before sitting again.
There was something resolved in her expression now. She had made up her mind about something.
"I do have one condition," she said carefully, meeting our eyes in turn. Brave again.
Eris leaned forward slightly. "Go on."
"If I'm going to do this... I need to know the environment is right for the baby." Her voice steadied as she continued. "Not just financially. Emotionally. Physically. I want to know the child would grow up somewhere safe. Stable."
I felt something in my chest shift. She wasn't thinking about the money first. She was thinking about the child.
Eris's expression softened in a way few ever saw.
"That," he said quietly, "is precisely why we chose surrogacy carefully."
I leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table.
"You would have full legal protection," I added. "Independent counsel. Medical coverage. A contract drafted to ensure your autonomy throughout the pregnancy."
Her brows lifted slightly. "You've done this before?" she asked.
"No," I said evenly. "We do not enter into arrangements unprepared."
Eris slid a folder across the table, of course he'd brought one. Preliminary paperwork. Financial breakdown. Medical outline. Expectations. Boundaries.
She scanned the top page, eyes widening almost imperceptibly at the compensation figure.
I watched her carefully. Greed didn't flash across her face. Relief did. And that settled something in me.
"For now," Eris said smoothly, "this is simply a discussion."
"No pressure," I added.
She looked between us again. There it was, that flicker of something warmer. Something uncertain.
"I need time to read everything," she said finally. "And think."
"Of course," I replied immediately.
But inside I hoped she wouldn't think too long. Because the more I looked at her, the more certain I became of one thing.
If she agreed to carry our child... nothing about this arrangement would remain strictly business.
And that realisation was far more dangerous than anything written in a contract.
A/n - First part and it starts off fairly tame with her stumbling across the ad and (impulsively) reaching out... but we all know that calm never lasts long around here!!
Of course, Azriel and Eris are immediately intrigued and already halfway convinced she's the one. Meanwhile, she's over here trying to keep it together and not spiral over the life-altering decision she just made :)
Things are definitely going to start picking up from here, so expect more tension, more questions, and maybe a few unexpected complications x
Thank you so much for reading <33
Terms and Conditions tag list - @sophieliz @azrielblue @whump-loverz @galacticoceans @lilah-asteria @niiickelodeon @justtryingtosurvive02 @rosie-posie08 @mis-lil-red @dnfhascorruptedme @justreadingfanficseveryday @spookypersondinosaur @chxosangxl @ivy-34 @jugodeshadowsinger @nyxmoretti @karolamurdock @katarina1224 @miffy223 @herblueside @livvyluv44 @acourtofbatboydreams @insomniac-astronomer @jessamintzzz
Summary: A collection of more moments with Azriel.
Authors Note: No warnings below. Self-established relationship with our favourite Shadowsinger. Moments inspired by mundane things and everyday life. In no particular order. I hope you enjoy 🖤
The first time it happened, you didn’t think much of it.
You were curled against Azriel on the balcony of your room at the River House, wrapped in a blanket against the evening chill while the city glittered below.
For the first time in a while, it was just the two of you.
No missions. No meetings. No emergencies.
His arm rested lazily around your waist, wings tucked loosely behind him as you sat half between his legs, your head resting against his shoulder while he absently traced patterns against your hand.
It was peaceful.
Rarely, wonderfully peaceful.
“I missed this,” you murmured.
His fingers stilled briefly against yours.
“So did I.”
You tilted your head to look at him, smiling faintly. “You know, normal couples probably see each other more than once every few days.”
“We’re very busy people.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse.”
A small flicker of amusement crossed his face.
Then—
A knock sounded against your bedroom door.
You both froze.
You were immediately annoyed.
Cassian’s muffled voice carried through the door. “Az! Rhys needs you downstairs.”
You let your head fall dramatically against Azriel’s shoulder.
“No,” you called back instantly.
Silence.
Then Cassian's voice comes through again. “…That wasn’t Azriel.”
“No,” you said louder. “And I meant it.”
Azriel’s chest moved once beneath your cheek in a quiet laugh.
“I guess you should go,” you muttered bitterly.
“I’ll come back,” he promised softly, pressing a kiss to your temple before reluctantly standing. “We’ll continue this later.”
You pointed a warning finger at him. “You said that yesterday.”
“This time I mean it.”
“You’re very convincing for a liar.”
That earned you another soft laugh before he disappeared inside.
You waited.
And waited.
And sometime around midnight—
You fell asleep alone on the balcony sofa.
The second interruption happened two days later.
You’d cornered him in the library this time.
Azriel had barely stepped inside after returning from a mission before you’d followed him in, shut the door behind you, and crossed your arms.
“You,” you informed him, “owe me time.”
His brows lifted slightly. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer slowly. “That sounds serious.”
“It is serious.”
“You’re very intimidating.”
“I know.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
Then you grabbed the front of his leathers and kissed him before he could say anything else.
The soft sound he made against your mouth was deeply satisfying. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you against him like instinct.
Finally.
Finally—
A sharp knock rattled the door.
You both ignored it.
You involuntarily gasped as your back met one of the bookshelves, giving Azriel access to swipe his tongue into your mouth as he pressed into you.
Another knock.
Louder.
Then—
“Azriel? Uncle Cassian said you’re hiding.”
You closed your eyes.
Azriel dropped his forehead against yours with a sigh.
Little Nyx knocked again. “I found you. Open the door!”
You whispered, horrified, “He’s learning.”
Azriel actually laughed this time. A real one. Warm and low.
“We'll finish this later,” he murmured against your forehead.
You narrowed your eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last time.”
“And this time I still mean it.”
“You’re impossible.”
His hands slid briefly up your back. “You love me anyway.”
Unfortunately, he was correct.
Later never came.
Because somehow every single time you got him alone someone needed him.
Rhysand wanted reports.
Cassian wanted sparring.
Mor needed help with something diplomatic.
Amren apparently “required” Azriel to reach something on a shelf despite being perfectly capable of winnowing.
At one point, you were nearly certain they were doing it deliberately.
Especially after catching Cassian smirking one evening when Rhys interrupted dinner.
You pointed at him immediately. “You’re involved.”
Cassian looked delighted. “In what?”
“This conspiracy against my happiness.”
Azriel nearly choked on his drink.
By the end of the week—
You snapped.
It happened in the River House.
You’d finally managed an uninterrupted evening together for the first time in what felt like weeks.
You'd had dinner and a few glasses of wine and now Azriel was nestled between your parted legs, pressing you into the cushions.
He'd barely settled properly against you, his hands slipped beneath your shirt , your back arching as he fumbled with your bra strap when—
A knock sounded at the door.
You didn’t move.
Neither did Azriel.
Another knock.
Then Rhys’s voice:
“Az?”
Your eye twitched.
Azriel sighed softly. “I’ll be quick.”
“No.”
He blinked down at you.
You sat up slowly and far too calmly. “Absolutely not.”
Another knock.
“Az, I just need—”
You stood and marched across the room, before you yanked the door open.
Rhysand stood there mid-sentence.
You smiled up at him far too sweetly. “No.”
Rhys blinked once. “…No?”
“No,” you repeated pleasantly. “You cannot have him.”
Behind you, Azriel had gone completely silent, watching the scene unfold with amusement and not doing a thing to stop it.
Rhys glanced over your shoulder slowly, shooting Azriel a baffled look, then back to you.
“…You realise you’re speaking to your High Lord.”
“And you,” you replied, “are interrupting date night.”
A dangerous grin spread across Rhys’s face. “Oh, so date night trumps High Lord business?”
“You’ve all stolen him from me all week,” you continued. “I’m reclaiming him.”
Behind you a very suspicious choking sound came from Azriel.
Rhys leaned casually against the doorway now, clearly enjoying this far too much.
“You’re reclaiming him?”
“Yes.”
“Like an object?”
You considered this. “More like a very overworked emotional support bat.”
Rhys looked delighted. “Cauldron save me, why don’t you have a little patience? Good things come to those who wait.”
“I lost patience three interruptions ago.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“I am saying something now.”
A pause.
"I just need him for a minute—"
"Rhys, if I don't get laid tonight I will burn this house down."
Rhys blinked.
Then lifted both hands in surrender. “You know what? Fair enough.”
You snorted. “That’s it?”
“I’m not stupid enough to come between a fed-up mate and the male she hasn’t seen properly in weeks.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” Azriel informed him from the sofa.
Rhys ignored him entirely, looking back at you with open amusement.
“For the record,” he said, “Cassian owes me five marks. He said you’d snap yesterday.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I knew it was deliberate.”
Rhys grinned, then wisely left before you could throw something at him.
The door clicked shut and silence settled.
You turned slowly.
Azriel was still sitting on the sofa staring at you, pure amusement flickering across his face.
“What?” you asked defensively.
“You called me an emotional support bat.”
“You left out the important part of that sentence.”
His brows lifted slightly. “Which was?”
You crossed your arms.
“That you’re mine tonight.”
The amusement vanished instantly.
Azriel stood slowly, a familiar heated look in his eyes, and you got the sudden impression you had turned into pray.
He crossed the room quickly until he was directly in front of you again, large hands settling on your waist.
“You know,” he murmured, voice low with unmistakable satisfaction, “I think that might be the most possessive thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Heat rushed to your face.
“They all drove me to it.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“No?”
“No.”
Then he leaned down slightly, forehead brushing yours.
“And for the record,” he murmured softly, “I was already planning on spending the rest of the night with you.”
"Thank the Mother," you declared.
Azriel's amused chuckle was swallowed by your lips latching back onto his.
The first note arrived three days after Azriel left.
You didn’t even notice it at first.
You were half-asleep at the kitchen table in the River House, staring miserably into your tea while rain tapped softly against the windows. The house was quiet for once—everyone else still asleep—and the silence only seemed to make his absence louder.
You hated missions.
Hated them.
Not because you doubted Azriel’s skill.
Never that.
But because when he was gone, it felt like someone had quietly removed a piece of you.
You sighed softly, rubbing tiredly at your eyes.
And froze.
Something cool brushed against your wrist.
One of Azriel’s shadows curled lazily around your hand.
You blinked at it.
“…Hello to you too.”
The shadow twitched once—
Then dropped something into your lap.
A tiny folded piece of paper.
Your breath caught immediately.
Slowly, carefully, you unfolded it.
Three words greeted you in familiar, slanted handwriting.
Make sure you eat properly.
You stared at the note.
Then at the shadow.
Then back at the note.
And despite yourself—
A laugh escaped you.
Quiet and disbelieving.
“He sent you all this way just to bully me?”
The shadow curled almost smugly around your wrist.
You smiled so suddenly it almost hurt.
The notes kept coming after that.
They were never predictable and never announced.
Sometimes they appeared tucked into your books.
Sometimes beneath your teacup.
Once, one of his shadows dropped a folded note directly onto your face while you were trying to nap.
You unfolded it with deep suspicion.
Don’t sleep on the sofa again or you’ll hurt your back.
You sat upright immediately, glaring at the shadow hovering above you.
“You’re spying on me.”
The shadow swayed innocently.
“You absolutely are.”
Another note appeared in your lap.
Yes.
You gasped.
“You traitors.”
The shadows seemed deeply unrepentant.
The worst part, or perhaps the best, was how Azriel the notes were.
Short. Minimal. But somehow still devastatingly sweet and thoughtful.
Wear the warmer coat today.
Missed you at dinner.
Cassian put too much salt on the eggs. Don’t let him cook unsupervised.
Go to sleep.
That one arrived at nearly two in the morning after you’d been sitting awake in bed restlessly turning pages without absorbing a single word.
You stared at it for a long moment.
Then muttered toward the ceiling:
“You’re both annoying.”
The shadows curled happily around your shoulders.
Weeks passed, the mission dragging on longer than expected.
And though the bond still hummed steadily beneath your ribs, there were moments where the distance ached.
Moments where you’d reach across the bed in the middle of the night only to find cold sheets.
Moments where you’d hear a laugh in the street that sounded vaguely like him and your chest would tighten before you could stop it.
The notes became your favourite part of the day and somehow Azriel always knew where you were and what was going on.
He was the Spymaster after all.
It was comforting, knowing despite him being across Prythian, you were still on his mind.
The rest of the Inner Circle soon became accustomed to a note being dropped into your lap at random times.
Feyre caught you smiling down at one particular note over breakfast. She leaned against the kitchen counter, smirking slightly.
“You know,” she mused, “normal people usually write full love letters.”
You immediately covered the note with your hand. “It’s private.”
“That defensive, huh?”
You narrowed your eyes.
Feyre laughed softly. “What did this one say?”
You hesitated, then reluctantly slid the note across the counter.
She unfolded it and immediately burst out laughing.
Stop glaring at Rhys. He’s enjoying it.
You buried your face in your hands. “He can see me glaring from another court?!”
“Apparently,” Feyre said, still laughing.
You groaned. “I hate him.”
“You adore him.”
Unfortunately—
She was correct.
The final note came nearly a month after he’d left.
You were standing on the balcony outside your bedroom, wrapped in one of Azriel’s sweaters while the evening wind curled around you.
You were restless again. Missing him desperately.
One of his shadows drifted silently from the dark.
You smiled faintly before it even reached you. “There you are.”
The shadow brushed your cheek softly, then placed a folded note into your hand.
Your chest tightened immediately because this one felt different somehow.
You unfolded it slowly.
There were only four words.
Turn around, sweetheart.
You stopped breathing.
Then spun.
And there he was.
Standing in the doorway behind you.
Tired. Windblown. Beautiful.
Home.
You made a small, broken sound that you’d absolutely deny later before practically throwing yourself at him.
Azriel caught you easily, arms wrapping around you with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.
“There you are,” he murmured against your hair.
You clung to him harder. “You took too long.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been gone for weeks.”
“I know.”
“You sent your shadows to emotionally torment me.”
A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. “They said you liked the notes.”
You pulled back just enough to glare at him. “I’m starting to think your shadows like gossip.”
“They absolutely gossip.”
You huffed softly, though it melted quickly when his hand slid up your back slowly, carefully, like he was reassuring himself you were really there.
Gods, you’d missed him.
Azriel rested his forehead against yours with a soft exhale.
“I missed you.”
They were simple words, but they hit harder than any grand declaration ever could.
You swallowed thickly. “…I missed you too.”
A small silence settled between you.
Comfortable and warm.
Then you narrowed your eyes slightly.
“Did you really send a shadow across Prythian just to tell me to stop glaring at Rhys?”
Azriel’s mouth twitched faintly. “I didn’t want our High Lord to burst into flames.”
You laughed then, for what felt like the first time since he’d left.
And Azriel watched you like he’d missed the sound most of all.
Velaris was melting.
There was no other explanation for it.
The city had been trapped beneath an oppressive heatwave for nearly a week now, and every day somehow felt hotter than the last.
Even the Sidra looked exhausted.
You certainly were.
Which was why, when Azriel finally returned from yet another meeting with Rhys, he found you sprawled dramatically across the bathroom floor.
You were defeated.
The cool stone tiles had become your refuge hours ago.
You were lying flat on your back, one arm flung over your eyes, wearing what could generously be described as the bare minimum necessary to maintain your dignity.
A damp cloth rested across your stomach. Another had fallen onto the floor beside you.
The room was silent.
Until the door opened and Azriel stepped inside. He stopped and stared.
A beat passed.
"...What are you doing?"
Without moving, you answered:
"Waiting for death."
Silence.
Azriel released a slow exhale, the kind he reserved for Cassian.
"I see."
"It was nice knowing you."
"You said that yesterday."
"I meant it yesterday."
You heard him set something down on the counter, followed by footsteps.
Then—
His shadow fell across your face.
You cracked one eye open.
Azriel was standing over you, arms folded, looking entirely too composed for someone who wasn't currently being boiled alive.
His dark hair was slightly mussed from the heat. His skin was glowing with a light sheen of sweat which only accentuated his golden skin. His sleeves were rolled up.
And somehow he still looked perfectly comfortable and incredibly attractive.
You hated him.
"I assume Rhys kept you trapped for three hours discussing important High Lord things?"
"Four."
You groaned dramatically. “Was he trying to kill you?”
A faint twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. "You've become very dramatic."
"I’ve always been dramatic."
He snorted in response. “Have you been lying on the floor since I left?”
"It's the only place in the house that isn't actively trying to kill me."
Azriel looked down at you. "...Did you try opening a window?"
You slowly lowered your arm and stared at him.
The betrayal. The audacity.
"The air outside is hot."
"Fair point."
You glared at him, then replaced your arm over your eyes.
Your conversation was clearly over.
Several moments passed. You expected him to leave.
Instead—
The room suddenly darkened.
The bright afternoon sunlight vanished from the walls. The temperature dropped almost immediately. A cool sensation brushed across your skin.
You froze, before slowly peeking out from beneath your arm.
His shadows. Dozens of them.
They drifted lazily through the room, covering the windows, pooling across the ceiling, cooling the air as they moved. Another brushed gently across your bare shoulder.
Cool. Blessedly cool.
You nearly cried. "Oh."
A second shadow slid across your forehead.
You sighed so deeply it was almost embarrassing. "Marry me."
Azriel snorted. "I already did."
"Do it again."
One of the shadows curled smugly around your wrist.
You grabbed it immediately, holding it against your face. "Oh, that's nice."
Azriel watched the entire display completely expressionless, except for the unmistakable amusement in his eyes.
"You know," he said, "most people would simply ask for help."
"I did."
"You informed me you were dying."
"Same thing."
Within minutes, the bathroom had become significantly cooler. You were no longer contemplating your own demise, which was a nice change.
Azriel eventually lowered himself to sit beside you against the vanity.
One knee bent, watching you still spread across the floor. Despite the cooling temperature of the room you still refused to move.
"You can get up now."
"No."
"The room is cool."
"I'm too comfy.”
His shadows continued brushing over your skin, cooling every spot they touched. You were beginning to understand why they were so smug all the time.
This was incredible.
"Oh, I understand why you keep them around now."
"They're useful."
"They're magical."
Another brushed against your cheek.
You smiled.
Then—
A horrible realization struck.
Your eyes snapped open. "Wait."
Azriel immediately looked concerned. "What?"
You sat upright and pointed at him. "Why didn't you do this sooner?"
A long pause followed.
Then—
"Because you never asked."
You stared.
You’d of throttled him in that moment if only you were guaranteed to keep his shadows.
Something was wrong. You knew it. Not seriously wrong. Just...wrong.
For three days now everything had irritated you.
Everything.
The weather was too warm. Your clothes felt uncomfortable. People were too loud. The tea tasted wrong.
Someone had moved one of the books in your sitting room and you had genuinely considered declaring war over it.
The worst part?
You knew you were being unreasonable. You just couldn't stop.
Unfortunately for him, the first victim had been Cassian.
"You've stolen my knife."
Cassian blinked. "What?"
"My knife."
"What knife?"
"The little silver one."
The entire dining table went silent.
Cassian looked genuinely confused. "I've never touched your knife."
You narrowed your eyes. "Sounds exactly like something a knife thief would say."
Mor immediately buried her face in her hands. Rhys started laughing. Cassian looked deeply offended.
Azriel sat beside you quietly eating breakfast watching. The way one watched a storm approaching from very far away.
The second victim was Rhys.
He'd made the mistake of casually mentioning he thought a painting looked better in a different room.
You'd stared at him for a solid ten seconds before saying:
"You're wrong."
And walking away.
Rhys was still talking about it two days later.
The third victim was Azriel.
Mostly because he was always there.
People always took their feelings out on those closest to them, which unfortunately meant he got the majority of your nonsense.
"Where's my sweater?"
Azriel looked up from the report he was reading. "Which sweater?"
"The blue one."
"You left it in the townhouse."
You stared at him, immediately suspicious. "Did I?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
A pause.
"...I watched you leave it there."
"Oh."
Silence.
Then—
"Well why didn't you bring it home?"
Azriel blinked.
Once, slowly.
You blinked back.
Then immediately realised that wasn't fair. "...I’m sorry."
The next day was somehow worse.
You were emotional. Exhausted. Annoyed. Hungry. Not hungry. Sad. Angry.
All at once.
At one point you nearly cried because the bakery had sold out of your favourite pastries.
At another point you snapped at a shadow for floating too close to your face. The shadows had looked deeply hurt and you'd apologised immediately.
By the evening of the third day even Azriel was beginning to look concerned.
Not annoyed. Concerned.
Which somehow made you feel worse.
You sat curled in the sitting room, blanket wrapped around your shoulders despite the warm weather.
Azriel settled beside you quietly.
"Bad day?" he asked gently.
You stared at the wall. "...Maybe."
A pause.
"Did I do something?"
The question was so careful it made your chest hurt. You immediately looked at him. "What?"
His expression remained calm, but you knew him, knew the tiny shifts. The uncertainty. The concern.
"You've been upset for a few days."
Oh.
Oh gods.
Now you felt awful.
"You didn't do anything."
His shoulders relaxed slightly. "Okay."
You frowned. "Why would you think you did?"
Azriel shot you a look. A very pointed look.
You thought back over the last three days.
The sweater incident. The knife incident. The fact you'd accused him of breathing too loudly yesterday.
...
Fair.
You shook your head. “I’m just having a few off days I suppose.”
Azriel wasn’t sure he believed you, but when you snuggled into his side he allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security.
The breaking point came the next morning over something truly ridiculous.
You dropped your toast.
That's it.
That was the entire event.
Your breakfast slipped from your fingers and landed butter-side down on the kitchen floor.
You stared.
The toast stared back.
And suddenly—
Your eyes filled with tears. "Oh gods."
Azriel looked up from across the kitchen, immediately alarmed. "What happened?"
You pointed to the toast, speechless. He followed your finger.
A pause.
Then very slowly, everything seemed to click into place and understanding dawned on his face.
You watched him connect the dots in real time.
The mood swings. The crying. The irritation. The random emotional disasters.
His eyes widened slightly.
Then—
A tiny smile appeared.
You gasped. "Don't smile at me like that."
His smile grew. Not mocking, just knowing.
You burst into tears anyway. "I wanted that toast."
"I know."
"It was a going to be a really good piece of toast."
"I know."
"It landed butter-side down."
Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, trying very, very hard not to laugh.
You pointed at him accusingly. "You're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm trying not to."
That was somehow the wrong answer.
Fresh tears appeared.
Azriel immediately stood and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around you before you could spiral any further.
You buried your face in his chest, absolutely mortified. "I hate everything."
"I know."
"I don't even know why I'm crying."
"I think I do."
You froze, before slowly pulling back.
Then—
Realisation hit you like a freight train.
Your cycle.
You hadn't checked. Hadn't thought about it. But now that you did, the timing made perfect sense.
The emotions. The crankiness. The irrational anger. The toast tragedy.
"Oh."
Azriel nodded once. "Oh."
You stared at him. Then groaned loudly and hid your face again.
"This is so embarrassing."
His arms tightened around you.
"It really isn't."
"I accused Cassian of stealing a knife."
"You did."
"I told Rhys he was wrong and walked away."
"You did."
"I got emotional over bread."
A pause.
Then—
"To be fair," Azriel said carefully, "it looked like a good piece of toast."
You laughed. A watery, reluctant laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
Victory.
Azriel looked deeply pleased with himself.
"You knew?" you asked suspiciously.
"Yesterday."
"Yesterday?!"
"I wasn't entirely sure."
"You let me continue embarrassing myself?”
"Would you have listened to me if I tried to tell you?"
You opened your mouth, before immediately closing it.
No you wouldn't.
Azriel chuckled at the look on your face.
For the first time all week, you felt like yourself again and not like you were going insane.
Mostly.
You were blessed to have a mate like Azriel who understood you even better than you knew yourself sometimes.
Without another word he immediately replaced your toast and insisted on carrying you back to the sofa afterwards because:
"You're clearly having a difficult time."
To which you replied:
"Don't make me cry again."
And Azriel, very wisely, stopped talking and simply kissed the top of your head instead.
"You are impossible."
Azriel looked entirely too pleased with himself. "You've said that six times."
"Because it's true."
The Shadowsinger simply shrugged, which somehow made it worse.
You rolled your shoulders, shifting your stance and immediately launched at him again, for approximately the tenth time.
And for approximately the tenth time Azriel effortlessly sidestepped and you stumbled past him.
"Stop doing that," you growled.
"I'm sparring."
"You're mocking me."
His mouth twitched. "You asked me to teach you."
"I asked you to spar."
"You asked me to go easy."
"I didn't mean this easy."
That earned you an actual huff of laughter. The sound immediately made your annoyance worse.
The training ring was empty except for the two of you. It was early enough that nobody else had arrived yet. Which was fortunate because your dignity had already suffered enough.
You wiped sweat from your forehead and glared.
Azriel remained infuriatingly calm. He wasn't even breathing hard.
Meanwhile you felt like you were fighting a mountain. A very attractive mountain, which was somehow even more irritating.
"How are you this strong?"
Azriel blinked.
Then looked down at himself as if checking. "I train."
You stared. "That's your answer?"
"It is."
"I train and yet when I hit you it's like punching a wall."
"You hit surprisingly hard."
You narrowed your eyes. "That was a pity comment."
"It was encouragement."
"It was pity."
A pause.
“Maybe a little."
You made an offended noise. Azriel looked seconds away from laughing.
Three minutes later—
You were losing again.
You managed one decent strike. Azriel blocked it.
You tried another. Blocked.
Another. Blocked.
Then suddenly, the world tilted.
A practiced sweep of his leg. A shift of his weight. You landed on your back in the dirt.
Again.
You stared up at the sky in silence. Something in you finally snapped. Not in anger, but in inspiration and a terrible, evil idea appeared.
You remained perfectly still.
Azriel frowned when you failed to get back up. “Sweetheart?"
No response.
You turned your face away and allowed a very small sniffle to escape. Azriel's entire posture changed instantly.
All amusement vanished and was replaced by immediate concern. "Hey."
You almost felt guilty.
Almost.
You sniffled again a little louder.
"Oh gods."
The words left him before he could stop them.
You heard him quickly move towards you, then suddenly Azriel was crouching beside you with one knee in the dirt and his hands hovering uncertainly.
"Did I hurt you?"
His voice had dropped completely. The teasing gone. The training forgotten. Pure concern laced his words.
You kept your face hidden, shoulders shaking slightly.
Azriel looked increasingly alarmed. "Sweetheart?"
Another sniffle.
His hand finally settled carefully on your shoulder. "Talk to me."
The guilt almost got you then. Almost, but you were committed now.
The second he leaned closer—
You struck.
Fast.
A sharp twist. A grab of his wrist. A pull.
The move wasn't perfect. It wouldn't have worked if he'd been expecting it. But he wasn't, because he was busy worrying about you.
Suddenly Azriel found himself flat on his back staring at the sky. Your knee planted firmly against his chest. A dagger pressed triumphantly against his throat.
Silence.
You grinned down at him.
Victorious. Glorious.
"Yield."
For one heartbeat, Azriel simply stared at you.
Then realisation slowly dawned and his eyes narrowed. You watched the exact moment he connected all the pieces.
The fake tears. The sniffles. The dramatic collapse. The ill-directed concern.
A beat.
Then—
His head fell back against the dirt and he laughed loudly.
You looked deeply pleased with yourself. "I win."
"You cheated."
"I won."
"You cheated."
"You yielded."
"I absolutely did not."
You pressed the dagger closer. "Sounds like yielding."
Azriel looked up at you still smiling and trapped beneath you and unmoving. Both of you knew he could reverse the situation in less than a second, but he simply wasn't bothering.
"You played me."
You bit your lip to try and hide your guilty face. "I had to try and win somehow."
"You pretended to cry."
You beamed. "Genius, right?"
Azriel huffed in a reluctant agreement.
"You know," he said after a moment, "most people try improving their technique."
"I did improve my technique."
"Emotional manipulation isn't a technique."
"It worked."
"It worked because I thought you were hurt."
You softened slightly at that.
Because he had immediately and without hesitation come to your side. The second he thought you'd been injured he'd forgotten the entire spar.
Forgotten winning. Forgotten training. Everything. Just to make sure you were alright.
Your chest warmed, even if you absolutely weren't admitting that right now.
"Sounds like a weakness to me."
Azriel's eyes sparkled dangerously. "Oh?"
You immediately realised your mistake.
Because suddenly, the world flipped.
You yelped.
The dagger vanished and before you knew it, you were the one flat on your back. Azriel hovering above you now.
One hand pinning your wrist gently against the dirt. The other braced beside your head. His legs trapping yours against the ground as he pinned you with his body weight. The smirk on his face was deeply unfair.
"There."
You glared.
He looked delighted. "Now I win."
"That doesn't count."
"It absolutely counts."
"You cheated."
His brows lifted. "Five minutes ago you were pretending to cry."
"Different."
"How?"
You thought about it, then pointed out:
"Because mine worked."
Azriel laughed again. Warm and genuine.
The sound made your indignation wobble immediately.
You glared up at him, or at least tried to. It was difficult when he was looking at you like that.
Far too amused. Far too pleased with himself. Slightly heated.
"You know," you said, trying for dignity, "I had you."
"Of course you did, sweetheart."
The admission and honesty behind it caught you off guard.
Your annoyance faltered.
Azriel's expression softened slightly as he looked down at you. "You also scared ten years off my life."
A tiny flicker of guilt surfaced. "Sorry."
"No you're not."
"I'm a little sorry."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "A little?"
"A very little."
The corners of his mouth twitched.
Then, before you could come up with another argument, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
When he pulled back, you narrowed your eyes.
You were not falling for his distraction tactics.
"I still won."
"You did."
You paused. "...Really?"
"No."
You smacked his shoulder.
His laughter followed you all the way across the training ring as he let you get to your feet with a sharp smack to your ass.
content warnings: alcohol intoxication, vomiting (brief, from the alcohol), reader has some possessive thoughts sue her, some grinding?, language, more angst and yearning I'm sorryyy
word count: 9.6k
synopsis: Azriel was always meant to be yours.
trope: childhood friends to lovers
part 1 ~ part 2
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
“Let me guess,” a low and familiar voice murmured into your ear. You fumbled with the jewel crested knife, nearly slicing your palm in your attempt to catch it. “Not flashy enough?”
You cast a sheepish smile to the merchant glowering at you behind the table before carefully setting the knife down. You twisted around to glare at Azriel, whose eyes danced with mischief. “It’s not for me, you ass,” you grumbled, stepping away from the table to continue weaving through the merchant stalls.
Azriel easily fell into step beside you. “Oh, I know,” he said. “You have a habit of gift shopping at the last minute.”
You merely cast him a sideways glance, knowing you had no defense. You half-heartedly examined a pair of leather gloves on another table, rubbing the fabric between your fingers before placing it back down. Really, how could you find a unique gift for a male that you had spent centuries of birthdays with?
“So, what are you thinking?” Azriel asked, walking beside you as you perused the tables.
You shrugged. “What did you get him?”
Azriel’s silence made you glance up, your eyes narrowing as Azriel toyed with a pair of gloves in a rotten shade of chartreuse. You forced out a disbelieving laugh, indignation licking at your spine. “You have to be kidding me,” you said. Azriel’s ministrations over the fabric paused. “You ignored me for four days, and now you want my help?”
“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he said quietly, still pretending to look at the gloves that neither of you would be buying.
“I have not seen your face since you dropped me on the terrace and then vanished into the night.”
“I did not vanish,” he argued, but his voice wavered. He finally met your eyes, and the wariness in his gaze only made you more exasperated.
You had spent the last four days torturing yourself with all of the possible reasons Azriel had disappeared. You had agonized over the very real possibility that your brief moment of foolishness in Windhaven had sent him right into the arms of his mate—because that was exactly where he should be.
You had nearly kissed him, and you knew he knew. He was the spymaster, for fuck’s sake. He was fluent in the art of body language. He knew you were about to kiss him in the middle of the kitchen of your pseudo-childhood home, and he pulled away from you. He pulled away, then ferried the two of you off to Velaris, and he disappeared. For four days.
Until now.
Because he wanted help buying Cassian’s birthday gift.
The slimy mixture of mortification, humiliation, and jealousy turned your stomach sour and your heart cold as you stared at the male across from you. Maybe it was hypocritical to be mad at him for the very thing you had done to him not long ago, but it felt justifiable at the time. It still did. You were acting out of self-preservation. Azriel—well you didn’t know what Azriel was doing, actually, which made it all the more infuriating.
“Will either of you be buying something today?” the female manning the merchant table asked pointedly, breaking you from your stupor.
You smiled at the female, fighting a wince at the irritation in her gaze. “Sorry, not today. Thank you for your time.” She pursed her lips in disapproval, and you hurried to add, “Your work is lovely.”
Azriel sent his own apologetic glance toward the female as he laid down the unfortunately ugly gloves, then he stepped around the table to grab you by your elbow and guide you away. You pulled away from his touch as soon as you were away from the disgruntled merchant, glaring at him. His hand fell to his side, curling into a fist. “We always buy Cassian a gift together,” he said.
“Not always.”
“Fine, for the last decade.”
“Well,” you said, voice tight, “things are different.”
Azriel reached for you again, pulling you to an abrupt stop in the middle of the market. “What does that mean?”
Sometimes you felt like you were losing your mind. You had been in love with him for over five centuries. You didn’t know it was love for that long—you didn’t really even let yourself consider it until much, much later—but it didn’t change the fact that it was love.
You had spent every night for the last couple of months replaying every memory you had with Azriel, trying to pinpoint when things changed for you. When did you fall for the male that was your closest friend? The soul-crushing truth was that there never was a change, there was never a shift that sent you toppling, because you loved him from the very beginning.
And it did not make sense to you how he could not feel even a fraction of what you felt for him, when you had lived through it all together.
Anger flared deep in your chest, smoking out the words tumbling around inside you before you could think them through. “Because you have a mate,” you snapped. “You should give Cassian a gift from you and your mate.”
Azriel might have tried to say something, but you didn’t stop. “Is that where you disappeared to? To be with her?” you asked, the center of your chest fracturing outward with every word. “Will she be there tomorrow? At Rita’s?”
The ache in your chest was somehow worse than it had ever been, so many clashing sources of heartbreak melding together into one messy and convoluted vat of poison. It was unfair. You should be able to shop with your friend for your other friend’s birthday without having an existential crisis over it, but this was too much. It was all just too much.
Azriel, to his credit, looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Sometimes his oblivion to the heartache he had caused you, unintentionally or not, hurt worse than anything else.
“You have to be fucking kidding me—”
His hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm and unrelenting as his shadows swallowed the two of you whole. As soon as they deposited you on a familiar outcropping of the mountains overlooking the city, you shoved away from him, your fury building irrationally fast.
“Don’t do that,” you gritted through your teeth.
Azriel looked like he was at a loss. “I want to talk to you without the whole of the Velaris market square watching us.”
You stared at him, your arms falling to your sides. “You want to talk to me.”
“Yes!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to talk to you.” His hand fell to his side, his wings drooping slightly behind him. “I don’t understand what is happening,” he said, and the quiet desolation in his voice made your heart twinge, despite everything.
“What do you mean?” you murmured, looking down at your boots.
“Don’t do that,” he snapped, his eyes wild with more emotion than he usually ever showed. Then his voice softened as he said, “Please. Please just—” He shook his head. “Things have been different,” he finally said, and all you could do was stare at him as your heart thundered against your chest, your mind racing to find a way to protect yourself from any more heartache. “Since that night at Rita’s, things have been different.”
You couldn’t stop the scoff that flew from your lips, though regret sliced through your chest at the wounded look on Azriel’s face. His throat bobbed as he stared off into the forest behind you. “Y/N,” he rasped, “I don’t know what I said.” He looked at you, and Mother, his eyes were glossy. “I don’t know what I did that night. I—I know I told you I have a mate,” he hurried to add, and the words seemed to feel like sandpaper against his throat. “I know that, but my shadows refuse to tell me anything else and, I just, I’m sorry if I said or did something—”
“You did nothing wrong, Azriel,” you cut him off quietly. As angry and hurt as you were, as much as you wished he had done something you could rationally hate him for just so it might dull some of this pain, you could not let him go on thinking he had done something terrible—not when all he had really done was find something everyone could only hope for. “You—” You swallowed hard, shoulders deflating as you forced the words out of your mouth. “You told me you found your mate, and you said nothing but lovely things about her.”
He looked like he didn’t believe you.
“I promise,” you said softly. “You had fun at Rita’s, and I helped you home, and you told your friend about something wonderful. That’s all.”
He stared at you for a moment, blinking slowly. Silence wrapped around you like a stiff blanket, scratching at your skin with every passing second. The sunlight beating down on your face was unseasonably warm. It felt wrong to be illuminated so brightly while Azriel grappled to tear apart the invisible walls you had desperately built between you. There was nowhere to hide.
Azriel stepped closer, and you hated the small hitch in your breath. You hated the way he noticed, and you hated that his steps faltered when he heard. You hated that there were mere feet between you, and he still felt worlds away.
“Why didn’t you visit my mother with me?”
Your eyes snapped to his, guilt sliding down your throat. “I—”
“And don’t lie to me,” Azriel cut you off, near pleading.
And what could you really say? That you were worried his mother would see your broken heart the second she set eyes on you? That you were worried you would have to endure his loving confessions about his long-awaited mate to his mother—his mother you loved and that you had known for centuries? That jealousy so potent and toxic would eat you alive and ruin anything that might still be salvageable of your friendship?
“I couldn’t.”
It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t explain anything, but it was the only thing you could say that was not a lie, and that was not as baring as the truth.
Azriel shook his head, looking up at the sky. “You know,” he said quietly, “I thought maybe things were okay, when you asked me to go to Windhaven.”
Your pulse pounded in your ears, thinking about how there was never any question of who would go with you to Windhaven. You were selfish, and there was never anyone else that could have gone with you to that camp.
“And when you came to me that night,” he continued, his eyes slowly falling back to yours. He looked lost, and you hated it. He huffed out a sad laugh. “I was actually grateful that we were there. That things felt normal.” His nose twitched, and his shadows seemed to spread outward in agitation. “Then you were pissed at me again.”
You shook your head slowly. “It wasn’t you I was angry with,” you said quietly. “Not really.”
Azriel looked at you incredulously.
You looked up to the sky. “Fine,” you admitted. “I was pissed at you for taking over.” You were pissed that he felt the need, that he acted like it was his duty, to protect you from some self-righteous male.
You were not his responsibility.
“I did not take over.” Azriel moved toward you, his boots stopping mere inches from yours, and you had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. “You can be pissed at me all you want, Y/N, I don’t care. No one will speak to you that way and get away with it.”
“I do not need—”
“I am always going to protect you!” His hands came up to cup your face, his gentle touch a startling contrast to the ferocity of his words. You stared at him wide eyed, his own gaze searching yours. “I told you that. You know that,” his voice softened exponentially, but his words were spoken with fervor. “I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care if it pisses you off. I don’t care. I’m sorry—” He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep before letting it out slowly. “You are the most important person in my life,” he said softly. Your eyes burned. “I will always protect you with my life.”
Your hand came up to curl around one of his that was still cradling your cheek. Your mind was racing with his words. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. A foolish, hopeful part of you wanted to consider that maybe—maybe he did feel the same. Maybe—
But you could not forget the terrible reality that he had a mate.
You loved him so much. It was intertwined with every fiber of your being and every thread of it throbbed with painful longing and hope that it might finally be recognized. Every thread was fraying with dread that it might never be tied off, that this love might be unmoored forever until you completely unraveled.
“Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, and you closed your eyes as his thumb grazed the top of your cheek. “You’re shaking.”
Your eyes flew open, and you suddenly pulled away, his touch falling away from your face abruptly.
“Y/N—”
“I’m fine.”
You were not fine.
You had to get out of there.
“Wait, Y/N—”
You shook your head, your wings flaring out before you really even thought about flying. “I have to get Cassian a gift,” you muttered. Then you took off into the sky, leaving Azriel and your heart behind.
You shook off the tendril of shadow that clung to your wrist.
~ ~ ~
“And explain to me, Rhysand, why I should take this young female into my court?”
Your heart pounded in your chest as you fought against the urge to lean against Azriel. Your muscles trembled from the weight of your exhaustion and dread that this disillusioned plan would all collapse around you at any moment. You could not appear weak in front of the High Lord, not if you wanted this plan to work.
You could stand on your own two feet.
Azriel’s pinky grazed the back of your hand, a gentle touch that could easily be an accident, but then his wing bumped into yours, and you knew Azriel was far too careful for accidental touches. You let yourself breathe in deep, let the comforting and familiar scent of Azriel wash over you as Rhysand argued with his father.
Rhysand’s mother stood a step back from him, but still in front of you and Az, watching their exchange with pursed lips. Rhysand and his father had been talking in circles, their voices growing louder and the room growing darker with every passing minute.
“I think that’s enough,” Rhysand’s mother cut in, without an ounce of fear in her voice.
Rhysand and his father both went silent. Then his father’s eyes narrowed. “The boy must learn how to advocate for himself, Melina—”
“And he has, my Lord,” she agreed placatingly. She stepped closer, and Rhys fell back to stand beside you. “But this is ultimately my request of you. She is Rhysand’s friend, yes.” She glanced back at you with so much warmth and pity it made your stomach twist. “But she has no one. She is of no use in Illyria, no one who cares for her.”
Your eyes burned as her words lodged in your chest, the truth wrapped around them like barbed wire. Azriel stepped closer to you, his arm now nearly pressed against yours. The High Lord’s eyes fell to the two of you, and maybe you should have stepped away, maybe you should have moved closer to Rhys, but the thought of leaving Azriel made your head spin. So you stayed in place, with your arm pressed against Azriel’s, and his shadows licking against the back of your neck and hands.
“No one but us,” she continued, her voice softening, and it took everything in you to keep your tears at bay. “She is not safe in Illyria. Let her stay in the House of Wind. Let her work for me. I need the help.”
The High Lord was quiet for far too long. You desperately wanted to grab Azriel’s hand, but you didn't move. Instead, you waited, the four of you silent as you prayed to the Mother the High Lord agreed.
“Alright,” he said. “She can stay.” You were going to throw up. “But you are mine.”
He wasn’t looking at you. Your eyes slowly followed his gaze, slowly looking at the male standing still beside you.
“Father—” Rhysand started to protest, taking one step forward, but the High Lord cut him off.
“That’s my condition. You want her to stay here? Fine. She can stay. But so does he.”
“He still has to pass the Blood Rite,” Rhys argued.
“Fine,” the High Lord agreed. “You will finish your training, complete the Blood Rite in Spring, and then you will come work for me, Shadowsinger.”
This was insane. Azriel couldn’t sign his life away to the High Lord just because you asked for help.
“But father—”
“Okay.” Azriel stepped forward, his warmth vanishing from your side. “I agree, on one condition.”
“Azriel—” you and Rhysand both spoke at the same time. He glared at both of you.
The High Lord grinned. “In addition to her sanctuary here, you mean?”
You hated that he had yet to refer to you by your name, but you knew that, really, it was inconsequential compared to what your fate would be in Illyria.
“Yes,” Azriel said.
He was so large, standing in front of you. His leathers were stretched around muscles that lined his body, and his wings were wide behind his back that was ramrod straight, his head held high as he met his High Lord’s eye.
You weren’t children any more.
The High Lord waved his hand at Azriel. “Go on.”
“Y/N keeps her wings.”
You stopped breathing.
The High Lord raised his brows, but said nothing.
“Y/N stays here and works for the Lady of Night, and she keeps her wings.” He spared a brief glance at you, and when his eyes met yours, you finally released the breath trapped in your chest. “And I will work for you.”
An inexplicable warmth washed over you, working outward from the center of your chest, thawing the icy terror that you had been trapped in for the last 48 hours, even as you now feared for Azriel. You worried it was selfish to feel such relief when Azriel was practically signing his life away for you.
The High Lord smiled. “I accept.”
~ ~ ~
“We need to talk.”
You glanced at the male behind you, shaking your head as you focused on the training bag in front of you. You landed another punch, a heavy thud reverberating through the room. “Not now, Cassian.”
You heard his steps draw closer as you continued throwing punches, relishing in the dull ache blooming around your knuckles. The sun was just starting to rise, but you had been here for hours.
Cassian caught your fist before you could land the next punch, his face looking unimpressed. “Yes, now.”
You yanked your hand away, scowling at him as you shook your hand out. “What do you want?”
He raised his brows, a flash of amusement passing through his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Cassian. You're my dearest friend, Cassian. I’m so happy to celebrate another year of life with you, Cassian—”
You grabbed his shoulder quickly, your eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Mother—Cassian—”
Cassian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s okay, Y/N.” He pushed gently at your shoulder, knocking your hand away from his own. “I’m just messing with you.”
“Still,” you murmured, shame making your face warm. You looked down to start unwrapping the cloth around your hands, then you looked back up at him sheepishly. “Happy Birthday.”
He grinned, tugging you into his side. “Thank you.” Then he turned you toward the terrace, guiding you to lean against the cool stone railing not yet warmed by the morning sun. “Now, we need to talk.”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine. What is it?”
He leaned forward on his elbows, looking out over the city before glancing at you. “What’s going on with you and Az?”
You sniffed, rubbing at your nose as you looked out at the city, mirroring his position. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said pointedly, shifting his body so he faced you. “Why are things so damn awkward?”
Your face was hot now, and you wished you could pass it off as the sunlight hitting your cheeks. “They’re not,” you lied, terribly.
Cassian scoffed. “Y/N,” he said, unimpressed. You met his eyes warily. His eyes narrowed. “First, you avoided him for weeks. Then, there was the lovely dinner from Hell—”
Gods.
“—then you refused to visit his Mother—”
“He told you about that?” you interrupted, that same shame from when Azriel confronted you yesterday curdling in your stomach.
Cassian paused, seeming to think over his words before just saying, “Yes.” Then he kept going, “Then there was Windhaven, which we will also be talking about, by the way. Then he avoided you for days—”
So he was avoiding you.
“Then he apparently saw you yesterday, but walked into Rhys’s office like a storm cloud, and has been in a foul mood since.” He studied you quietly, and you knew he was leaving out every ounce of unbearable tension and awkwardness that had infused every minute between the events he laid in front of you. “So tell me,” he said, voice softening, “what happened?”
You could probably tell Cassian. You could probably cry, right now, in front of him on this terrace—on his birthday, no less—and he would not hesitate to try to pick up your broken pieces and find a way to glue them back together. He wouldn’t judge you.
But you felt too fragile to do that right now, and he deserved better than that on his birthday.
But he also deserved something, and maybe it would be nice to hand off just a piece of the weight crushing your soul.
“Do you know who his mate is?” you asked quietly, your voice as small as you felt.
Cassian was quiet for so long that you turned to look at him, and when you saw the painful understanding in his eyes you thought you might actually cry. “He hasn’t told me,” is what he finally says, looking back out over the city.
You chuckled weakly. “That’s not a no.”
His lips twitched. “It’s not a yes.”
“Cassian,” you said, staring at the side of his face until his eyes met yours again.
He sighed, leaning heavily against the balcony now. “I don’t know, no.”
Oh.
You bit your lip, not sure what you were expecting. You weren’t sure what you even wanted to hear. Maybe that he did know, and he hated her? Maybe that she was a terrible match and he didn’t know what the Mother was thinking?
You didn’t know.
“Nothing makes sense, if I’m honest with you,” Cassian said.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at you. “I mean Azriel and his mate.” He tossed his hand toward you haphazardly, as if that cleared anything up.
“What?”
“I didn’t know he told you he found his mate.”
You blinked. You felt like he was talking in circles.
“Cassian,” you said, voice flat and tired. “We were all at that dinner.”
Cassian shook his head. “I mean before that.”
You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, well,” you said, “he did.”
His mouth twisted in thought. “Right. Surprising.”
“Cassian, what does this have to do with anything?”
He shrugged. “How long ago did he tell you?”
You threw your arms out. “I don’t know!” You did know. “A couple months ago? After Rita’s.”
He hummed. “Which is when things started to get tense—”
“Cassian,” you cut him off, your heart starting to race. “I’m not in the mood for this.”
Cassian immediately sobered, his expression turning serious. “Azriel found his mate over a year ago.”
You went cold. His words practically shoved you outside of your body, and you were floating just a few inches away from where you stood in front of him, grappling to reorient your already fractured reality to his words. “What?” you rasped.
Cassian shrugged, as if this was an entirely inconsequential detail. “He told me and Rhys a little over a year ago.”
You blinked. “So this entire time he—”
Cassian killed your words with a hard stare. “He what, Y/N?”
“I had no idea,” you said quietly. You had no idea things had changed so much sooner than you were even aware.
Yet they hadn’t, had they? Azriel never acted any different toward you. You were the one that made everything turn sour.
You frowned. “Over a year ago…we were at war,” you said slowly.
Cassian didn’t say anything.
“I thought he must have met her in Velaris, but—” You were going to be sick. “Oh gods, is it Elain?”
Cassian whipped his head to you. “What?” he asked. “Are you insane? Elain is mated to Lucien.”
You shook your head, all logic having been replaced with sick terror. “Mor then—”
“Y/N, for fuck’s sake,” Cassian said, cutting you off quickly. “It’s not Elain, and it’s not Mor.”
“You said you didn’t know—”
“Well I know it’s not them.”
“But—”
“I don’t know where or when he met her,” he said. “He didn’t tell us anything. He just…told us he had a mate. We were pestering him and he snapped, and then made us swear not to say a word because she didn’t know. That’s all, but I’m also not a fool.”
You scowled, recognizing his insinuation that you were a fool.
You were also tired of this conversation, and you were tired of the emotional whiplash. After a long beat of silence, you said, “Is it Nesta?”
Cassian growled, his eyes flashing with brief rage. You smiled, relieved that your jab landed successfully. His nostrils flared. “Enough.”
You rolled your eyes, leaning forward on the balcony again, letting your head droop. The two of you stood in silence for a while, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky as the sounds of the city slowly waking up washed over you.
Velaris had always felt like home.
Even that first night you crossed the city’s borders, clinging to Rhys and Azriel in mild terror, something settled inside you as soon as you were within the city’s limits. The air was cleaner. Fresh. It was still just as cold as Illyria, but it didn’t have that bitter tang that licked at your skin when you crossed the camp’s borders.
The air smelled like salt and jasmine. It was so unlike the stale and rotten air that wafted through Windhaven that, at the time, you could hardly fathom that a whole city full of faeries lived here. Now you were one of them.
“I heard about Windhaven.”
You let out a long breath, your shoulders falling. You were tired. “Cassian,” you said, a warning, but he shook his head.
“I’m done talking about Az.”
You rolled your lip between your teeth and looked out over the city, taking in the soft and joyful life that pulsed through the streets. The stark contrast between here and an Illyrian camp was sometimes so jarring it made your bones ache. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not sure what else to say.
He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing once. “You saved that girl.”
You let out a bitter laugh, refusing to meet his eyes. “Right,” you said, “or I just made it worse for her after we left.”
“You didn’t.”
His words held so much certainty, you couldn’t help but turn to meet his gaze. Cassian wasn’t necessarily one for platitudes, but how could he know that for sure? “What?”
“You didn’t make things worse,” he said. “You saved her wings.”
“But how—”
“I’ve been to Windhaven every day since your return,” he explained, his voice unusually soft. Your eyes burned as he stared back at you with overwhelming sincerity. “I’m headed there after this. No one will touch her wings. They all know what will happen if anything happens to that girl—oh.”
You threw yourself into Cassian before he could finish his sentence, your arms circling him in a vice. He let out a soft chuckle before he quickly returned the hug, one hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “This is much nicer than, What do you want, Cassian? Not now, Cassian—”
You squeezed him harder. “Shut up.”
~ ~ ~
“I want to teach you how to fight.”
You barely glanced at Azriel as you slid another book back onto the shelf. “Me?” you asked, disbelieving.
Azriel followed behind you as you pushed the shelving cart further down the aisle. “Yes.”
“Why?” you asked, pointedly sliding another book back into place.
Why me? Is what you didn’t say. I’m a scholar. I’m the High Lady’s right-hand. I’m not a warrior.
“Why not?”
You ignored him, continuing on with your shelving duties—which, really, were not yours, but there was also no one else willing to voluntarily work in the library. At least, no one that the High Lord had authorized. You liked being here anyway, and the few librarians scattered throughout didn’t mind.
“You are more than capable.”
You hummed. “Yes,” you agreed. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”
Suddenly Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, and he had you twisted around so that your chest was pinned to the book shelf. His point was clearly made, but still he didn’t move away. His body was pressed against yours, his chest grazing the base of your wings with every inhale.
His lips might have briefly brushed the shell of your ear before he said, “I’m serious, Y/N.” His grip on you relaxed, letting go of your arm that he had pinned behind your back, but he didn’t move away. “War is coming.” Which sounded very serious, but all you could think about was how his body was pressed against yours, and his breath was warm against your ear. Goosebumps pebbled along your arms.
Azriel pulled away, and you had to blink yourself back to reality before you slowly turned around to face him.
Your face was warm. Azriel seemed unaffected—serious and stoic as always.
“This city is meant to be impenetrable, I know, but—” He cut himself off, looking away.
“You’re worried,” you said quietly.
He nodded. His shadows slowly curled around your ankles, one gliding up your leg to then curl around your wrist. “If we go to war,” he said, voice hushed, “I won’t be here.”
Your stomach twisted. It had been years since you moved to Velaris, and years since Azriel had become the High Lord’s spy. Your time with Azriel was fleeting as it was. Stolen moments peppered over the years whenever he could slip away, but he has always been around. Sometimes months passed without talking to him, but you knew deep in your bones that if Azriel was worried about this war, it would happen, and he would be gone much longer than a couple of months.
“I just want to know that you’re safe,” he continued, as if he thought he still had to convince you. “I know it might be complicated for you,” he said slowly, gently, as if he was coaxing a timid animal. “Training, I mean. After everything that happened in Windhaven. But it would just be me, and—”
“That was a test,” you cut him off, realization washing over you.
Azriel’s mouth shut, his eyes wide.
“That—” You gestured between him and the bookshelf behind you. “You—you were seeing how I would react?”
Azriel looked only mildly guilty. “Yes.”
Irritation flared in your gut. He was right, of course. You had never spoken about why you never trained. You had never even told him outright that you didn’t want to, but the offer had always been there, unspoken, waiting quietly, and you never took it. Now Azriel was forcing you to confront it, and he knew fully well why you might be hesitant to let someone put their hands on you.
But Azriel had just pinned you to a shelf with his entire body, and not even a flicker of fear arose inside you. Fear was the last thing you felt.
“I’m sorry,” Azriel eventually said. You knew he meant it, but you also knew he didn’t regret it.
“No,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek once as you contemplated his words. “You made your point. And you’re right.”
Azriel’s gaze was a mix of sympathy and worry. “I’m sorry—” he started to say again.
“I want to know how to fight,” you cut him off. His shoulders seemed to visibly relax at the words, and your stomach fluttered at the flash of pride you might have seen in his eyes. You weren’t doing this for him, though. You needed to be able to defend yourself. It was unwise as it was that you had gone this long in the House of Wind without learning.
“But I also want to know how to hide,” you said, and his eyes glinted with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin when you added, “Like a spy.”
~ ~ ~
Your steps faltered as soon as you felt his presence. Your blade wobbled as it came down, losing its clean momentum from your misplaced footing. You growled in frustration, slashing the blade through the air once more before spinning around.
Azriel was standing there in the shadows, watching you quietly.
“What are you doing here, Azriel?”
He walked closer, the moonlight illuminating his face as he stepped into the clearing. He studied you for a moment, his eyes lingering on the sword in your hand. “You’re late for Rita’s.”
You glanced at the sky, your heart dropping when you realized just how far the moon had traveled. You had meant to leave at sunset. “Fuck,” you cursed. Your grip tightened on your sword as you ran a hand through your hair, cursing again when your fingers got caught.
“It’s okay,” Azriel said, voice soft. He moved closer to gently guide your hand away from your face, then smoothed a hand over your hair. He smiled softly when he pulled his hand away, almost hesitant. “Cassian won’t mind.”
You stared at him, taking in the way the moonlight illuminated the hazel of his eyes and glinted off the inky strands of hair that fell over his forehead. He was wearing a black button-up that clung to his body perfectly, molding the contour of his muscles with perfect definition.
You blinked, then shook your head. “It’s not okay,” you grumbled, taking a step back.
Cassian had just spent the morning of his birthday comforting you, letting you lean on him. The least you could do is show up to his birthday party.
“Y/N,” Azriel said, “It’s okay. They were only just leaving the River House when I left to find you. I told them I was picking you up.”
You frowned. “How did you know where I was?”
Azriel’s lips twitched, like the question amused him. “You weren’t hard to find.”
You tried to argue, wanting to point out that you were in a random clearing in the mountains, but Azriel silenced you when he stepped closer again. “You were sloppy,” he said, nodding toward the sword.
“I’m aware,” you snapped.
“You’re fighting angry.”
“I know, Az,” you groaned. “I don’t need the lecture right now.”
“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said gently. He stepped even closer, the heat from his body pressing against your skin. “Lift the sword.”
“We’re late,” you warned.
“So what’s a few more minutes? Lift it.” He circled around you, moving so that he stood at your back. You waited a moment, but eventually lifted the sword again.
“Good,” he murmured. He was crowding your space now, his body brushing against yours. You could hardly breathe. “Lower your wings for me?” he asked softly, a low hum that reverberated through your body.
Your wings lowered.
Azriel’s arm covered yours, his hand enclosing yours that held the hilt of the sword. “Right now,” he said, practically talking directly into your ear. “You’re angry, and it’s making your movements messy, because that anger is radiating in every direction. Your body doesn’t know what to do with it.”
You swallowed hard, your breaths heavy as you let the truth in his words wash over you. You were angry. You had been angry for months, and sometimes it felt so loud and potent that it might just consume you. It felt like there was nowhere for it to go.
“I always taught you not to fight angry—but, really, that’s shit advice,” he said.
You couldn’t help but smile.
“You care too much to not get angry when you’re fighting,” he continued. You weren’t sure if you should be insulted, but then he said, “That’s not a bad thing, Y/N. Just channel it. Let that anger stabilize you.”
You sucked in a sharp breath when his other hand grazed the membrane of your wing, your body going still when that hand settled on your hip.
“I’m sorry,” Azriel said quietly, his body also going still.
Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, and you were sure he could hear it, but you nodded your head anyway. “It’s okay,” you told him breathlessly.
A beat of silence passed, then Azriel’s hand slid a little closer to your front, his fingers grazing your abdomen. “Direct that anger to your core,” he murmured. His tone had permanently dropped, a low lull in the delicate silence around you. His hand slid back to your hip, then pushed you to step forward with him. “Let that anger guide your movements. Don’t let it force them.”
The two of you stepped back, and his chest was flush with your back. “Now swing. Let your anger extend into your blade. Keep it sharp and defined.”
You closed your eyes for just a moment, taking a deep and steadying breath as you gripped the anger swirling through you. You imagined it as an anchor, locking your mind and body as one. You imagined it as sharp as the blade in your hand. You imagined it washing over your muscles, powering the force of your movements. You swung the blade in one of the most complicated moves you knew, the angles between movements sharp and defined with an elegance you had been reaching for all night.
You grinned as you finished, relief you had been desperate for settling over you. Azriel’s touch fell away, and you turned around to meet his eyes.
He was smiling too. “Now we can go to the party.”
Your grin only widened. “Thank you.”
Azriel’s smile then wavered, his expression suddenly sobering. “Y/N,” he said, “about yesterday—”
“Az—”
“I’m sorry.”
You stared at him. “You’re sorry? Az, you did nothing—”
“I did nothing wrong, so you’ve said,” he brushed you off. “But something is upsetting you,” he went on, voice gentle again. “And Windhaven—it was hard. I know that. And I wasn’t there for you when we got back, and so I’m sorry for that.”
You looked away, eyes falling to your boots, your toes mere inches away from Azriel’s. You shrugged a little, then finally met his eyes again. “I haven’t really been there for you that last couple of months,” you admitted quietly. “So I guess we’re even. Or, really, I still have much to make up—”
“We don’t do that,” Azriel interrupted softly.
“Do what?”
“Keep score,” he said. You felt warm all over as you stood under his gaze, relishing in the comfort of this male you had known and loved your entire life. Just his presence, without worrying about mates or relationships or boundaries that may or may not exist for the first time in months, was enough to quell the fury and despair that had been warring inside your soul for weeks.
You nodded, knowing he was right.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk about whatever is bothering you, I’ll be here to listen,” he promised. “But for tonight,” he said, a smile slowly stretching across his face again, “Let’s have fun and celebrate our friend.”
Your own smile didn’t quite reach your eyes as you half-heartedly joked, “Will you be getting as drunk as our last night at Rita’s?”
Azriel grabbed your hand, jostling it lightly between you before tugging you close again, his shadows already creeping in around you. “No,” he hummed, mirth in his eyes. “I think it’s your turn tonight.”
Your grin was real as you said, “I like the sound of that.”
~ ~ ~
You weren’t kidding when you told Azriel you liked his plan for tonight—specifically, you getting drunk.
He had taken you back to the House of Wind, and he waited for you to bathe and get dressed before taking you to Rita’s. You would like to think that his cheeks were tinged pink as he grabbed your waist because of you—because you were in a silken dress that shimmered in the moonlight and defined every curve of your body, and you felt good, for the first time in a while.
The two of you were silent as he pulled you in close by your hips, his chest lightly brushing yours before his shadows cocooned the two of you in their familiar embrace. Time always seemed to bend when you traveled through the shadows, warping around your body in a way that felt too fast and too slow all at once. The entire time your eyes were glued to his, his own gaze unwavering as he stared back.
You were in front of Rita’s before you could blink, and yet it felt like those seconds with Azriel’s hands on your body and his eyes stuck to yours had stretched into years. Your heart was racing again. It was becoming a problem.
You stepped back, breaking eye contact with an awkward cough. Your body felt far too warm in the chilled night air. Azriel’s hands fell away from your waist, and you took a second to smooth your hands over your dress, recentering yourself before walking into the crowded tavern.
Azriel watched you, and eventually you forced yourself to smile before meeting his gaze again. “Here we go,” you said with a grin that felt too tight on your face.
You didn’t wait for Azriel before you pushed through the door, the dim lighting and cacophony of music and voices disorienting at first. You scanned the room for your friends, and it wasn’t until Azriel placed a gentle hand on the small of your back and pointed toward a corner of the room that you found them.
He laced his fingers with yours before you could even take a step, guiding you through the sea of bodies. His skin was warm against yours, and you relished in the feeling of your hand in his. He pulled you closer to him when an especially tipsy faerie bumped into your shoulder, jostling the two of you.
Eventually you reached the booth everyone was crammed in, Cassian sitting on the end with a wide grin. You expected Azriel to drop your hand, but he only squeezed it tighter when the two of you stopped in front of the table. Your face was hot when Cassian’s gaze dragged up from your hands to your face.
His eyes were already glossy in the dim light, and empty glasses were scattered across the surface of the table. You hoped he kept his questions and observations to himself tonight.
He pushed up from the table, with Nesta stabilizing it frantically as he bumped the corner and glasses clattered together. Cassian didn’t notice, and he pulled you into him for a hug, effectively breaking Azriel’s hold on your hand. “You’re here!” Cassian cheered.
You laughed as your face squished awkwardly against his chest, his arm squeezing your waist on just the verge of too tight. “Happy Birthday, Cass,” you said again, even if you already saw him this morning. This morning felt forever ago anyway.
Cassian pulled back, his gaze set on the male behind you. He kept one arm around your waist before he reached for Azriel, tugging him into a clumsy hug that you were still held hostage in. The three of you were a mess of arms and wings, Azriel’s body half covering your own and Cassian held you both by one arm.
Azriel would deny it, but he was smiling as Cassian hugged him. Even if he didn’t wait long before extricating himself from the messy embrace. You managed to break away too, your hands squeezing Cassian’s forearms once before falling away. “I’ll have to give your gift tomorrow,” you told him.
Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Az already gave me—” His words died as his gaze flicked behind you, and your neck felt hot. Cassian’s smile faltered, but you could tell he fought to keep it on his face, even if the alcohol running through him had eroded his already thin filter. “I can’t wait,” he said.
Your smile was tight, and you were ready to escape the awkward tension that had fallen over you. You locked eyes with Mor on the end of the booth, relief washing over you when she stood up. She grabbed your hand, immediately dragging you toward the bar as she declared it was time for more drinks.
She dropped your hand once you reached the bar, her gaze sympathetic as you gathered your bearings. You didn’t hear what she ordered as you took in the crowd around you, the floor flooded with dancing bodies and loud music. Mor handed you a glass of blue liquid, and you didn’t bother asking what it was before you tossed it back.
Which might have been a mistake, because it was foul.
You gagged, clanking the glass down on the counter. “Mor, what the hell was that?”
She also gagged as she downed her own, her class clinking against yours as she sat it down. “Disgusting,” she said, wiping her mouth. Then her eyes glinted. “But effective.” She waved toward the bartender ordering another round of something that hopefully didn’t taste like acid.
She leaned against the bar while you waited, her gaze flitting up and down before settling back on your eyes. “I figured it was that kind of night.”
You leaned against the bar next to her, your arm brushing hers as someone bumped into you. “Yeah,” you said with a weak laugh. “You could say that.”
Mor glanced toward the table with your friends. You followed her gaze, and your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met Azriel’s, who had taken Mor’s seat at the booth. His shadows were mostly hidden behind his wings, but a few stray ones pulsed to a slow beat. You averted your gaze, your skin feeling even more flushed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mor asked, and you were fairly certain she knew more than you had ever told her, just like Cassian, and Nesta, and probably everyone else around you.
“Nope.”
The bartender brought your drinks, and Mor handed you another glass, this time with a pink liquid. “This one is better, I promise,” she said, then clinked her glass against yours. “Let’s get drunk.” Then she tossed the liquid back.
You grinned, following her lead, relieved when the liquid was smooth and sweet. “Let’s dance,” you said, grabbing her hand as you sat the glass down, the two of you giggling as you pushed into the sea of bodies.
It was hot. So many bodies brushed against yours, so many faeries overheating the room as you all moved to the music. Song after song drifted over you, and Mor came and went with drinks in hand more times than you could count. Your blood felt fuzzy, your entire body vibrating from the alcohol coursing through your veins and the electric buzz that permeated the air.
At some point Cassian and Nesta joined you, periodically dancing with you and Mor when they weren’t entirely absorbed with each other. Your head was light and hazy, and you almost forgot why you had felt so heavy before.
Then a hand grabbed your waist from behind, familiar scarred fingers curling around the curve of your hip. You leaned back, your body connecting with a warm chest you knew better than your own skin. Your skin was hot and flushed, tingling all over as the scent of salt and cedar and something so uniquely Azriel enveloped you.
Your head lulled against him, your body moving against his in time with the music. His other hand settled on your other hip, and you let him guide your body however he saw fit. Your heart was racing and your stomach was fluttering, and you never wanted this feeling to end. You never wanted Azriel’s grip on your body to fade, and you never wanted another male to touch you like he was now. You wanted him to claim you in this crowd of people. You wanted everyone to know that you were his.
You wanted everyone to know that he was yours.
Azriel had always been yours.
Your hand came up to curl around the back of his neck, pulling his face down to meet your gaze. You had to tilt your head back to see him, but Mother above, he was everything you ever wanted. He was the most beautiful male alive, and you wanted him so much it hurt.
Why did it have to hurt?
You turned around to face him, his hands never leaving your hips. Your chest grazed against his, and you met his eyes as he continued guiding your bodies together in a dance that was for the two of you alone. Your eyes never left his, his own eyes glossy in the lights streaming across the room. He had a lazy smile on his face that made your stomach flutter, and when he tugged your body closer you sucked in a sharp breath.
“Azriel,” you murmured. In the back of your head, you thought it should have been a warning, but really it was a plea.
Your arms looped around his neck as his thigh slotted between yours, and you thought you might die when your core grazed the rough fabric of his pants. The hem of your dress was undoubtedly rucked indecently high, but you didn’t care. You just wanted more. You wanted everything.
Azriel slowly ground your bodies together in a rhythm that you thought might have loosely followed the music, but it was hard to tell. It was hard to think of anything other than the building pleasure low in your belly and Azriel’s hands on your waist and his breath against your cheek. You guided his head up with your hand splayed on his cheek, and when he met your eyes he looked like he might devour you there in the middle of Rita’s.
It was exactly how you had always wanted him to look at you.
You wanted him to want you. You wanted him to forget about anyone else that might think they had a piece of his heart, because Azriel was yours.
Azriel’s tongue briefly wet his lips, and you didn’t think before you pushed yourself up on your toes to capture his lips with yours.
And he kissed you back.
Your head was floating, possibly completely detached from the rest of you. You weren’t entirely sure you were even still inside your own body, except for the feeling of an undeniable warmth that flooded through your chest. Azriel’s hands slid from your hips to the back of your thighs, his fingers curling around the hem of your dress and tugging it down, all while his lips chased yours.
His hands gripped your legs tight, his fingers undoubtedly leaving indents in your flesh as he simultaneously tugged you closer and kept your dress from sliding too far up. Sparks of electricity flew everywhere your body touched his, leaving your entire body vibrating. The sounds of the music and the voices around dulled into a muffled buzz, your entire world view shifting to focus solely on Azriel.
Your skin was hot with want, flamed only by inconceivable stores of repressed emotions and desire breaking through the surface. You wanted to curl inside of Azriel and never leave. You wanted this moment to stretch for an eternity, bottling up the euphoria coursing through you and never letting it fizzle away.
One of his hands had migrated to your face, cupping your jaw in a way that you thought might have been reverence. The touch was so gentle compared to the firm grip his other hand still had on your thigh, guiding your body against his lazily as your lips melded with fervor.
Why had you never done this?
Well, you had once—
His teeth nipped your lower lip, making you gasp at the light sting before his lips latched onto the sensitive skin below your ear. Your stomach flipped, and your heart was pounding as he moved down the column of your throat, the drag of his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Someone bumped into Azriel, and the two of you careened to the side a bit, his grip tightening on you as a low growl rumbled from his throat. The floor still tilted beneath you even as he held you upright, and you blinked once, and then twice, willing the feeling away.
Then you were engulfed in darkness that was cool against your skin, and you were stumbling backward until your back met a wall. Azriel started laughing against your neck, his hands still holding your hips, and he was likely the reason you didn’t completely crash into the wooden wall behind you.
You started laughing too, vaguely recognizing that you were outside of Rita’s now, only the moon lighting the dim alley. The air was cool, but it only made you feel more flushed, more exposed now that you were alone with Azriel.
Azriel resumed his kisses along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone as he slotted his thigh back between your legs. The pressure at your core was consuming, traveling upward in shaky tendrils that stole your breath and twisted your stomach.
There was a cacophony of sensations traveling through your body. Azriel’s hands on your waist. His lips on your neck. His whispers that sounded like “perfect” and “beautiful” but you couldn’t be sure because your ears sort of felt like they had been stuffed with cotton. The tension in your core that felt like a confusing blend of impending euphoria smeared with doom.
Your breaths started to grow faster, and fuck, it was really hot.
The world was spinning.
You gripped Azriel’s shoulders, and at first he sank further into you, his body melting into yours. Then your motions slowed, and your mouth was watering, and you must have pushed him back a bit, because his lips were no longer on your skin, and his hands were cupping your face.
“Hey,” he said, squeezing your face slightly to drag your eyes to him. You blinked, trying to focus, but the high you had been riding was crashing down fast, and your head was no longer blissfully floating. “Y/N,” he said, and you pulled your gaze back to him again. “Are you okay?”
He sounded worried.
Maybe you should be?
Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that last shot Mor gave you, or the one before that.
You might be really drunk.
You might—
You threw up.
Everything came rushing up, and you crumbled to the ground, knees hitting the stone hard with stray pebbles biting at your skin. You heaved, and heaved, expelling the monstrous cocktail of alcohol you had tossed down throughout the night.
Gentle hands brushed your hair away from your face, rubbing your back soothingly as you shook, irrational fear coursing through you. Maybe you were dying.
But eventually the nausea passed, and while your head still spun and your thoughts were covered in mud, you knew you were not, in fact, dying. You were just drunk.
Far drunker than you had ever been, but still just drunk.
You were also crying, but your tears were quiet and quickly wiped away by Azriel with gentle hushes. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, or maybe it sounded more like a whimper. Your throat hurt. You weren’t sure what exactly you were apologizing for, but you felt like it needed to be said.
“No,” Azriel choked out, wiping his thumb under your eye again. He swayed a bit, or maybe that was you. “My turn to take care of you, right?”
You closed your eyes, smiling a little, leaning your head back against the wall that you somehow had ended up sitting against. Your chest pulsed with warmth again, washing away the chill that had crashed inside you, and replacing the uncomfortable heat you had been washed in moments ago.
Azriel lifted you, your body curling into his chest with ease. You hid your face against his chest, the thump of his heart calming your still racing one.
Azriel would take care of you.
You loved him.
~ ~ ~
a/n: I won't lie this part was a little hard for me to write because it felt it little bit like a filler but I needed it to get to the next part which I'm excited for!!
Summary: in the woods somewhere between Day and Night, keeping watch over your party leads to late night discussions with a certain shadowsinger
A/n: I’m so brave for finally editing this, everyone applaud please
The warm night air stretched on around you, the only light the moon’s shine in a clearing in the trees. Bark dug into your back, making indentations that you were too comfortable to pay any mind to now. A small fire crackled in front of you, one the four of you had used to cook dinner for the evening. The dying embers produced little light, but the glow they gave off made you warm.
The small clearing was just large enough to allow some light in and for a few bodies to sit in a circle, but alone it felt large and expansive. Your gaze wandered to the entrance to the cave your party had scouted out earlier, your position far enough away to give them privacy but close enough to be heard should you alert them.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you settled deeper into the tree, failing to resist exhaustion from overtaking. The day had been mostly one long trek, the party traveling through the mountains, putting miles between you and Velaris. Your shoulders ached where your backpack straps dug in, the weight of your tent too much for the bag.
Tonight was your first time out in the field. Lurking somewhere in the mountains, Rhys had sent the four of you in search of a few rare plants. Using historical records and maps, the plants had last been seen deep in the mountain range that borders Night and Day.
Legend has it that the space between the two courts saw full light - full sunlight during the day, full moonlight in the evening, bestowing interesting medicinal remedies to these plants.
Your eyes were drooping, your training not quite preparing you for the day’s hike. Your breathing began to even out, your body growing comfortable against the tree.
Something sharp poked your side, not breaking through your leathers, but its presence was enough to have your eyes going wide.
“Sleeping on the job?” A voice startled you awake, the knife at your side gone. You instinctively swung an arm out, hoping to catch whoever it was off guard. Instead, a familiar wind grabbed your wrist, holding your arm out to keep from striking their master.
You narrowed your eyes into the darkness, searching for Azriel but coming up empty. Still hidden in the darkness, you targeted your scowl at the dark tendrils holding a tight grip on your arm. They wiggled excitedly up your elbow before dropping you, as if chuckling at the disturbance. They slithered back to their master, hiding in the folds of his wings as he sat against the tree next to you.
You expect him to scold you, your head ducking in preparation for being caught sleeping on watch. Mortification climbed up your throat, squeezing your throat shut, unable to even think of a defense.
“What are you doing out here?” Your eyes widen at the more quizzical tone, his words soft in the night air, as if carried by his shadows.
“I’m taking watch.”
Azriel tilted his head, his eyes darting toward the entrance to the cave the four of you had scoped out earlier.
“Why are you so far from the entrance?” You flushed, not expecting to be questioned, but you should have known this would happen. Azriel isn’t one to let information slip away, even the most mundane of statements have a few follow up questions from him.
“This spot looked comfortable.” The lie fell from your tongue, your boots toeing at the dirt you were sitting on. A shadow peaked out from behind their master, swirling around in the dust you were kicking up, almost as if it were dancing.
“I thought Cassian had first watch.”
Too analytical for his own good, you thought. Why you even bothered lying in the first place, you weren’t sure.
“Okay, spymaster, you caught me. Cassian asked if we could switch watches.”
“Did he say why?”
“Yes.”
He stared at you, waiting, letting the silence envelope you. The Illyrian had a way with pulling information, his silence an open doored confessional.
“It’s Illyrian mating season and he needed time with Nesta,” you mumbled, cheeks heating knowing what they were doing in the cave. Living in the House of Wind let you be privy to a large number of their sexcapades, but you stayed on the opposite end of the house from them and were only subjected to their intensity on rare occasions.
“Illyrian mating season?” Azriel asked, his brows arched in confusion, rising to his feet.
“Yes,” you sighed, annoyed he was making you draw this out for his own amusement. “He said that during the change of the seasons into summer, Illyrians have a mating season to ensure offspring for the next spring and that it gets rather, erm, uncomfortable for a male to go too long without.”
The shadowsinger’s head was bent, his neck craning down just watching you on the forest floor. His gaze was assessing, something lurking just beyond his eyes.
“Did he say what I’d be doing during the season?”
“I didn’t ask, but maybe it only affects mated males?” It came out more as a question. You truthfully hadn’t even considered what a mating season meant for the male before you.
Intelligent, devastatingly beautiful. Azriel would be more hard pressed to find someone who didn’t want to sleep with him than someone who would.
Your stomach churned at the thought of all the fae who would line up for him.
“And if it’s Illyrian mating season, why have us be out here?” His question pulled you out of your jealous stupor, your head shaking slightly willing the thoughts away.
Your cheeks flamed with embarrassment, realization dawning on you with his teasing tone. Cassian had looked so sheepish when he spoke to you about it - you should have seen right through it.
Cassian wasn’t shy about anything.
“That bastard lied to me!”
Azriel’s mouth stretched into a rare smile, beaming down at you in the moonlight. His beauty was quick to dissipate your anger, something closer to gratefulness that you got to witness this moment of time.
He settled next to you, a soft snickering as he stretched his legs out onto the ground. His shadows swam through the ground, streaky dark tendrils moving the grass with their curiosity.
“It’s not my fault Illyrians are secretive and seclude themselves to the north!” You hadn’t thought anything of Cassian’s lie at the time, which was the part that wounded your pride more than anything. Illyrians are a race of mystique and intrigue in the Dawn Court, the several millennia of their absence caused glaring holes in the records of fae diversity. Even when they did live in your native court, they never interacted outside of their own communities.
“You’re better off not knowing.” Azriel huffed, disdain for his kind spilling through every syllable.
“Well, if I had known anything about them, maybe I’d be asleep in the cave now.” You pointed at the cave’s interest, scowling your annoyance at Cassian once more.
“You could go disturb them.”
“No way. I don’t want Cassian’s ass searing itself into my mind.”
Azriel chuckled, his gaze moving to something in the treeline.
The silence stretched on, making room for the lie you had fallen for to come to light. You scoffed before putting your face in your hands, unbelieving that you fell for such a stupid and obvious lie.
Azriel laughed into the fire, his eyes searching for a well-worn memory faded with time.
“We used to share a room. Most of the time, we didn’t care, but occasionally… Cassian loved shy females, ones that would blush madly when he winked at them and duck their heads if he caught their eye.”
You didn’t try to fight the grin from spreading across your face, the image of these two seemingly opposite males occupying the same room. You hadn’t seen the inside of Cassian’s room, but judging by the trail of clothes he leaves through the house after training, you had a decent idea of how messy he was.
Cassian occupied spaces, filling up every inch with his existence, meanwhile Azriel kept traces of his presence down to a minimum.
“One night I had come back to what was our place in a camp. By that point, Rhys’s father, the High Lord, usually had me spread across Prythian, and even the continent, to where I hardly saw my brothers. I came inside and I could smell Cassian down the hall. I was so tired, as long as he let me get to my bed, I didn’t care.
“He stopped me in the hallway, a crazed look on his face, telling me our room was infested with star mites and to protect myself I should sleep on the couch.”
“Star mites? Are those - do I have to worry about them? And what was his reason for staying in the room?”
“No. They’re not real.” Azrie rolled his eyes but a hint of fondness remained. You felt a little pride at now being the one to ask dissecting questions. “And he said it was too late for him and that he’d have to bathe or treat himself.”
“So what did you do?”
“I thought they were real. Or I was too tired to care about his theatrics. Either way, I slept on the couch, not seeing the lie until the morning.”
“Did you do anything in retaliation?”
He grinned something boyish, his features losing some of their years for a moment.
“Rhys’s father sent me to the continent for a six month excursion. The morning I left, Cassian was still asleep in his bed. I may or may not have procured some very real mites and dropped them all over his bed before heading out.”
A laugh burst from your throat, Azriel’s shadows quickly darting around to dampen the noise, to keep it from going too far. Maybe even to collect it and keep it for their master.
You could see it so clearly - Cassian’s terrible bedhead, his loud snores interrupted by Azriel, one of the most feared fae alive, dropped arthropods on top of his brother before scurrying off into the night.
“I may have enchanted my bed before leaving as well, asking a local fae to cast a very thorough protection spell over my belongings.”
So methodical, even for the most ridiculous of tasks. It made your heart race a little, his thoughtfulness one of your favorite traits of his.
Even when it was used for annoying his brothers. Especially then.
“And now he’s somebody’s mate.” Azriel stiffened at your words, quickly releasing the tension in his muscles hoping you didn’t notice.
It was unsuccessful.
“And they're trying for a baby.”
“Are they really?”
Azriel nodded a little solemnly, his arms hugging his knees towards his chest. It made him look small, a boy too worried about such things.
“I wish them luck - Nyx would love a cousin.”
Somewhere a cricket began chirping remind you of the little toddler’s coos. He was a few years old now, nearly tall enough for his head to touch your hip.
Every time you thought of him, you thought of one night where he had been teething, staying up all night for a week straight. Rhys and Feyre were going out of their minds, the High Lady falling asleep during dinner enough for you to suggest, or demand as they saw it, the two fae to retire and for you to watch the babe.
You must have given him everything you could think of to soothe his pain. A finger, a toy, some bread. Eventually Azriel came in, fresh from a mission, and pulled a carrot from the cellar. You only watched as he took the carrot outside and left it on a balcony in the snow before joining you and Nyx for about thirty minutes.
After that half hour, he got up, retrieved the carrot, and offered it to Nyx, who took to it like a starved animal. He chewed and chewed the carrot, making obscene slobbering noises and soft coos.
It was adorable and maddening.
“Do you want a family?” He whispered the question, almost like he was surprised by it slipping from his lips. It hung in the air, the word family sounding foreign, like he was talking about an abstract idea.
It brought you back to the present, to the crisp air, the warm night a comfort.
This night was made for secrets buried deep.
You blew out a breath, surprised at his candidness
“I don’t know. Seems like a lot of responsibility. I can barely take care of myself some days, much less kids.”
He nodded, somewhere not entirely next to you, but in some future that hasn’t coalesced.
“But I think I want someone. Someone who knows how I like my coffee, someone who notices when I don’t come home on time.”
He snapped his eyes to you, listening to your every word with focus and intention. Being beneath his gaze made you feel reassured.
“That sounds nice.”
“What about you?” A few of his shadows rose from the ground, listening and waiting to hear what their master had to say. They created an almost curtain like figure behind him, swaying to block out anything that wasn’t him.
“I’ve always wanted a mate. Someone that the Mother decided would stay with me forever."
“What if your mate wants to stay by you?”
“Hmm?” He hummed, not quite understanding.
“You said that a mate would stay with you because the Mother decided it, but what if they just want to be with you?”
You're not sure you had ever seen him so surprised. His usual mask of stoicism crumbling by your question, a deep crease in his brows wrinkling his forehead.
“What if they wouldn’t want to stay?” He whispered the truth that filled his mind lately. “Would you?”
Something stirred in your chest at his question, feeling almost itchy. A shadow moved closer to you, brushing lightly against your thigh.
You’re not sure if it was the late hour or returning a confession of your own that caused you to speak.
It was a night of honesty, after all.
“Yes - I would.”
It was enough of an answer for Azriel. His shadows swirled a bit at your words before settling calmly on the ground around him, the lone shadow on your thigh curling up into your lap.
Somewhere in the night air, the two of you fell into what some would consider mindless chatter, but you lived for every second of it. Azriel brought small parts of himself into the dying light of the campfire, just enough light for you to see.
Neither of you felt the passing of time until the sky began turning brighter, more light filtering through the trees until eventually the sun was peaking over the horizon. The sight of it made weariness settle into your bones, eyelids suddenly weighing ten times heavier.
Despite the exhausting trudge of the day, despite knowing it would be another day’s hike before you could sleep, not a trace of resentment lurked in your heart. Not even resentment for Cassian who forgot to come change out the watch so you could get some sleep.
The two of you would spend the day teasing Cassian about a ‘mating season’, laughter bouncing off the trees, often scaring off woodland creatures. The next few days went by in a blur of searching thousands of plants with no success. The trek home was uneventful, at least that’s how they’d describe it to Rhysand.
‘Uneventful’ did not cover how your heart sped up every time you looked at Azriel or how the momentary brush of his side against yours made your skin burn for hours. How he stayed close to you almost every moment since your late night talk.
When you finally reached your bed, legs still damp from the bath but too tired to care, the memories of the night began playing over again. Every laugh and smile you pulled from Azriel analyzed as your eyes became heavy.
You didn’t mind the loss of sleep too much. Not when you dragged yourself out of bed hours later, muscles aching with each step down the stairs. Every movement begged you to turn around, crawl back into bed for the day.
You had just made it to the landing, ready to search the cupboards for any pastries Elain may have left behind, when the scent of coffee stopped you.
In the middle of the kitchen island sat a nightberry scone, sitting right next to a paper cup of coffee, your name scrawled in neat, familiar handwriting along the sleeve.
Your nose twitched with the familiar scent of cedar and night-chilled air, the cup still warm in your hand. Taking a sip, you couldn’t help but look for any shadows in the corners of the room, trying to give them the response they needed.
One tendril broke free from behind the door, pausing before you. You held out the cup in a salute, the perfectly made coffee just how you liked it.
Description: Things between you and Azriel had been going great, until he comes home from a mission wrapped around another. Realizing it wasn't as serious to him, you run. Just intending to take a walk, things go south when you realize you're in trouble... and the shadowsinger might just not care.
Tags/ Warnings: Angst, injury, hurt/comfort, Azriel is a meanie, Cassian being Cassian.
Smoothing the skirts of your gown, your gaze couldn't help but fall on the necklace you hadn't taken off in weeks. Azriel had gifted it to you for solstice, the blue of the gem looking suspiciously similar to that of his siphons.
You wouldn't say you were courting, per se. Your relationship had simply bloomed on its own into something neither of you had ever bothered to name.
Your fingers drifted over the stone's surface, and for the first time all day, the tightness in your shoulders began to ease. Azriel was meant to be home tonight.
It was no surprise to you that Rhysand had deemed Azriel's mission over the same night he intended to host a feast for the inner circle and outside friends. According to your High Lord, Azriel was due back any moment now, the details of his mission unbeknownst to you. You were just excited to see him.
Azriel had gone on a few missions since this relationship had intensified, the male always seeking you out the second his feet touched down on the balcony of the house of wind.
You hadn't intended to miss him so much. Things were still fairly new, and to feel this attached to him was almost alarming. You weren't used to having someone to wait for, unsure if you should act overly joyful at his return or a little more nonchalant.
Shaking your head for some clarity, you let your gaze fall upon your figure one last time. You had chosen the best getup you had available for the occasion, something in you itching to see the reaction of the shadowsinger. The dark fabric and intricate lace might have been on purpose to reference his shadows, but that was insignificant.
He always took you in appreciatively, whether in a nightgown or training leathers, his gaze slowly dropping to your feet before rising to your face. You felt your cheeks heat at the memory of the way his eyes darkened when landing on you.
Finally tearing your gaze from the mirror, you cleared your throat from the intensity before making your way out of your bed chambers.
The violins grew louder as you neared the party, your shoes clicking lightly against the stone of the ground beneath you. Finally catching sight of a few guests, you sighed in relief when your eyes fell on Mor already chatting up a familiar looking couple.
Timidly approaching her, you let your hand meet her arm before she turned to look at you, her gaze lighting up immediately at the recognition.
"Finally! I was starting to think you weren't coming!"
You giggled as her arms wrapped around your neck, her stance slightly wobbly likely from the wine glass already clutched in her fire red nails.
"I see someone has already cracked open the wine..."
She lightly smacked at your still outstretched hand, the glass sloshing lightly at her movements. Pulling entirely away from the couple she was previously speaking to, she wrapped her arm around yours before leading you deeper into the party.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny. I know you're just itching for a glass yourself." She huffed, heels clacking along as she kept her pace beside you.
An hour or two later, you were three glasses in, watching amusedly as Cassian reenacted an interaction he had in the market earlier this week.
"I don't understand why it's so laughable that I, warlord and killer of men, would be interested in personal hygiene?! You should've seen the females giggling from the stall over!"
A content laughter settled among the few fae around him, his expression exaggerated as if waiting for someone to answer his rhetorical question. Just when he seemed ready to continue, his posture stiffened at something he was seeing behind your back.
Furrowing your brows in confusion, you went to look behind you when Cassian's hand suddenly landed on your shoulder.
"Hey! Why don't we- uh- would you like to come get a drink with me?"
You could see the nervous gulp trail down his throat as his gaze searched yours, his eyebrows lifted almost in a plead as he gently pulled you toward him. Glancing down at your almost full wine glass, you lifted your gaze back to him confused, raising it slightly to catch his attention. It would have almost been comical if he didn't look so close to soiling his trousers.
"Not you, silly! Me! I need a drink, you know, all this 'working the crowd' has really dried out my thr-"
His plead was interrupted by a few gasps from the fae around you, your attention quickly snapping back to the situation at hand. Just as you went to turn around a second time, Cassian quickly pulled you again, your wine splashing over the rim and onto your fingers.
"Hey! What is going on with you? What is everyone starting at-"
Just as the words passed your lips, your gaze finally landed behind you. Across the party, an unmistakable spymaster was stood in the crowd. Feeling your pulse increase at his presence, you let your body fully turn in his direction, eager to greet him.
You were stopped in your tracks as your gaze lowered, your feet coming to an abrupt halt when you noticed a manicured hand wrapped around his bicep. Eyes quickly shooting to his right, you felt your heart stop entirely as your eyes fell on a beautiful fae woman. His eyes were on her as she laughed, her gaze more than friendly as she looked up at him.
All you could manage was a small "Oh." as Cassian appeared at your side, his hand finding your arm and tugging again.
Letting him steer you away from the sight, the gears in your mind began turning as you walked with him to his unknown destination. Voices invaded your mind, whispers from the party guests. Statements along the lines of "Azriel never brings a female" or "I wonder if he has found his mate". You only snapped out of your spiral momentarily when you heard a door shut behind you.
"Look y/n. I know what it looks like. Just listen to me-"
You raised your hand abruptly, cutting him off.
"What it looks like? Cass, it's what it is. You don't have to try and spare my feelings."
Cassian ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips.
"No y/n seriously. Let me explain."
You took in his devastated features, matching his look with your own. How awful that Cassian would have to be the one to let you down easily, his own brother too occupied to reject you himself.
"No Cass. It's fine. You don't have to explain for him."
You quickly turned away from him, dropping your glass on a nearby table. You didn't realize you were crying until you caught your reflection in the mirror above it, tears trailing through the makeup you had spent hours perfecting.
Steeling yourself in the reflection, you didn't let Cassian speak another word before you were gone. The rage and utter betrayal in your mind blending into one tainted landscape. Where the winds matched the ice you felt in your veins, the temperatures as brutal as the thrum in your heart.
Landing on your knees, you didn't even have to look up to know where you had landed. The snow cushioned your fall, pooling around the skirts of your gown. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared, watching as a thin layer of sleet covered your lap almost instantly.
Letting your hands fall to your sides, your fingers didn't even flinch as they came in contact with the freezing sludge beneath you. You just sat there, letting your body become one with the elements and bring you back to reality.
It didn't take long before you felt the biting chill racing across your skin, your gown not doing anything to shield from the biting winds. It was refreshing.
This place was not unfamiliar. You had been here before, many times. When you had nightmares, when you were so overwhelmed with emotion you couldn't escape, your mind always conjured you here. You don't know why, but the place that once seemed to frighten you was now calling with open arms. The one place nobody knew. The place of your deepest fears, now becoming your sanctuary.
Nobody would be crazy enough to follow you out here. Even if they somehow knew where you were.
It felt like hours had passed when you finally stood. Body uncontrollably jerking with the cold, you forced yourself onto unsteady feet. Letting your gaze fall on your destination, you took in the twisted black trees and steady downpour of sleet. The hairs on the back of your neck immediately stood. Something was watching from the darkness.
Whipping around at a cracking twig beside you, your hands immediately raised in defense, body tightening with anticipation. Feeling your breaths tumble past your lips, you couldn't help the jumps in your muscles from the freezing temperatures. As you squinted through the snowfall, you made out a large figure twisting its' way through the forest.
You jumped when you heard another sound behind you, forcing you to take your eyes off the first creature and check your blindspot in case of an ambush. Not seeing anything, you quickly whipped your head back to the original threat, but were shocked into a gasp when the creature appeared right in front of you. Tripping over your own feet, you gathered your skirts in your hand and ran.
Jumping over roots, ankles twisting and bending at awkward angles, you ran through the snow as fast as you could. Your toes were numb as the snow soaked through your slippers, making it even harder to measure your steps. You checked behind you every few steps, anguish crawling up your throat in a scream as you realized it was gaining on you faster than you anticipated.
Deciding running wasn't going to save you, you swallowed your fear and stopped your steps. Whipping around, you prepared to strike at the monster on your heels. A shudder crashed through you at the sight of it.
It was nothing you had ever seen before. A large reptile-like head rested on an even larger body, the moon glinting off of massive claws digging into the slush before you. It's long serpent-like neck twisted and turned as it looked at you, teeth baring and tongue lashing curiously as it sized you up.
You didn't even have a chance to take in the creature before it was pouncing, teeth chomping at the space your head was just in. Dodging, you tucked and weaved as quickly as you could to dodge its' blows. As you danced around the creature, you could hear its' voice in hissing whispers, and one of them made you stop dead in your tracks.
"The Ssssspymasssterssss mate!"
You could only stare as its' tongue flicked with each 'S', a pang of confusion almost knocking you back harder than one of the creature's blows.
Your moment of pause would cost you.
Before you could even utter a word, one of the creatures scaled legs soared, its claws sinking right into your side. You could feel as each claw pushed through your ribs, nothing but a small wheeze escaping as you held the intense eye contact. The searing pain was nothing compared to the memory you'd have of those eyes, holding your own like it never wanted you to forget. Your body had no choice but to collapse where you stood, the world blurring until you were looking up at the sky above you. You could barely make out a scaled tail whipping above you as the creature slipped into the night.
Your hand clutched your side, white hot pain shooting through you. You sucked in a ragged breath, only for it to catch as fluid invaded your lungs. A harsh cough wracked your body, your body convulsing and warm liquid spilling out onto your face.
Trying and failing to suck in a full breath, your battered body jerked and pulsed with the pain, your vision becoming hazy for a moment before focusing back on the night sky. You could feel the sleet hitting your face harshly, forcing your eyes to blink rapidly.
The wind howled around you, the once still trees looking alive as the rays of the moon slipped between their branches. You could hear the whistle of the wind through them, creaks and groans echoing around you at the pressure pushing against them.
Just as your vision blurred a second time, you thought you heard something. Your fae ears twitched, straining against the raging winds around you. Hope bloomed in your chest, fragile, as you listened.
There it was.
Faint at first, then louder.
"Y/n!" a voice bellowed through the trees. "Answer me, sweetheart!"
Your heart lurched.
Azriel.
Every instinct urged you to call out, to let him know you were here and you needed him. You opened your mouth, but only a weak broken gurgle escaped past the blood on your lips. Pain ripped through your chest.
You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the shrill trail of tears down your temples, the realization that Azriel wouldn't find you in time bringing a rough cry past your lips.
Your heart lurched a second time as another shout cut through the trees.
"Y/n?" His voice cracked with panic. "I hear you, baby."
Footsteps thundered through the forest, growing closer with every passing second, branches snapping beneath his steps. Shadows stirred between the trees, racing ahead of their master.
"I'm coming." he called, breathless. "Hold on for me. I'm coming."
Your blurry gaze catches a movement in the tree line before you, branches separating and snow falling as a tall figure bursts through. Before you can even orient yourself Azriel has landed on his knees beside you, the glow of his siphons drawing your focus to his chest.
Hands come up to cradle your face, your eyes flickering to his own as his head blocks your line of sight to the sky above. You can feel the trail of blood running down your chin when you attempt to smile up at him.
You can feel his hands leave your face as he assesses your body, another gurgle coming from you when his hand comes in contact with the wound on your side.
“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” he coos, his free hand coming back up to wipe at the tears rolling down your temple.
Your hand comes up to grab at his resting on your hair now, your own blood coating your fingers visible in your peripheral.
A broken sound leaves his lips as you choke once again, an almost feral growl you had never heard from him before.
His shadows slowly start to surround you, and before you can attempt another breath, his face steeles into one of resolve.
“I’m going to winnow you. I have to get you back to Velaris so Madja can help.” his hands automatically start moving to hold your body to his, one sliding beneath your back and the other cradling the back of your head.
At the movement, you can’t help the wince that tumbles past your lips.
“I know it hurts, sweetheart. But you have to stay with me, okay? Can you do that for me?” his eyes are pleading when he locks them with your own, his breaths trembling.
With as much of a nod as you can muster, you brace yourself for the pain about to consume you.
Azriel brings your body to his, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. You watch in awe as the shadows surround you fully. You had never been surrounded by such complete and utter darkness.
You can hear Azriel talking to you, a repeated “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry” passing through your ears as the world around you disappears.
With the warp through time, you can feel your entire being teetering over the edge of life and death. The pressure on your limbs is so strong you can do nothing but hold your breath, praying to the mother that you make it to the other side.
Azriel might love another, but you still have friends, a family waiting for you. Even though your heart was on the verge of breaking, you still had hope. Hope for happiness and a future where you didn’t feel like this.
Just as a bright white began taking over your vision, Azriel clutching to you like he would never let go again, the shadows dissipated. You could feel the coolness of their embrace leave you suddenly, before your consciousness began to fade.
Muffled in the background, you could hear Azriel yelling. “Get Madja! She doesn’t have much longer. She can’t breathe.” tore through his lips as your body transferred from his to a softer surface. You finally could let your mind relax.
The first thing to return to you was sound. You could hear the faint crackling in the hearth, a soft sound coming from the fae lights around you. Letting your ears tune into the new environment, your fingers began searching of their own volition.
A soft, familiar texture smoothed under your fingertips, the warmth of the comforter feeling foreign after so long in the cold.
Clearing your throat, your eyes immediately popped open when you realized that there was no longer anything interfering with your breaths.
It took a moment for your vision to clear, almost as if the sleet had to clear away before you could fully take in your surroundings. Slowly sitting up, you winced at the pinch in your side.
Your brows furrowed as you realized that this was not your room. The dark bedding and wall of daggers gave you a good idea of whose bed you were occupying, but you weren’t sure why.
Realizing you were alone in the room, you forced your legs to swing over the side of the bed, the grunt of effort an added reminder of the trauma your body had gone through.
You didn’t even stop to take in your appearance, which you were sure had been cleaned up by some form of magic, before tiptoeing through the cracked bedroom door.
It took a couple of stops against the wall before you began hearing muffled voices in the dining room. Your fae healing had gotten you this far, but you weren’t entirely confident in your own movements.
Steeling yourself and taking a calming breath, you prepared yourself to see the Illyrian you were sure held your broken heart in his own two, scarred, hands. Right as you were about to round the corner, you stopped again when you heard the smooth timbre of his voice rumbling through the room.
“And nobody thought to fucking tell her that?”
Realizing you were the topic of discussion, you decided to stop the inevitable and make your presence known. You only made it two steps into the room before every head snapped in your direction, and another two before your body was brutally crushed into an embrace.
“Oh, thank the mother! I am so glad you’re alr- wai- what are you doing out of bed?!” Mor’s voice screeched against your ear. You could only wince as she bombarded you, her arms immediately pulling back as she jerked herself away from you.
You only smiled apologetically at her as her expression filled with guilt. It only took two seconds before that look turned into one of gratitude, her body coming in to hug you a lot more gently the second time around.
A round of agreements and scolds met you as Mor finally released you, your gaze jumping around the room to take in the entire inner circle. Out of nerves, your eyes purposely avoided the darkest corner of the room.
You could feel the cool drag of shadows as they assessed your frame, only steeling yourself further until they were content and sliding back to their master.
As all eyes stayed locked on your form, you finally cleared your throat once more before letting out a scratchy “Anyone got any water?”
After what felt like hours, you had finally finished explaining every detail of your mishap with the serpent like creature. Leaving out the tidbit about your rescue, everyone seemed content enough to begin parting for their own duties. With an order to rest and hydrate, you also turned to leave the dining room when a deep voice stopped you in your tracks.
“Can we talk?”
Your body felt frozen as you took in his voice. A mixture of exhaustion and sadness finding you from across the room.
Keeping your back turned to him, you let everybody else pass you by before swallowing your nerves and turning to face him.
You could only bring yourself to look at his chest, his fighting leathers now traded for a black shirt and trousers. You could see the daunting outline of his wings behind him, your fingers immediately coming to twist in front of you.
You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, gaze dropping as you waited for him to break the silence.
It took a few long moments, but the first words to leave him almost had your mouth dropping in shock.
“Can you look at me please?”
Your eyes immediately lifted to his own, a frown of confusion painting your face when you took in the sight of him.
His hair was disheveled as if he had been vigorously running his fingers through it, his under eyes dark and a shadow forming on the lower half of his face.
Just as you went to blurt out something, anything, his form crossed the room. He looked almost afraid to get too close to you, choosing instead to stop with a good yard of distance between you.
Your eyes flickered between his own as you processed your thoughts, unsure what you were really supposed to say. Before you could get out a word, his rough voice stopped you again.
“How are you feeling?”
You were a bit taken aback by his question. A few embarrassing stutters leaving you before you finally coughed up a quick “Good. I feel pretty good.”
Your fingers kept violently twisting as he eyed you up and down, your brain bouncing a million different questions around before it finally settled on one.
You didn’t even have a moment to second guess before the words were forcing past your lips.
“Am I your mate?”
A look of certain shock passed over Azriel’s face before he steeled himself again, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. His hand came up to run through his hair as his face portrayed the inner turmoil clearly a jumbled mess in his brain.
“I only ask because before that… snake thing… attacked me it hissed out something along the lines of ‘the spymaster’s mate’ and it really confused me because after the party I’m not really sure what’s going on. I understand if you were planning to reject the bond for that female but why string me along before then, you know? I thought something was forming between us but now I think I might have just been exaggerating things in my own mind- I mean, that woman was beautiful, and I understand why you would choose her over me but-“
You only stopped to take a breath as Azriel roared a growl, your body flinching back as he whirled towards the dining table. He looked as if he was about to break something before his hand came up to rub at his chest.
Your shocked gaze stared at his back as his shoulders heaved, his wings twitching wildly before pulling tightly back into their normal position.
A sigh that carried the weight of the world left him before he whirled back around, his legs taking two more steps toward you. His hand reached out as if to touch you before he seemingly thought better of it and brought it back to pinch at the bridge of his nose instead.
“Reject you? Y/n, please, you’re killing me.” his face held nothing but anguish as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours. “Rhysand asked me to escort that female to the party. She was linked to some Illyrian’s we’ve been monitoring and he wanted me to get more intel. Fuck, I would’ve never- I never- Cassian was supposed to tell you. He was supposed to tell you before the party started but he was too busy following Nesta around like a lost pu- oh fuck this.”
He seemed to decide against the last part of his explanation before he closed the rest of the distance between you. Your breath caught at the proximity when his hands came up to cradle your jaw, his eyes piercing yours as a confused furrow took over your brow.
Without realizing, your hands came up to grip his forearms, your eyes fleeting between his own as you processed his words.
His body only pressed closer to yours as you hesitated, the gears running a mile a minute in your mind.
“I swear to you, y/n. There is no one else in this galaxy I would’ve rather been with than you. I hate that you even questioned my feelings for you. I’m yours. I have been since the day we met.”
His eyes only intensified his words as you searched them, the gold flecks throughout his orbs almost glowing as they locked with yours.
You felt the trail of a tear before you could stop it, your lip wobbling for a reason unbeknownst to you. Azriel was quick to wipe it away, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His voice lowered to a whisper as he continued.
“I almost lost it when I heard you were missing. I don’t even remember leaving the party or how I knew where to find you. I would tear this world apart inch by inch if it meant keeping you safe, sweetheart. I promise you that.”
Your breath shuddered through a gasp as more tears made their way down your cheeks. Letting your eyes fall closed, you shook your head against his before meeting his gaze again.
“So basically you’re saying that my disappearance was a slight overreaction?” you whispered, your teeth finding your lip as you waited for his reaction, a smile threatening to break out on your face.
Azriel shuddered a laugh of disbelief, his hands pulling you fully into his embrace. You could’ve sworn you saw a slight wetness in his eyes before your face was tucked firmly into his neck.
You and Azriel had reluctantly split after your embrace caused a sudden twinge in your side, his warmth immediately turning into panic at the wince that left your lips.
You had parted with the promise that you would get some rest before finding him in the morning to finish your conversation.
Flipping harshly onto your other side, you sighed in frustration as sleep continued to evade you. Every time you closed your eyes you saw manicured nails, serpent like eyes, and the look on Azriel’s face as it assessed your form on the floor of the woods. Also, the mantra of mate, mate, mate playing on a loop in your mind didn’t help.
Kicking the blankets off of your legs, you didn’t give yourself time to rethink your movements as you tiptoed out of your bedroom and towards Azriel’s. Pausing at his door, you let your knuckles lightly tap the surface before you heard a quick “Come in”.
Pushing past the threshold, you let the door close behind you before you made yourself as small as possible in his doorway. Wringing your fingers again, you slowly gazed up at Azriel, sitting wide awake in bed with a book resting on his chest.
You twisted your mouth in contemplation before letting out a small “I can’t sleep.”, your gaze dropping to your bare feet before snapping back up at the sound of rustling blankets.
Azriel had lifted his duvet, his body sliding further into the bed as he gestured for you to join him.
Shyly stalking towards his bed, you gently climbed into the open space next to him before his hands immediately made contact and brought you into his embrace.
The position almost ended up being a horizontal hug, your head tucked under his chin. One arm was wrapped around your waist as the other rested under your head, his hand coming up to twist a strand of your hair. His wing folded over the both of you, the lights instantly dimming into a soft glow through the membrane.
You slowly tilted your head back to meet his eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you took in his features. Letting it out as a whisper, you started with “I’m sorry for bothering you..” only to be immediately cut off.
Azriel tucked your head back into his neck, his chest rising with a deep inhale before he whispered back.
Warnings: Injury, blood, symptoms of a panic attack
a/n: Hi! I haven't been able to write for some time, so I'm having a drabble spree over the next week or so, writing based on prompts from this list. If you send me a category, I'll pick a prompt!!
This fic was based on this prompt in the Hurt/Comfort category: Physically injured character comforting emotionally distressed character
____________________________________________
Your hands were shaking so hard that they were becoming a hazard. You wrung out the cloth meant to soothe the Shadowsinger's wound for the third time and dunked it back into the herbal concoction. The water lapped with your trembling fingers. Your jaw shook as you attempted to breathe.
He wasn't dying. He wasn't. He had been through worse. You'd seen him worse off with your own eyes, treated him on the very table he lay on now, with blood dripping into puddles where the floor was currently unmarred. But he hadn't been your mate then. You hadn't loved him as you did now.
Azriel let out a pained sound, and you flinched as you lathered the damp cloth in healing ointment.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," you rushed, your voice as shaky as your hands. "I should have been faster. I'm so sorry, Azriel."
He was pale and sweating when you returned to his side. You felt the blood leave your own face as you dabbed at his faebane-wrought wound, attempting to soothe the ache as Madja had taught you. Magic could not do anything against faebane, so it was a waiting game.
He gritted his teeth and attempted a shake of his head. "Don't—don't apologize. Thank you. It's helping."
"Right, okay," you mumbled to yourself. You hovered your palms over the now-covered wound. "You're okay. It's okay."
Your skin felt like it was vibrating, your breathing becoming harsh and out of time. There wasn't much of a wound left on Azriel's side after all of your attempts at healing, but the lingering scent of blood and his stained leathers remained. You stared at the mishapened crimson until the image became distorted in your mind. The ringing began then, sounding at a distance until it was practically thrumming at your ear.
This was panic. You were familiar with it. But there was no time to panic, no place when Azriel needed you.
You spun on your heel and pressed a hand to your chest, trying and failing to gulp in any air you could. Tears sprang to your eyes when the attempts began to hurt, when you started to feel lightheaded, and the world was crumbling down on you.
He was hurt. Azriel was hurt, and all you could do was wait. He was going to die one day, and you would never see him again and—
A face in front of yours, beaded in sweat, pallid in the low faelight you'd cast, but a face so familiar you would know it blind. Azriel's hazel eyes bore into yours, and his lips were moving to form slow, measured words that you could not hear. You felt him first, the careful rhythm of his thumbs drawing circles on your shoulders, both grounding and shocking your senses. When you began to blink harder, he ran a hand over your hair and pulled you closer until your forehead rested against his.
"You're okay," he murmured into the sliver of space between you. "I'm okay, and you're okay. You'll always be okay with me. Deep breaths, angel. One at a time."
You tracked his exaggerated inhales and matched the steady exhales. He offered you an encouraging nod when you finally caught your breath, and then pulled back enough to press his lips to your forehead. He held you there for a long moment. Your fingers found purchase in the material at his chest.
"Back with me?" Azriel lowly asked.
"Yes," you stuttered out, feeling strange and airy, but more present than you had before.
"Good," Azriel breathed. "Good—can you... Don't panic, angel, but I need your help lying down again. Can you do that for me?"
You jolted, tore back from him, and slammed back to the moment in totality. You opened your mouth to apologize, to yell at him, to panic, when Azriel gently shook his head. He faltered where he stood, and you gripped his arms to steady him.
"None of that. I needed to help you. Now you help me. That's what we do." A brush of his thumb along your cheek. A grimace as he moved wrong. "Although I will admit—this hurt a lot less when I was worried. It's—I may need an extended amount of help now that I know you're all right."
no choice but to daddy @daycourtofficial - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
