omg this is so sweet thank you sm angel <33 the timing is acc crazy!! i have my interview tomorrow for my official job (intern rn) and ive been a nervous wreck, 4 long years of college and placements have led up to this and im so on edge 😫😫
The nightclub pulsed like a living thing, bass pounding through the floors, lights slicing the dark, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and sin.
Friday nights in Velaris were always chaos. Mortals laughed too loud, moved too close, their hearts drumming like a thousand tiny hammers. Every beat called to me, sharp, steady, constant, a reminder of what I was and what I'd lost.
But I wasn't here for the music or the blood.
I was here for him. Azriel.
I told myself it was just to see how he was doing, to make sure he was steady, that he was coping. That the guilt hadn't swallowed him whole. That was all.
At least, that's what I wanted to believe.
But the man who stepped into my path didn't have hazel eyes. He had violet ones. Rhysand.
For a second, the noise around us faded. The flashing lights, the murmured conversations, the music, it all dimmed to a low, distant hum.
"It's nice seeing you here," he murmured, voice velvet and venom all at once.
His hand brushed mine before I could stop him, and in that same smooth motion, he was leading me away from the crowd through the back hall, past the velvet ropes, and into his office.
The door clicked shut behind us, sealing the chaos out. The sudden quiet made my pulse too loud in my ears.
"What do you want, Rhys?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
I ignored the way his gaze drifted over me, the lacy black dress, the blood-red lips. I could almost feel his stare against my skin, the same way I had centuries ago.
"So you can kiss me like the world's ending," he said, jaw tight, "and then act as though it meant nothing? You think I'm just going to pretend that never happened?"
I laughed bitter and hollow. "I kissed you in a moment of weakness," I snapped. "I thought you were dead. I mourned you. For years. And then suddenly, there you were—standing in front of me like a ghost I couldn't banish."
His expression flickered, that old mask of control slipping for just a heartbeat. "I didn't mean—"
"Oh, don't you dare," I cut him off, stepping closer until the space between us crackled like a storm. "If we're playing this game, let's stop pretending. Why did you do it?"
He went very still. The kind of stillness only immortals knew, ancient, dangerous, unreadable.
"You know what I mean," I said, voice rising, trembling with centuries of restrained fury. "Why did you turn me?"
Silence stretched like a blade between us. Then, quietly, "Because I wanted someone powerful to share eternity with."
The words hung heavy, thick with regret. But he wasn't finished.
His eyes darkened, the mask cracking just enough for the truth to pour out, raw and jagged. "And when you turned out just like me—dark and distant, untouchable—I couldn't bear it. You were my reflection, and I couldn't stand to look at what I'd made."
The confession hit like a strike to the chest. I recoiled, breath catching, every old wound reopening at once.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The music from the club below throbbed faintly through the floor, each beat echoing the fury in my veins.
"You made me," I whispered. "And then you ran. You left me to drown in it—no guidance, no warning, just this... this hunger and loneliness you cursed me with."
He flinched, just barely.
"I was young," he said finally, voice low, desperate. "I thought turning you would save me. That if I didn't have to face forever alone, maybe it wouldn't feel like a sentence."
My laugh was sharp and cold. "So you decided to damn me with you?"
He met my gaze, unflinching now, violet eyes bright in the dim light. "I loved you," he said simply. "And I didn't know how to love without destroying."
That stopped me cold.
The admission was both a knife and a plea. His voice cracked on the last word, barely audible beneath the steady hum of the world outside.
For a moment, I hated him for it, for still being able to make me feel. For looking at me like I was something more than the monster he'd created.
I turned away, pacing, nails digging into my palms. "You think love excuses it? You think centuries later, that word still holds any power over me?"
He stepped closer, slow and careful, like I might bolt—or bite. "No," he said softly. "But it's the only truth I have left."
I felt him behind me then, close enough that the air shifted, close enough that the bond between us stirred like a sleeping thing.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to rip the words from his mouth and bury them where they could never touch me again.
But instead, I stood there, shaking, staring at the faint reflection of us in the glass wall, his tall frame behind mine, shadows entwined.
"You had no right," I said finally, voice breaking. "You stole my choice."
His breath brushed my ear. "I know."
Something in me cracked at the simplicity of it, two words that carried centuries of ruin.
I turned to face him, and the distance between us vanished. He stood close enough that I could feel the pull of that old, cursed bond humming between us, faint but undeniable.
The bond he'd forced into existence the night he damned me.
His eyes, those impossible, violet eyes searched mine, and for a fleeting, terrible second, I saw what he saw, the memory of what we were.
Rhysand lifted a hand, slow, deliberate, reaching for my face as though touching me could rewrite the past.
"You'll always belong to me," he said softly, and it wasn't a threat. It was a confession. A claim.
I froze. The words were a shackle. A familiar one. "Don't," I whispered. "Don't you dare."
He didn't listen. His fingers brushed my jaw, his thumb tracing the corner of my mouth like he was trying to remember the shape of it. That old electricity flared, dark, dangerous, wrong and before I could decide if I wanted to step back or sink into it, the door burst open.
"Get your hands off her."
The voice was low, rough, trembling with fury.
Azriel. He stood in the doorway, eyes burning gold in the dim light, his expression caught somewhere between rage and heartbreak.
The sight of him, bloodline of a newborn vampire, power crackling under his skin made the air in the room shift, heavy and electric.
"Azriel," I breathed, taking a step toward him. But it was too late.
Rhysand turned, his own eyes flashing, that old arrogance slipping back into place like armour. "Careful," he drawled. "You have no idea who you're speaking to."
Azriel's jaw clenched. "I know exactly who you are." His voice broke on the next words. "The one who did this to her."
Before I could speak, before I could stop him, Azriel moved.
He was a blur of motion, fangs bared, rage and instinct twisting into something primal. Rhys met him head-on, centuries of power surging through the room like a shockwave.
The first hit cracked against the desk, splintering wood. The next sent both of them crashing into the wall, shattering the framed glass behind Rhys's head.
I stumbled back, the scent of blood hitting the air, sharp and hot.
The sound of it, the growls, the snarl of breath between clenched teeth was unbearable. They moved too fast to track, a blur of black and shadow, ancient power meeting newborn fury.
"Stop!" I shouted, my voice drowned beneath the chaos.
But neither of them heard.
Rhys struck hard, brutal, his movements precise, centuries of strength channelled into every blow.
Azriel fought like a storm, wild, desperate, a creature still learning the limits of his new nature. He caught Rhys across the jaw, fangs flashing in the dim light, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might actually win.
Then Rhys slammed him into the ground, hard enough to shake the floor.
Azriel snarled, blood dripping from his mouth, eyes glowing like molten amber. "You don't get to claim her," he spat. "Not anymore."
Rhys's voice was a hiss. "She is mine."
That broke something in me.
"Enough!" I screamed, stepping between them just as Azriel lunged again. My hand hit his chest, and I felt his heart, cold, too still, thrumming with fury beneath my palm.
For a moment, all three of us froze, caught in that terrible balance—past, present, predator, protector.
"Stop this," I whispered. "Before you destroy what's left of me."
Azriel's chest heaved. He was trembling, torn between instinct and restraint. His eyes, those beautiful, tormented eyes flicked to mine, searching for permission, for reason.
Rhys stood behind me, breathing hard, blood smeared at the corner of his mouth, but his expression had softened not with guilt, but with something worse. Resignation.
"I told you," he said quietly, eyes locked on mine. "You'll always belong to me. Even if he thinks otherwise."
The sound Azriel made then wasn't human.
I barely had time to turn before he was on Rhys again, slamming him into the wall so hard the plaster cracked.
Fangs glinted, blood fell, and the two of them crashed through the office door and out into the corridor, the fight spilling into the dark like thunder.
I chased after them, the scent of blood and fury thick in the air, praying—begging, that one of them would stop before the other didn't get up again.
"Enough!" I cried again, stepping forward. I didn't think. I just moved.
My hand hit Azriel's chest, but Rhys was already turning fangs bared, eyes glowing that impossible shade of violet that only appeared when the hunger took hold.
His power wasn't light or magic, it was ancient, feral instinct. The kind that lived in blood and bone.
The strike meant for Azriel came faster than sight, he lashed out, a blur of strength and fury, his arm slicing through the air with enough force to shatter concrete.
It connected with me instead.
The impact sent me flying. My ribs cracked under the blow, a flash of white-hot agony tearing through my side. I crashed through the edge of a glass table, shards biting into my skin as I hit the floor hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then... chaos.
Azriel's roar tore through the corridor, a sound that wasn't human. It shook the air, raw and full of something deeper than anger. Terror. He dropped to his knees beside me, hands hovering but afraid to touch, his face pale with horror.
"Stay still," I gasped, tasting blood on my tongue. My own. "Don't—"
He didn't listen. His hands found my face, trembling. "I'm so sorry," he kept saying, the words breaking apart. "I should've—I didn't mean—"
But I wasn't looking at him. My gaze lifted past his shoulder to Rhys.
He'd gone utterly still. The fury that had driven him moments ago was gone, replaced by something far more fragile. Regret.
His violet eyes locked on the crimson bloom spreading across my side, and for the first time in a century, I saw his composure crack. His hands fell to his sides, fingers curling like he didn't trust himself to move.
"Rhys," I breathed, voice shaking.
He stepped closer, slow and haunted. "You shouldn't have stepped between us."
"She was protecting you," Azriel snarled, baring his fangs. "If you touch her again—"
Rhys looked at him then, really looked and something ancient and tired flickered in his expression.
"You think you're saving her?" His voice was quiet now, but it cut deeper than any blade. "You think loving her will end differently for you than it did for me?"
Azriel said nothing, only drew me closer, his thumb brushing the blood from my lips. The look in his eyes was pure defiance.
Rhys's jaw tightened. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said finally, his gaze returning to me. "That was never the plan."
"Plans," I whispered, coughing. "You never had a plan. You only had control."
Something hollow twisted through his face. "Maybe," he admitted. "But you were the only thing I ever lost that mattered."
The silence that followed was unbearable. The nightclub's thudding bass was just a ghost through the shattered glass, the scent of blood heavy in the air.
Rhys looked at Azriel once more, at the way he held me, at the devotion in his every movement and I knew what he saw.
What he hated. What he envied.
He stepped back, expression shuttered, shoulders straightening as that old, unbreakable composure fell back into place.
"Take care of her, then," he said quietly. "But know this—"
He paused, violet eyes gleaming faintly in the dark.
"Immortality with her isn't a gift." His voice dropped to a whisper, colder than death. "It's a curse."
Azriel's POV -
The moment Rhysand vanished into the crowd, the world went quiet. Too quiet.
Only her breath broke the silence, shallow, ragged, every inhale edged with pain. The smell of her blood filled the air, sharp and sweet, cutting through the haze of adrenaline.
I'd smelled blood before. I'd caused it. But this, hers was different. It hollowed me out.
I caught her before she could slump completely, my arms wrapping around her waist, holding her against me.
She was shaking. The wound along her ribs pulsed with sluggish, dark blood. It wasn't mortal-deep, but it was deep enough.
"Hey," I said softly, trying to steady my voice. "Stay with me."
Her eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused at first, glassy, her pupils blown wide from pain or hunger. "You shouldn't... look at me like that," she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Like you care."
My throat tightened. "I do." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
I shifted, lowering us both. Glass crunched beneath my boots, glittering like frost in the dim light.
The scent of her blood was maddening, it called to every part of me that wasn't human anymore. The hunger whispered, taste her. But I pushed it down hard, jaw clenched until my teeth ached.
She tried to sit up. I pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Don't move."
"You shouldn't be here," she murmured, voice thin. "He'll come back."
"Let him," I said. "He's done enough."
The cut along her ribs was already starting to close, slowly, painfully. But vampire healing wasn't automatic, it needed fuel.
I tore a strip of my shirt and pressed it against her side, ignoring how the fabric soaked crimson almost instantly.
"Azriel..." Her hand came up weakly, gripping my wrist. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," I snapped. Louder than I meant to. Her flinch gutted me. I drew in a breath, forcing the anger down. "I'm sorry. Just—please, don't talk."
Her lashes fluttered, and she managed a faint, knowing smile. "You sound like me."
I brushed the hair from her face, careful of the shards scattered around us. Her skin was cold, paler than usual, her lips tinged with blue.
For the first time since turning, I realised what true fear felt like, not for myself, but for her.
"Why did you do that?" I asked quietly. "Step between us."
She laughed, a brittle, broken sound. "You think I could watch the two of you tear each other apart?"
"He could've killed you."
She winced as she turned her head to look at me. "He almost did." Then, softer, "He always said immortality was a curse. Maybe this is what he meant."
Her blood was still seeping through my fingers. I could feel the thrum of it, the warmth fading. I didn't think, I just acted. I brought my wrist to my mouth and bit down hard, the skin splitting beneath my fangs.
Her eyes widened. "Azriel—"
"Don't fight me on this."
When I pressed my wrist to her lips, she hesitated only for a second before instinct took over. Her fangs grazed my skin, and she drank. Slow at first, then deeper, stronger.
The sensation was unlike anything else.
My head spun, my pulse roared in my ears. The bond between us, the one that had been flickering ever since that first night, blazed to life.
I felt her pain, her relief, her hunger and beneath it all, something darker, something I couldn't name.
She stopped before I had to tell her to. Her eyes were brighter now, her colour returning, the wound sealing in slow, perfect lines.
"Better?" I asked, voice rough.
She nodded, but didn't move away. Her forehead rested against my chest, her breath steadying. "You shouldn't have done that," she whispered.
"Now we're even."
"Azriel—"
"No," I said, my hand finding the back of her neck, my thumb brushing her skin. "I don't care what he says. About curses, about what we are. I don't care."
Her breath hitched. "You should."
"Maybe." I tilted her chin up so she had to look at me. Her eyes were like stormlight, beautiful, unrelenting. "But I don't."
For a moment, we just stayed like that, breath to breath, blood to blood, the world outside forgotten.
Then she looked away, her voice barely a whisper. "He was right, you know."
"About what?"
"Immortality with me isn't a gift."
I exhaled, a humourless sound that might've been a laugh. "Then it's one I'll suffer gladly."
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue but she didn't.
The club lights outside pulsed faintly through the broken doorway, painting us both in crimson. I held her a little tighter, the scent of blood and regret clinging to the air, and for the first time since I'd turned, I stopped fighting what I was.
Because maybe he was right. Maybe this was a curse.
But if it was then she was the only part of it that ever felt like salvation.
A/n - The big confrontation finally happened, and wow... chaos much?
She and Rhysand absolutely needed that centuries-overdue argument (therapy is expensive, yelling is free), but of course Azriel was not about to just stand there and let things stay civil. He said "violence is the answer" and sprinted x
Things got... messy. She gets injured, Rhys says some very hurtful things, Azriel swoops in to patch her up and everybody walks away emotionally damaged but in a narratively satisfying way :)
Pairing - Batboys x Platonic reader (Azriel x Rhysand x Cassian x reader)
Word count - 2.8k
Warnings - Pain
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Fae cycles were truly a war waged against females.
There was no gentler way to phrase it, no softer word to wrap around the reality of it. It was a battle fought entirely within one's own body, quiet, relentless, and utterly unfair.
Muscles that should have been strong and steady felt like brittle glass. Bones ached as though they had been hollowed out and filled with lead. Even breathing felt like an effort on the worst days.
And today, apparently, intended to be one of the worst.
Every inch of my body hurt. Not a single limb escaped it. My shoulders burned from strain, my legs trembled beneath me, and somewhere deep in my abdomen a dull, twisting pain pulsed steadily, like the slow tightening of a fist that refused to unclench.
But I refused to acknowledge it. Old habits were difficult to break, especially ones carved into me in Windhaven.
In front of the males who trained in the rings every day, males who would screech with laughter and make crude jokes if they even suspected what was happening.
It had been made very clear, very early on, that such things were not to be spoken of.
That they were embarrassing. Weak. Something shameful that females were meant to endure quietly and privately.
So that was exactly what I had done. For hundreds of years.
Twice every year I simply disappeared for a few days, sequestering myself away until the worst of it passed.
It had never been particularly difficult to evade everyone's notice.
I glamoured away the scent of blood with practised ease and waited out the pain in silence, returning once my body stopped feeling like it had been run through a battlefield.
It was simple. Manageable.
Except this time I had made the mistake of thinking I could push through it.
Which was why I currently stood in the middle of the training ring opposite my three brothers, trying very hard not to vomit up the contents of my breakfast across the dirt.
The morning sun hung high above Velaris, casting warm gold across the Sidra far below and spilling into the training ring.
Normally the sight energised me. Today it felt like a hammer pounding against my skull.
"Are you okay?"
Azriel's voice cut through the haze of pain for the third time.
I blinked at him.
He stood a few paces away, wings tucked neatly behind him, shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as they always did when he was uneasy. His dark brows had drawn together in a deep crease, his hazel eyes scanning my face with quiet, careful concern.
"Yes. Fine," I panted, tugging at the collar of my shirt where it clung uncomfortably to my skin. "Again."
The word came out more breathless than I intended.
Azriel didn't move. Didn't attack. He just continued studying me, that crease between his brows deepening further.
Behind him, Cassian and Rhys were sparring with the kind of brutal enthusiasm that came naturally to both of them.
The clash of wings and fists rang across the training ring, Cassian's laugh echoing loudly as Rhys attempted unsuccessfully to sweep his legs out from beneath him.
Usually I would have been right there in the middle of it. Usually.
"Hey," Cassian called suddenly, stepping back from Rhys. "Maybe we should take a break."
His voice felt strangely distant. Like it was coming from underwater.
I turned toward him slowly, blinking against the sunlight. Cassian's broad form blurred slightly at the edges, his red siphons glinting as he wiped sweat from his brow.
Rhys stood beside him now, violet eyes fixed on me with a sharpness that hadn't been there a moment ago.
"Sweetheart," he said carefully, tilting his head as he studied me. "You good?"
I opened my mouth to answer. Nothing came out.
The ground beneath my feet shifted strangely, tilting sideways as if the entire ground had decided to lean.
I swayed. The next thing I knew the dirt rushed up to meet me.
Strong hands caught me before I could hit the ground.
"—shit." Cassian's voice. Loud. Panicked.
For someone who spent most of his life charging headfirst into battle, Cassian panicked very quickly when it involved the people he cared about.
Rhys had already dropped to his knees, gathering me against him before I fully registered what had happened. One of his hands cradled the back of my head while the other grasped my face, turning it gently toward him.
His voice was low, urgent, a stream of words that blurred together as the world spun slowly around me.
"Hey—hey, stay with me. Look at me. What happened?"
I blinked up at him.
Everything felt heavy. The sunlight above us seemed far too bright.
Beside us Cassian was swearing under his breath, pacing in tight circles like a caged animal. His wings flared outward, the massive span of them trembling slightly as he ran both hands through his hair.
"What happened?" he demanded again, louder this time.
Before either of us could answer, Azriel vanished.
One blink and he was gone, shadows swallowing him whole. The next moment he was back again, kneeling beside Rhys with a small bottle in his hand.
"Drink," he said quietly, pressing it toward my lips.
His shadows curled around my shoulders as if attempting to steady me.
I managed a few small swallows before the cool water soothed the dryness in my throat. The dizziness eased slightly. Enough that I tried to sit up.
Rhys immediately tightened his hold. "Easy," he murmured.
"I'm fine," I insisted weakly, attempting to push myself upright again.
That was when the glamour slipped. The scent of blood that I had carefully concealed all morning flickered. Then shattered completely.
The reaction was instant. All three males went still. Completely still.
Cassian froze mid-step, his head snapping toward me as his nostrils flared. Azriel's shadows tightened sharply around my shoulders. Rhys's hand stilled against my cheek.
"I can smell blood," Cassian said. His voice had gone frighteningly sharp. "Where are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I insisted again.
I tried to sit up once more.
Rhys didn't allow it. His arm wrapped firmly around my back instead, pulling me closer as his violet eyes searched my face with growing intensity.
"Where are you hurt?" Cassian demanded again, the panic in his voice rising dangerously.
Before I could respond the world folded inward. The familiar tug of winnowing yanked the air from my lungs.
And suddenly we were in my bedroom.
Rhys still held me against him as we appeared beside the bed, Cassian and Azriel materialising moments later.
Cassian was already moving again.
"Where are you hurt?" he repeated, crouching in front of me as if preparing to examine every inch of my body for wounds.
Azriel's shadows slipped forward cautiously, brushing along my arms as though searching for injuries.
"I'm not hurt," I tried again.
None of them looked convinced.
Cassian's eyes darted across my face, my shoulders, my arms, searching desperately for any sign of damage. "You passed out," he said roughly.
"I'm fine."
"There is blood."
"I know."
"Then where is it coming from?"
The question hung in the air.
Heat crept slowly up my neck. My stomach twisted again, another dull wave of pain curling through me as I groaned quietly and pressed a hand to my abdomen.
Three pairs of eyes immediately followed the movement.
I sighed "...I'm just on my cycle," I muttered.
Silence fell. Then three very loud, very relieved sighs filled the room.
Cassian practically collapsed backwards onto the floor with a dramatic groan, running both hands down his face.
"Mother above," he breathed. "I thought you were dying."
Rhys leaned back slightly, some of the tightness finally leaving his shoulders as he rubbed a hand over his brow.
Azriel's shadows loosened their grip around me.
Only then did Cassian peer up at me again. "...Now," he said slowly, "why wouldn't you just say that?"
The question made my stomach twist for an entirely different reason.
I looked away. "It's embarrassing," I admitted quietly. "And weak."
The reaction from the three of them was immediate.
Cassian stared at me like I had just declared the sky green. "Embarrassing?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"Weak?" Rhys echoed, brows lifting slightly.
"That's what everyone says."
Cassian barked out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Everyone at Windhaven also thinks smashing your head into a wall proves strength," he said. "That doesn't make it true."
Azriel stepped closer then. He didn't say anything at first. His shadows brushed gently along my arm, soft and cool. "You're in pain," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"And you still came out to train," he said quietly. "That isn't weakness."
Rhys nodded in agreement, his voice softer now. "If anything," he added, "that sounds like the opposite."
Cassian leaned his forearms against the mattress, shaking his head.
"Next time you tell us," he said firmly. "Before you collapse dramatically in the middle of the training ring and give me a heart attack."
"I do not collapse dramatically."
"You absolutely did."
Rhys smiled faintly.
Cassian pointed at me accusingly. "You dropped like a sack of rocks."
Azriel's shadows curled lazily again.
And despite the pain still pulsing through my body—I found myself smiling.
That should have been the end of it. In theory.
In practice, however, the next several hours turned into something closer to being placed under extremely attentive and extremely irritating guard.
The moment Rhys allowed me to settle back against the pillows, Cassian immediately stood and announced, with the air of a general delivering battle orders, "Right. She's not leaving this room."
"I was not planning to," I muttered, pressing a hand to my abdomen as another dull ache curled through it.
"That's not the point," Cassian said.
Rhys leaned against the bedpost with that maddening calm he slipped into whenever he was pretending not to worry. But his violet eyes flicked over me every few seconds regardless, as if confirming I hadn't spontaneously begun dying since the last time he checked.
Azriel, meanwhile, had already disappeared again. He returned moments later with a tray.
Not just a cup of water this time but tea, bread, something that smelled faintly of honey, and a small bottle that looked suspiciously medicinal.
"You're not poisoning me, are you?" I asked weakly.
Azriel set the tray down beside the bed. "It's a tonic," he said.
Cassian leaned over my shoulder to inspect it suspiciously. "It smells terrible."
"It works," Azriel replied calmly.
Rhys gestured toward it. "Drink."
Three pairs of eyes settled on me. Watching. Waiting. Hovering. "Are you all going to stare at me until I do?" I asked.
"Yes," Cassian said immediately.
Rhys inclined his head. "Most likely."
Azriel simply slid the cup closer. I sighed and drank. It did, in fact, taste terrible.
Cassian looked deeply pleased about that. "See?" he said to Azriel. "Her face just did that scrunched thing."
"I did not do a scrunched thing."
"You absolutely did."
Rhys was trying very hard not to laugh.
They did not leave. Not for the next hour. Or the next. Or the next. At first I assumed they would eventually grow bored and wander off to do literally anything else.
Instead they somehow became worse.
Cassian brought food. Rhys brought blankets. Azriel kept appearing with various tonics, teas, and suspiciously helpful remedies that he never explained the origins of.
At one point Cassian returned with an entire plate of pastries.
"I thought you said you were bringing soup," Rhys said.
Cassian shrugged. "She likes pastries."
"That is not soup."
"She'll survive."
"I can hear you both," I said from the bed.
Cassian grinned. "That's good. Means you're alive."
Rhys sighed. "Your bedside manner is atrocious."
"Better than yours," Cassian shot back.
Azriel quietly set another cup of tea beside me.
By late afternoon the pain had dulled slightly. Not vanished but softened enough that sitting up no longer felt like an act of heroism.
Cassian had claimed the chair beside my bed at some point and refused to relinquish it. His wings were half-spread behind him, one boot propped against the bedframe as he leaned back with the air of someone who had settled in permanently.
"Cass," I said eventually.
"Hm?"
"Sit still."
"I am sitting still."
"More still."
He squinted at me suspiciously. "Why?"
Instead of answering, I reached forward and grabbed a section of his long dark hair.
Cassian blinked. "...What are you doing?"
"Fixing this mess," I said.
"My hair is not a mess."
"It absolutely is."
Rhys snorted from the window. Azriel's shadows twitched in amusement.
Cassian groaned as I began separating the strands into sections. "You're braiding it, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"This is humiliating."
"You love it."
"I do not."
He sat perfectly still. I continued braiding.
Rhys watched the entire thing unfold with great interest. "I should fetch a ribbon," he mused.
Cassian shot him a murderous glare. "Don't you dare."
Azriel's shadows slipped closer, inspecting the braid with quiet curiosity.
"Hold still," I murmured, tugging lightly when Cassian tried to turn his head.
"I am holding still."
"You're squirming."
"I am not squirming."
"You're squirming like a child."
Rhys laughed openly now.
Cassian muttered something deeply unflattering under his breath but remained seated while I finished weaving the thick braid over his shoulder.
When I finally tied it off, I leaned back to admire my work. "There."
Cassian reached up cautiously and touched the braid. He groaned like I had personally wounded him. "I look ridiculous."
"You look majestic."
Rhys leaned closer to inspect it. "I think it suits you."
Cassian glared at him. Azriel's mouth twitched slightly.
A quieter moment settled after that. The room was warm with late afternoon light, the tension from earlier long gone.
Cassian still sat beside the bed, braid intact despite his complaints. Rhys had reclaimed his place leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely. Azriel stood near the window, his shadows drifting lazily in the golden light.
The pain still pulsed faintly through my body but it felt... easier somehow.
I watched Cassian absently tug the braid again.
A thought slipped out before I could stop it. "If I could," I said quietly, "I would give you this pain."
Cassian looked up. His brows drew together.
"I mean it," I added.
"I know," he said.
For a moment none of them spoke. Cassian leaned back in the chair with a long, exaggerated groan. "Absolutely not though," he declared. "I refuse."
Rhys burst out laughing. Azriel's shadows rippled with quiet amusement.
Cassian pointed accusingly at all of us. "First the braid. Now you're trying to curse me with female suffering."
Rhys wiped a tear from his eye. "You would not survive a single hour."
Cassian scoffed. "I've survived worse."
Azriel tilted his head. "You fainted when you dislocated your shoulder."
"That was tactical fainting."
"That was not tactical."
Cassian crossed his arms stubbornly. "I stand by it."
And despite the lingering ache in my bones, despite the exhaustion still tugging at my limbs—I laughed.
Because somehow, even on the worst days, they made it impossible not to.
Cassian's POV -
Growing up in Windhaven as a bastard-born male had been difficult in ways I still felt etched into my bones.
Cold mornings before the sun had even touched the mountains. Bruises earned in the training rings. The constant, gnawing knowledge that the world expected you to fight for every scrap of respect you ever received.
But that had been simple compared to watching my sister grow up there.
Because I could fight males.
I could bloody their noses when they mouthed off. I could break a wrist if someone pushed too far. I could make myself bigger, louder, more vicious until they thought twice about crossing me.
She never had that luxury.
From the moment she could hold a practice blade, she tried to make herself just as hard as the rest of us. Harder, sometimes.
While other females in the camp were shoved behind doors and taught silence, she forced her way into the training rings with scraped knees and a glare that promised violence to anyone who laughed.
Gods, she did glare.
I remembered her at barely twenty, hair wild from the mountain wind, chin lifted in stubborn defiance as a group of older Illyrian warriors sneered at the sight of a girl holding a sword.
"Go home, little female."
She hadn't. She'd swung that blade until her hands bled. And afterward she'd wrapped the wounds herself and pretended it didn't hurt.
That had always been the part I hated most. Not the training. Not the fighting.
The pretending. The way she swallowed pain like it was poison she refused to let anyone else taste.
Which was exactly why I now stood beside her bed like a guard dog who refused to leave.
She lay half-curled beneath the blankets, breathing steadily, the sharp lines of pain in her face finally easing now that the tonic had started working. A damp cloth rested across her forehead where Azriel had placed it with careful precision.
Rhys leaned against the far wall with deceptive ease, arms folded, violet eyes tracking every shift of her breathing.
Azriel stood near the window, silent as ever, shadows drifting lazily around his shoulders but even they seemed watchful.
They were all staring. Watching. Waiting.
I scowled. "Stop staring at her like she'll break."
Rhys didn't even look away from the bed. "You've checked her pulse six times."
I crossed my arms. "Seven."
Azriel's mouth twitched.
Rhys finally turned his head toward me, amusement flickering through his eyes despite the concern still sitting there.
"Comforting."
I ignored him and looked back at my sister.
At the faint crease between her brows. At the way her hand curled loosely in the blankets like she was bracing against another wave of pain.
A familiar, ugly feeling tightened in my chest.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind I could still see her in that training ring earlier, swaying on her feet while insisting she was fine.
At first, it had been a whisper something I could silence with discipline, with her voice in my head guiding me.
Listen to the heartbeats. Choose carefully. Don't take too much.
But now it was a roar.
It burned beneath my skin, restless and relentless. Every beat of my heart felt like a spark striking dry tinder, every breath stoked the fire.
I could smell the world too vividly, every mortal's sweat, every trace of perfume, the faint tang of copper from an unseen cut somewhere in the street.
She'd taught me to listen. To control it. But control was a thin thread, and mine was fraying fast.
She was good. Patient in ways I didn't deserve. But sometimes her calmness only made it worse, the way she'd watch me with those knowing eyes, saying softly, "You can choose who you are, Azriel."
What if I couldn't? What if this thing inside me had already chosen for me?
Tonight, I promised myself I would hunt the way she'd shown me. Find someone young enough to survive the bite. Take only what I needed. Leave them breathing. Walk away.
It sounded so simple in her voice. But promises made to yourself mean nothing when the hunger comes.
The mortal I followed was old, older than I would have liked. His heartbeat was uneven, dragging and heavy. It shouldn't have tempted me, shouldn't have pulled at me like that.
But hunger doesn't care for logic. It doesn't care for mercy. It only hears the rhythm of blood.
He stumbled down an alley, humming a broken tune, his scent carrying the stench of cheap ale and salt and life. The sound of his pulse thundered in my skull.
My fangs ached. My throat burned. My hands trembled as I tried to steady them.
I told myself to stop. To turn back.
But the part of me that listened to reason had already gone quiet.
I moved without thinking one step, then another, and then I was on him in a breath. My hand covered his mouth before he could cry out.
The world narrowed to the heat of his skin, the fluttering of his pulse beneath my lips.
The first taste was everything. It hit me like lightning. The world sharpened, every sound snapping into painful focus.
For the first time in days, the hunger quieted. The ache in my veins eased. Relief. Pleasure. Life.
Then I felt his heartbeat stutter. Slow.
Panic cut through the haze. I pulled back, too late. His body sagged in my arms, eyes wide, mouth slack.
"No," I whispered. My voice shook. "No, no, no—"
I laid him down, trying to will the life back into him, but the colour was already gone. He looked small. Fragile. Human.
The hunger receded, leaving only the hollow echo of what I'd done.
The alley felt too narrow. The world too quiet. I could hear the blood in my veins like a scream.
I staggered back, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. His blood still burned on my tongue, hot and metallic and wrong.
I wanted to be sick. But monsters don't get sick. Monsters endure.
So I ran.
Through the dark streets of Velaris, past the laughter spilling from the clubs, past the glowing windows where people slept safe in their ignorance. I ran until the scent of him faded from me, until the city blurred and the guilt caught up.
When I stopped, dawn was threatening the horizon, and my hands were still shaking.
I didn't go back to her that night. Or the night after. I couldn't face her. Not after this.
She had told me once that every vampire remembers their first kill. That it never leaves you, that the guilt either breaks you or becomes you.
Now I understood what she meant. Her voice haunted me, soft and sorrowful "You must learn to stop before the end."
I hadn't stopped.
And what terrified me most was how good it had felt before the guilt set in. How right it had felt, in that single, deadly heartbeat.
Rhysand's POV -
The city slept beneath me, bathed in the soft, dying light before dawn.
From the rooftops, Velaris looked almost holy, silver mist clinging to the river, lights flickering in the distance, the hum of mortal life pulsing faintly below.
And then, there was him. Azriel.
He stumbled through the narrow streets like a wounded thing, the echo of his footsteps uneven. The scent of blood trailed after him, sharp, metallic, laced with something that wasn't just death but guilt, too thick and heavy to be washed away by the morning rain.
I'd seen it before. The first kill. The ruin that followed.
Every newborn thinks they can master the hunger. That they're different. That their willpower, their humanity, will save them from what they've become.
It never does.
I watched him from the shadows as he bled remorse into the cobblestones, shoulders tight, movements hollow.
The monster in him had fed. The man in him was dying by inches.
The first kill always ends the same way, the hunger wins, and what's left of your conscience claws at the remains of your soul.
I had hoped she could help him avoid this. But not even she could fight nature forever.
He still tried to be human. That was the tragedy of it. He clung to that illusion with shaking hands, as if he could pretend his heartbeat was still his own.
When he stopped beneath a flickering streetlamp, the light caught his face and for a moment I saw it, the thing I both pitied and envied. Her mark.
He carried her like a flame under his skin, a glow that wasn't visible but felt.
It was in the way his eyes burned when he said her name. The way he moved like he was chasing her even when he was running from himself.
I shouldn't have been jealous. She'd made him. Not out of love, not the way she'd once been made but necessity. Guilt. Maybe even mercy.
Still, the sight of him twisted something in me.
Azriel was everything I'd once been, new, raw, furious at what he'd become. But he had something I didn't when I turned. Her.
Her patience. Her compassion. Her steady, careful hands teaching him how to live with what he'd been forced to become.
And yet... I could feel it too, that thread between us, the one I'd spent centuries trying to cut.
No matter how much time passed, no matter how far I'd run or how many lives I'd built in her absence, the tether remained. Faint. Burning. Eternal.
When I felt her nearby, that pull tightened like a hook buried deep in my chest. She was out there, probably searching for him, her latest mistake.
Part of me pitied her. The rest of me ached.
I'd damned her once, and she'd carried that curse through lifetimes. And now, here she was trying to save someone else from the same fate, trying to rewrite the story I'd begun with my own selfishness.
I wanted to hate Azriel for that. For being the proof that she could care for another.
But watching him now, trembling in the alley with a corpse cooling at his feet, I couldn't.
He wasn't a rival. He was a mirror.
I saw myself in his horror, in the way he flinched at the weight of his own power. I saw her in the way he broke under it.
And for the first time in a very long time, I wondered if maybe this was what redemption looked like, not forgiveness, not love, but the slow, painful act of watching someone else make the same mistakes and praying they find a way to survive them.
The wind shifted, carrying her scent toward me—dark roses and storm air. She was close.
I could have stepped out of the shadows then, could have gone to her. Could have told her I still felt the tether, that it had never stopped humming between us.
But I didn't.
Instead, I stayed where I was, hidden above the city, watching the two of them, my past and my punishment draw closer to one another again.
And as dawn crept over the horizon, painting the rooftops gold, I realised something that hollowed me out completely.
I had let her go once to save her.
Now, I would have to watch her fall in love with someone else to keep her free of me.
Reader's POV -
Azriel had been avoiding me.
There was no polite way to say it. He'd vanished. Days turned into nights without a trace of him, and though I told myself to give him space, the silence pressed against my ribs until it hurt.
I found him at last in the ruins outside the city, where the sky met the forest. He was slumped against a stone wall, head bowed, the moonlight catching on the sharp planes of his face.
I almost wished I hadn't found him.
He looked feral, his eyes wild and hollow, his clothes torn, his skin too pale even for what he was. The hunger rolled off him in waves, heavy enough that the air itself felt restless.
"Azriel," I whispered.
He didn't answer at first, just blinked up at me with eyes that barely recognised who I was. The faint tremor in his hands told me everything. He hadn't fed in days.
"What have you done?" I crouched before him, voice quiet but trembling.
His mouth moved, the word barely audible. "Kill."
That single word so small, so broken made my chest tighten. He didn't need to explain. I could smell the guilt on him, metallic and cold.
I reached out, brushing my fingers across his cheek. His skin was cold as stone, and yet he leaned into the touch like a lost creature seeking warmth.
"When's the last time you drank?"
He didn't answer. Didn't need to. The pain in his eyes was answer enough.
I sighed, glancing at the horizon where the night still clung to the stars. There was no choice. If he didn't feed soon, the hunger would consume him completely and the next time he lost control, it wouldn't just be one body left behind.
"Azriel," I said softly, my voice threading through the still air. It wasn't quite a plea, not quite a command, something between the two. "Look at me."
He did. His gaze met mine, tired, pleading, and so human it nearly broke me.
I brought my wrist to my lips and bit down, sharp and practised. The taste of iron filled my mouth, a reminder of what I was, what I'd made him.
When the blood welled, I held it out to him. "Drink," I murmured.
He shook his head, his voice hoarse and cracking. "No... I can't—"
"Yes," I cut in, firmer, though my tone softened at the edges. "You can. You must."
The scent reached him then, and the change was immediate. His breath caught, chest rising in a shallow, ragged rhythm. His pupils widened until the hazel vanished, leaving only darkness.
Slowly, so slowly it was as if the world narrowed to that one movement, he reached out and took my wrist in his hands.
His grip was unsteady, trembling, as though he feared both to touch and to lose me.
When his lips touched my skin, the tension bled out of him. The first swallow pulled a sound from his throat, a low, shuddering sigh, half relief, half hunger.
I closed my eyes, steadying myself.
My kind didn't feed one another lightly. Sharing blood was connection, memory, power, a bond that lingered long after the wound closed.
He drank carefully at first, cautious, reverent. But the more he tasted, the harder it became for either of us to separate where one ended and the other began.
Through that fragile tether, I felt it all, the ache in him, the storm of guilt, the sharp pulse of despair. I let him take what he needed, running my fingers through his hair, whispering his name until the shaking stopped.
When I finally pulled my wrist free, the wound was already sealing. He slumped forward, resting his forehead against my shoulder, breath unsteady but no longer wild.
For a long while, neither of us spoke. The forest hummed softly around us, night air cool on our skin.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said at last, voice hoarse.
"I couldn't let you die," I answered.
He lifted his head, eyes heavy with confusion. "Why? After everything I've done—"
"Because I know what it's like to be left to drown in hunger and shame." I reached out, tracing the line of his jaw. "Because I can't turn someone and abandon them the way I was abandoned."
Silence stretched between us, filled only by the whisper of wind through the trees.
The words hung between us, and neither of us looked away. The space felt charged, brittle with everything unsaid.
I didn't tell him how feeding him had stirred something in me I'd tried to bury centuries ago, that dangerous pull toward connection, that instinct to protect and claim all at once.
He was my creation. My mistake. My salvation.
But when his eyes met mine, hazel gleaming faintly gold in the dark, I knew the bond between us wasn't just blood. It was something older, stranger.
And it terrified me.
A/n - Soooo Azriel commits one accidental murder and immediately decides the best solution is to vanish into the wilderness x
We also get Rhysand's POV (surprise!) but I had to let him have his moment.
And then of course she finds Azriel and swoops in with her magic touch (both literal and... let's be honest, very literal). Azriel does approximately zero protesting because he is, in fact, a touch-starved creature who melts the second she looks at him :)
Summary - Azriel and his mate had always assumed it would be easy.
For centuries, it had just been the two of them—steady, unshakable, certain. So when they finally decided they were ready to grow their family, it felt like the most natural step in the world.
But time passed. And then more time.
Hope turned into quiet waiting, waiting into questions they didn't know how to ask, and questions into a kind of grief neither of them quite knew how to name.
Love had always been enough for them. Until it wasn't the only thing they wanted.
Tags - established relationship, fertility issues, emotional healing, angst with comfort, bittersweet
Contents -
»-♡→ One
»-♡→ Two
»-♡→ Three
»-♡→ Four
»-♡→ Five
»-♡→ Six
»-♡→ Seven
»-♡→ Eight
ACOTAR Masterlist
A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.
This was another requested fic!! It focuses on the topic of fertility struggles and pregnancy loss. The request left the ending up to me and I will reveal that I chose a happy ending—a little comfort after all the heavy emotions :)
I know this can be a sensitive topic for some, so please read it with care. I've tried my hardest to handle everything thoughtfully and respectfully!!
Also, just a quick note, the title of this fic "Fallow" means land left unused for a time to restore its fertility—I'm really proud of it and I just wanted to mention it x
Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3
Pairing - Batboys x Platonic reader (Azriel x Rhysand x Cassian x reader)
Word count - 3.5k
Warnings - None
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The markets in Velaris were always beautiful.
Even after seeing them countless times, they still had the ability to steal the breath from my lungs.
Golden sunlight spilt across the wide streets, catching on rows of colourful awnings and glass lanterns that chimed softly in the warm breeze.
Vendors called to passing crowds, their voices overlapping in a cheerful symphony, fresh fruit here, handwoven silks there, jewellers proudly displaying delicate chains that glittered like captured starlight.
Music drifted from somewhere deeper in the square, a fiddle accompanied by light laughter and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps against cobblestone.
Velaris always felt alive. And normally, I loved every second of it.
Today, however... I could have done without the particular noise directly behind me.
"Get your filthy paws off my jacket."
Rhys's voice was sharp, offended in that deeply dramatic way only he could manage.
I didn't even turn around.
"I was trying to remove lint," Cassian snapped back, sounding equally scandalised. "But I suppose I should just let you walk around looking grubby."
"Grubby?" Rhys repeated, horrified. "This jacket costs more than your entire wardrobe."
"That's because my wardrobe is practical."
"Your wardrobe consists entirely of shirts you've torn during training."
"They're battle scars!"
I groaned loudly, dragging a hand down my face. "Boys," I muttered, "can we please—for once—behave like civilised beings?"
Neither of them answered. Which meant neither of them had listened. Behind me, the argument escalated.
"Your collar is crooked," Cassian said accusingly.
"It is not crooked."
"It absolutely is."
"Stop touching me."
"I'm fixing it!"
"You're wrinkling it!"
"Your hair is already wrinkled."
"My hair does not wrinkle!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Somewhere to my right, a vendor was selling pastries dusted in sugar and honey.
And I had wisely decided to buy one before my patience gave out completely.
Unfortunately, this meant I was now halfway through a custard-filled pastry while listening to two grown males argue about lint.
"Says the one eating that pastry like she needs a private room with it."
Cassian's voice suddenly appeared right beside my ear.
I slowly turned my head. He was staring at me with his face scrunched in disgust as I very deliberately licked custard from my finger.
The look he gave me suggested he had just witnessed something deeply disturbing.
"Are you calling me fat, Cass?" I asked seriously. I even added a small, wounded pout for effect.
Cassian froze. "What?" he shrieked. Others nearby turned to stare. "That's not—I didn't mean— why would you even—"
"She's teasing," Azriel said calmly.
Cassian looked like someone had just pulled him back from the edge of a cliff. "Oh."
I snorted. Rhys chuckled quietly behind me.
Cassian pointed a finger at me accusingly. "You are evil."
"Thank you."
I turned back toward the street, still smiling, lifting the pastry for another bite—and promptly walked straight into someone.
The collision wasn't hard, but it was enough to make the pastry wobble dangerously in my hand.
Strong hands caught my arms before I could stumble. "Careful."
The voice was warm. Familiar. I blinked up. And immediately recognised him.
The same male from the balcony. The one who had waved. Winked. And somehow turned my brain into absolute mush.
He smiled slowly, steadying me. "We meet again."
For a brief, humiliating moment, I forgot how words worked.
"Oh."
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. He seemed amused by my momentary confusion.
"I'm Malachai," he said.
I cleared my throat once. Then again. Finally managing to tell him my name while becoming painfully aware of two things.
One, I was still holding the half-devoured pastry. Two, I had just taken a very large bite.
Malachai's gaze dropped briefly to it before returning to my face. "You have a little something—"
Before I could react, he lifted his hand and gently wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
My entire body went still. "Sorry," I blurted, heat rushing into my cheeks.
He just smirked. Then without the slightest hesitation he brought his thumb to his lips and licked the custard clean.
My knees nearly gave out.
He hummed softly. "Sweet."
The word carried a dangerous sort of ease. The kind of effortless flirtation that suggested he had done this many times before.
I opened my mouth. Ready to respond. Ready to regain some form of composure.
Unfortunately I wasn't the only one watching. They had noticed him immediately.
I didn't even hear Rhys move. One moment he was several steps away. The next he was beside me. Perfectly relaxed. Perfectly composed.
But his violet eyes were sharp as they studied Malachai with quiet amusement. Like he had just discovered a new and very entertaining situation.
Cassian was not nearly as subtle.
He stared at Malachai like a territorial guard dog that had just spotted someone standing too close to its favourite person. Arms crossed. Wings shifting slightly. Expression darkening by the second.
And Azriel—Azriel simply appeared. Malachai didn't notice at first. Few did.
One moment the space behind him was empty. The next the Shadowsinger was there. Silent. Still. Watching. Like a shadow that had decided to grow teeth.
Malachai slowly became aware of the sudden shift in the air. His smile faltered slightly.
His gaze flicked to Rhys first. Recognition dawned instantly. He straightened.
"High Lord," he said quickly, dipping his head in a respectful bow.
Rhys gave a small, polite nod.
Cassian continued glaring like he was considering throwing the poor male across the marketplace.
Malachai glanced at him next. Then Azriel. His posture stiffened slightly.
Which was understandable. Being quietly surrounded by three of the most dangerous males in Prythian tended to have that effect.
"It's fine," I started quickly. "They're just—"
But Malachai had already taken a step backwards. Then another. "Yes, well," he said quickly. "It was... lovely seeing you again."
He gave me one last smile. Far less confident than before.
"Enjoy your pastry."
And then he turned and walked away. Not quite running. But very close.
I stared after Malachai as he disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the bright chaos of Velaris.
Then I slowly turned back to the three males surrounding me.
Rhys was watching me with open amusement. Cassian still looked like he had just been denied the opportunity to bite someone. Azriel's shadows curled lazily around his shoulders.
Silence stretched between us. One second. Two. Three. Then I snapped.
"Oh, for the love of the Mother!"
I whirled on them so fast Rhys barely had time to raise an eyebrow before I marched forward and smacked each of them squarely in the chest.
One. Two. Three.
"You stupid—insufferable—overbearing busybodies!"
Rhys barely rocked under the impact, simply glancing down at where my hand had struck his jacket before looking back up at me with infuriating calm.
"Relax," he said mildly. Too mildly. The kind of calm that only existed to make me angrier.
"Oh, relax?" I repeated, pivoting toward him fully. "Relax?"
"Yes."
"He ran away!"
"I noticed."
"Because of you three!" I gestured wildly between them.
Cassian made a sceptical sound. "He left because he realised who we were," he said.
"No," I snapped immediately. "He left because you three descended on him like a pack of territorial wolves!"
Rhys's mouth twitched. Cassian rolled his shoulders. Azriel remained exactly where he was, silent and unmoving.
"He was being nice," I insisted, stabbing a finger toward the street Malachai had vanished down. "Nice and normal and kind—and he was very pretty too!"
That last part slipped out before I could stop it. Cassian's eyes narrowed instantly. Rhys's brows lifted. Azriel's shadows stilled.
"Pretty," Cassian repeated slowly.
"Yes," I said stubbornly. "Pretty."
Cassian stared at me for a long moment like he was reconsidering every life decision that had led to this conversation.
"We didn't do anything," he said finally.
I turned on him so sharply my hair nearly smacked Rhys in the face. "You glared at him like you were deciding whether to eat him."
"I was not."
"You absolutely were!"
"I was evaluating him."
"You were intimidating him!"
Cassian opened his mouth to argue. I took one step toward him, fully prepared to launch myself at his throat.
And he reacted instantly.
Cassian took exactly one step backwards. Then before I could even finish my next sentence he simply reached down, grabbed me around the waist, and hoisted me over his shoulder.
Right there. In the middle of the market. The world flipped upside down.
"What—Cassian!"
"Hi," he said cheerfully.
I dangled there, staring at the cobblestones beneath us as my brain tried to catch up with what had just happened.
"Put me down, you brute!"
"No."
Cassian adjusted his grip slightly, one arm securely hooked around the backs of my legs as he began walking down the street like this was a completely normal situation.
Others nearby were absolutely staring.
"Cassian!" I hissed, pounding my fists against his back. "Put. Me. Down."
"No," he repeated calmly.
This was not unusual behaviour for him. Unfortunately.
Cassian had developed a deeply irritating habit over the years, whenever he decided I was too worked up to argue with properly, he simply threw me over his shoulder and carried me away until I had "calmed down."
Which, in his opinion, meant until I stopped trying to physically assault someone.
I continued beating on his back as he walked.
Rhys and Azriel followed behind us at a leisurely pace, like they were simply enjoying a pleasant stroll through Velaris rather than witnessing my public humiliation.
"Rhys!" I snapped, twisting slightly to glare at him upside down. "Tell him to put me down!"
Rhys looked thoughtful. "No."
"Traitor!"
Cassian snorted. I kicked one leg in protest, which only earned me a firmer grip around the knees.
"I said put me down!"
"No."
"I will hurt you."
"You already tried."
"I will again!"
Cassian continued walking. Unbothered. Unimpressed. Entirely too calm.
Azriel's voice drifted from somewhere behind us. "It's necessary."
I twisted my head enough to see him walking beside Rhys, shadows lazily trailing behind him. "Necessary?" I repeated incredulously.
"Yes," Azriel said.
"For what reason exactly?"
"Preventative measures."
I squinted at him suspiciously. "What preventative measures?"
Azriel's expression remained perfectly neutral. "You bit him last time."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "That was one time!"
Cassian barked out a laugh beneath me. "One time?" he echoed.
"You deserved it!"
"You broke skin!"
"Barely!"
Cassian kept walking, completely unfazed by the argument happening over his shoulder.
"See?" Azriel said calmly to Rhys. "Preventative measures."
Rhys hummed in agreement.
And I hung upside down over Cassian's shoulder, fuming, hair dangling toward the street, plotting exactly how I was going to get revenge on all three of them later.
Azriel's POV -
"Don't ever speak to me again! All three of you!"
Those had been her exact words. Shouted with enough force that half the house had probably heard them.
Then the door had slammed. Hard enough to rattle the frame.
And she had disappeared into her bedroom for the past three hours.
Three hours.
Which was why the three of us were currently sitting in the living room like a group of condemned criminals awaiting judgment.
Cassian had sprawled across the armchair opposite me, his wings draped lazily over the sides like an enormous, irritated bat. One boot tapped impatiently against the floor as he stared toward the hallway that led to her room.
Rhys sat across from him on the couch, one arm thrown across the backrest, posture loose and relaxed in a way that would have fooled anyone who didn't know him.
But I knew him. The slight tightening around his eyes gave him away.
The house itself was unusually quiet.
Normally, her presence filled every room, voice echoing down the halls, laughter bouncing off the stone walls, the sound of something inevitably being knocked over.
Now the silence pressed in around us.
Cassian broke first. "She's not actually mad at us... right?"
Rhys didn't answer immediately.
I leaned back in my chair, watching the slow movement of my shadows as they curled and uncurled across the armrests.
"I did not mean to scare him," I said finally.
One of my shadows flicked in agreement.
Rhys huffed softly. "Az," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you appearing behind someone unexpectedly tends to have that effect."
"I did not threaten him."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them, quieter than the rest of the argument but no less firm.
My shadows stirred faintly at the edge of the chair as I leaned back, arms folded across my chest.
I replayed the moment in my head again, my appearance behind the male, the way he'd stiffened when he realised I was there.
I truly hadn't meant to frighten him.
Rhys lifted a brow in a way that suggested he found that statement deeply questionable.
"You didn't need to," he said dryly.
Cassian, who had now been pacing back and forth across the living room like a caged animal for the past several minutes, stopped mid-stride and pointed sharply between the two of us.
"And I didn't threaten him either," he added quickly, as if that fact deserved recognition.
Rhys turned his head slowly to look at him.
"You glared at him," he said after a moment, voice calm with a hint of amusement, "like you were deciding whether to break his spine."
Cassian scoffed loudly, dragging a hand through his hair in irritation.
"That was not a threat," he said defensively. "That was... observation."
I glanced sideways at him. "You were absolutely threatening."
Cassian shot me an incredulous look, as if I had personally betrayed him. "We were being reasonable."
Rhys let out a quiet laugh, the sound low and disbelieving. "Reasonable," he repeated.
"Yes," Cassian insisted immediately, folding his arms across his chest in stubborn defiance.
Rhys leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, violet eyes bright with poorly hidden amusement.
"Cassian," he said patiently, "you stood there like a guard dog."
Cassian didn't hesitate. "I was being protective."
"You were being terrifying."
Cassian dropped into the armchair again with a heavy thud, the wood creaking slightly under his weight as he leaned forward.
"He was flirting with her," he said, as though that explained everything.
Rhys tilted his head. "Yes," he said mildly.
Cassian gestured broadly with both hands. "That's suspicious."
"That's normal."
Cassian scoffed so loudly it echoed through the quiet house. "Normal for idiots."
I rubbed a hand slowly over my face, feeling the tension building behind my eyes. The argument had been circling the same points for nearly twenty minutes now, each of us stubbornly refusing to concede that perhaps—just perhaps—we had handled the situation poorly.
"We might have overreacted," I admitted finally.
Cassian whipped his head toward me so fast his chair creaked. "We?" he repeated incredulously.
Rhys chuckled softly under his breath.
Cassian threw his hands into the air in exasperation. "I did nothing wrong."
Rhys leaned back again, looking far too comfortable as he gestured lazily toward Cassian. "You carried her out of the market over your shoulder."
"That was crowd control."
"You kidnapped her."
"I escorted her."
"She bit you the last time you tried that," I reminded him calmly.
Cassian frowned, clearly trying to dismiss the memory. "That was months ago."
"She still might do it again."
Cassian opened his mouth to argue. Then paused. His expression shifted slowly as the memory returned in full detail. "...She might do it again."
The room fell quiet.
Rhys glanced toward the hallway that led deeper into the house, toward the closed door we had all been carefully avoiding for the past several hours.
Three hours. She had not come out once.
Cassian let out a heavy sigh that seemed to deflate some of his earlier confidence.
"This is ridiculous." He pushed himself out of the chair, wings shifting slightly behind him as he stood. "I'm going to talk to her."
Rhys leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched Cassian head toward the hallway. "That might make it worse."
Cassian turned halfway down the hall and pointed directly at him. "Everything makes it worse with her."
Which unfortunately... was often true.
He continued down the hallway.
I stood a moment later. Rhys rose from the couch with a quiet exhale, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve before following after us.
None of us spoke as we approached her door.
The house felt unusually quiet without her voice echoing through it.
Cassian stopped outside the door and raised his hand to knock. The sound echoed softly down the hallway.
No answer. He knocked again, a little louder this time.
"Go away!" Her voice came muffled through the wood, sharp and unmistakably annoyed.
Cassian grimaced. "That doesn't sound promising."
Rhys folded his arms across his chest. "Try again."
Cassian knocked a third time. "We're coming in."
"No you're not!"
Cassian opened the door anyway.
She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, arms folded tightly across her chest, looking like a storm cloud that had taken form.
Her hair was slightly dishevelled, as if she had run her hands through it a dozen times in frustration. Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw us standing in the doorway.
"I told you not to speak to me."
Her expression alone could have sent lesser warriors fleeing.
Cassian, unfortunately, was not a lesser warrior.
He leaned against the doorframe with all the lazy confidence of someone who had already decided he would not be leaving any time soon. His arms crossed over his chest, wings shifting slightly behind him as he tilted his head.
"You're speaking to us right now," he pointed out mildly.
Her glare sharpened instantly. "That doesn't count."
Rhys stepped further into the room then, he glanced around the room briefly, taking in the pillows that had clearly been punched repeatedly, the faint scuff marks on the floor where she had clearly been pacing.
"We didn't mean to upset you," he said calmly.
Her head snapped toward him so fast her hair swayed with the movement. "You chased him away!"
"He left voluntarily," Rhys replied smoothly, as if discussing something entirely reasonable and not the male who had practically sprinted out of the marketplace earlier.
"He ran!"
Cassian shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that might almost have been sheepish. "Okay," he admitted after a moment, "maybe he ran."
She immediately pointed at him, accusatory and triumphant. "You glared at him like a lunatic."
Cassian straightened, offended. "He touched your face."
"He wiped custard off my mouth!" she snapped.
"That's worse!"
Rhys let out a quiet cough into his hand, attempting and failing to disguise the laugh that slipped out.
Her head whipped toward him next, outrage refocusing instantly. "And you!"
Rhys blinked with exaggerated innocence. "Me?"
"You were standing there looking amused!"
His mouth curved slightly. "I was amused."
A pillow hit him square in the chest. Rhys caught it effortlessly before it could fall, fingers curling around the fabric with practised ease. He glanced down at it briefly before looking back up at her.
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't stop them!"
"That's because," Rhys said mildly, tossing the pillow back onto the bed beside her, "they rarely listen."
Cassian looked genuinely offended by that. "I listen."
"No you don't."
"I listen sometimes."
The two of them glared at each other for a moment, clearly prepared to argue about that point alone for the next hour.
I stepped forward before the entire conversation could derail completely. "We're sorry."
The words settled into the room with surprising weight.
Silence followed.
She blinked at me, clearly not expecting it. Cassian glanced sideways in mild surprise, while Rhys straightened slightly against the wall.
I met her gaze evenly.
"We shouldn't have interfered," I continued, my voice quieter now. "You were talking to him. That was your choice."
Cassian shifted beside me, wings rustling faintly as he looked at the floor. "...Yeah," he muttered.
Rhys inclined his head once in agreement. "We overdid it."
She studied us for a long moment, her eyes moving from one face to the next as if trying to determine whether we actually meant it.
Her shoulders lowered slightly. "You really scared him," she said.
Cassian sighed. "Yeah."
The admission seemed to deflate some of the tension that had been coiled in the room for hours.
Another quiet pause followed. Then she huffed dramatically, tossing a stray strand of hair over her shoulder.
"Fine."
Cassian immediately straightened. "Fine?"
"I forgive you."
The shift in the room was instant.
Relief swept through the space like a released breath. Rhys smiled faintly, the tension leaving his posture. Cassian, apparently deciding the crisis had passed entirely, dropped onto the edge of the bed with exaggerated dramatics.
"I knew it," he declared proudly. "I'm her favourite."
She snorted so loudly it almost sounded like a laugh. "You are absolutely not."
Cassian placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "I carry you places."
"You kidnap me places."
"Same difference."
Rhys leaned his shoulder against the wall again, crossing his arms as amusement flickered across his face. "It's clearly me."
She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "Your ego is unbelievable."
"I buy you things."
"You buy yourself things," she corrected immediately, "and occasionally let me borrow them."
Rhys paused to consider that. "...Still counts."
Cassian looked outraged. "I literally taught you how to throw a punch."
"You also taught me how to fall off a roof."
"That was a learning experience!"
Cassian looked between the three of us as though seeking justice from the universe itself. Then he pointed directly at me. "Well?"
"Yes," Rhys added lazily, gesturing toward her like a judge delivering a verdict. "Settle this."
My shadows curled quietly around my shoulders, the familiar cool presence brushing along my arms as I considered the question.
Across the room, she narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously. "You're not supposed to answer that," she warned.
Cassian leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "Tell them I'm your favourite."
Rhys scoffed. "Be honest."
I met her gaze.
There was still the faintest trace of irritation lingering there but it was buried now beneath amusement and that familiar warmth that had always existed between the four of us.
I considered them all for a moment. Then I said calmly, "I am clearly the favourite."
The outrage was immediate. Cassian and Rhys both erupted at once.
"You absolutely are not—"
"That's blatant manipulation—"
Cassian shoved my shoulder. Rhys started arguing about bribery and loyalty and some completely fabricated hierarchy of sibling favouritism.
And in the middle of it all she burst out laughing. Not the sharp, irritated laugh from earlier. A real one. Bright and unrestrained and loud enough to echo down the hallway.
And just like that, the fight was over.
A/N - So the mysterious male makes a return... and of course the boys immediately do what they do best, interfere like overprotective, overly dramatic busybodies :)
This quickly spirals into a full-blown argument, because heaven forbid she be mad at them for more than five minutes x
Maximum chaos. Cassian continuing his beloved hobby of carrying her around like a potato sack, Rhys pretending he's above it all while absolutely not being above it at all, and Azriel silently judging everyone's life choices as per usual!!
Thank you so much for reading <33
A Found Family 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 @cardiganconfessions @sleepyhumanhere @karolamurdock @historygeekqueen @casiiopea2 @acourtofbatboydreams @callmeleighd
Even the river that cut through Velaris seemed to hush beneath the fog, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
We stood just beyond the lights, beneath the twisted branches of a tree. The bark was black with rain, the air thick with the smell of wet stone and the faint copper tang of blood carried on the wind.
I'd told myself this would be simple, show him what he was, teach him what I could, then disappear again before the bond between us sank its claws any deeper.
It was never simple. Not with him.
Azriel stood a few paces away, watching me as though I were both salvation and ruin.
The moonlight carved sharp lines across his face, catching on the hollow of his cheekbones, the unnatural stillness that had begun to settle over him.
He looked half-alive, half-remembered, a creature caught between worlds.
His voice broke the silence first. "So you're... a vampire?"
He said it like a curse, like he didn't quite believe the word belonged to either of us.
"Well," I murmured, dragging my fingertips along the slick bark of the tree, "that's one of the ways your kind refers to us."
He huffed out something between a laugh and a breath, the sound bitter and sharp. "And you've turned me into—into what you are?"
The question hung there, trembling.
"When I bit you... when I drank from you the second time—" I paused, searching for words that didn't exist, "I turned you."
His eyes flicked to mine, wide and endless, a thousand questions behind them. I could almost hear the storm in his mind.
"So you're here to teach me how to be a vampire?" he asked, voice rough.
"Not exactly." I took a step closer, the space between us humming. "To hunt." His jaw tightened, but he didn't move away.
"I must tell you," I added softly, "you're taking this far better than I expected."
He gave a dry laugh. "Maybe I'm too numb to panic."
That, I thought, was likely true.
I circled him slowly, every movement deliberate, letting the silence stretch long enough for the night to settle around us again. "You've already felt it," I said. "The hunger. The pull. It'll grow stronger. It doesn't care if you understand it—it only cares that you feed it."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "And how do I... feed it?"
"You'll hear them first," I said. "Their hearts. Listen."
He frowned, but did as I told him, closing his eyes. I moved closer still, until I could feel the faint trace of warmth still clinging to him.
The air around us thrummed, alive with quiet life, the flutter of moth wings, the whisper of wind through leaves, and beneath it all...
Thump. Thump.
The heartbeat of a mortal girl stumbling home down the alley beyond the trees.
Azriel's breath hitched. I saw it in his face the way his body recognised the sound before his mind did, how his pupils dilated, how he went still.
"That's it," I whispered. "You hear it, don't you?"
He nodded once, jaw tight. "I can... feel it."
I smiled, a flicker of something like pride and guilt rising in my chest. "Good. Now, focus on the rhythm. Don't lunge, don't think, just listen. Every heartbeat is a story. Every one of them wants to survive."
He opened his eyes, meeting mine. "And we're supposed to decide who doesn't?"
His question hit like a blade.
"That's what makes us monsters," I said quietly. "And what keeps us from being beasts. Choice."
We stood in silence, the weight of it pressing between us. The night felt vast and fragile.
When we hunted together for the first time, it was chaos. He was too fast, too lost in the rush. I had to drag him back before he tore too deep, before instinct drowned out mercy. He'd looked at me afterward with blood on his lips and horror in his eyes.
"You stop before the heart falters," I told him when he could breathe again. "Always before."
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at the crimson smear that gleamed in the dark. "Why?"
"Because that's the line," I whispered. "Cross it enough times, and there's nothing left of you. Only hunger."
There were nights he almost gave in, nights when his hunger turned on me, when he would look at my throat and flinch, as if disgusted by the thought of wanting what I'd already given him.
And there were nights when he didn't flinch at all.
We learned together, in half-dark alleys and silent forests, how to track heartbeats like music, how to feed without killing, how to breathe through the need.
He was a quick study. Too quick. The kind who would break every rule just to see how it felt.
Some nights, I saw what he would become, the power, the grace, the danger and pride tangled with dread inside me.
Other nights, when he looked at me with that quiet, burning question in his eyes, I thought maybe this damnation could feel like something else.
Something dangerously close to salvation.
Tonight was colder than most. The kind of cold that crawled beneath your skin and made the hunger worse.
We'd been tracking a heartbeat for an hour, a lone mortal man, drunk and staggering through the backstreets of Velaris, humming off-key. Azriel had been quiet the whole time, too quiet, his jaw clenched, his eyes shadow-dark and fevered.
I'd known the signs. The trembling in his hands. The way he stopped breathing entirely, as if the air itself couldn't reach him anymore.
When the mortal rounded the corner, Azriel moved before I could speak.
One blur of motion, too fast, too precise. The man didn't even have time to scream before Azriel had him by the throat, fangs bared, hunger burning like wildfire in his eyes.
"Azriel—"
He didn't hear me.
The mortal's pulse thundered in the silence, the sound filling the alley, filling the space between us. Azriel's body shook, his lips curling back as he leaned in. I felt the surge of his need like a magnetic pull through my own veins.
"Stop," I hissed, catching his arm.
He snarled, low and inhuman. His strength was terrifying now, raw and new. I pushed harder, slipping between him and the mortal.
"Azriel," I said again, softer this time, my voice threading through the storm. "Look at me."
His gaze snapped to mine, wild, glowing faintly with that new unnatural light. For a heartbeat, I thought I'd lost him to it completely.
Then recognition flickered. Shame followed.
He stumbled back, chest heaving though he didn't need to breathe. The mortal collapsed against the wall, trembling, too stunned to understand what had almost happened.
I waved a hand and murmured something low and ancient. His eyes glazed.
When he blinked again, he'd forget us entirely. He'd walk home with nothing but a dull headache and a vague sense of unease.
Azriel pressed his hands to his face, voice shaking. "I could've killed him."
"You almost did."
He lowered his hands, his expression torn open. Anger, fear, guilt.
"Why are you still here?" he demanded. "Why are you doing this? You don't owe me anything. You could've left me to figure it out alone."
I sighed, glancing toward the faint glow of the city beyond the alley. "Because I can't turn someone and abandon them," I said quietly. "Not the way I was."
The words hung between us, fragile and sharp. He went still, watching me. "What do you mean?"
I turned away, tracing a finger through the air, watching it catch the mist. "Your friend. Rhysand."
At his name, Azriel's eyes flickered. "Rhys? What about him?"
I met his gaze again. "He was the one who turned me."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to break bone. He stared as if he hadn't heard me correctly. "That's impossible. Rhys isn't—he's not—"
"Human?" I finished for him, a bitter laugh ghosting past my lips. "No. Not anymore. Not for a very long time."
Azriel shook his head, disbelief flickering across his face. "He's been my friend for years. He runs the clubs, he—he's not like us."
"He hides it well," I said softly. "He always did. He was young when I met him. I was young, and reckless. He gave me what he wanted."
I looked past him, toward the horizon where the sky bled pale silver. "And then he died."
Azriel's voice was barely a whisper. "You mean he left you."
My throat tightened. "Yes."
For a long time, neither of us spoke. The city breathed around us, distant laughter, the hum of lights, the faint echo of a heartbeat that wasn't ours.
Finally, Azriel stepped closer. His voice was low, uncertain. "And now he's alive again."
I let out a hollow laugh, glancing down at my hands, at the faint veins glowing faintly under the moonlight. "Alive is a generous word for what we are."
He hesitated, studying me. "So that night—when you came back, when you saw him—"
I looked up sharply, meeting his gaze. "I thought he was gone forever. I came back to finish what I started—to make sure you survived the turning—and then I saw him."
Something raw flickered across his face. Jealousy, maybe. Hurt.
"What is he to you?" he asked, voice rough.
The question sliced deeper than he meant it to. I turned away again, my voice soft but steady. "He was everything once. My sire. My lover. My ruin."
Azriel's silence was thick, unreadable.
"I shouldn't have come back," I murmured, almost to myself. "But when I felt your heartbeat slowing that night, when I tasted your blood... I knew I couldn't let you end like that. Not another one. Not again."
I met his eyes then, the hunger and the grief swirling in both of us like twin storms. "So I stayed. To make sure you learned to survive this curse. To make sure you didn't become the monster I almost became."
Azriel's jaw clenched. He looked away, the muscles in his neck tight with emotion he didn't yet know how to name.
And for a moment, just a moment the air between us shifted. The hunger wasn't for blood this time. It was for understanding.
For something neither of us had words for.
Azriel's POV -
I couldn't sleep anymore.
Not that I needed to. Sleep had become something distant, something human.
Instead, I found myself pacing the empty streets of Velaris, the city's heartbeat thundering in my veins like a second pulse.
She'd told me everything that night. About what I was. About him. Rhysand. My friend. My boss. The man I'd trusted for years.
And her sire.
The word felt filthy in my mouth.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face in that soft moonlight, her lips curved in something between sorrow and guilt, her voice trembling when she said his name.
The one who had damned her. The one she had loved.
And yet, somehow, impossibly, I knew my feelings for her weren't some twisted bond or vampiric pull. They were real. Too real.
It wasn't just the way she moved, like a secret the world had forgotten how to tell. It wasn't the taste of her blood that still haunted the edge of my memory.
It was the way she looked at me like I wasn't a mistake. Like I was something worth saving.
I was falling for her. Hopelessly, stupidly, completely.
And maybe that was why I couldn't let Rhysand's silence stand.
I found him in his office above the nightclub, leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, violet eyes catching the dim light. He looked the same as always, composed, charming, infuriatingly in control.
Only now I could see the difference. The stillness that wasn't human. The faint gleam in his eyes that flickered like starlight when he looked up.
He smiled when he saw me, easy and familiar. "Az. You look like hell."
"Do I?" I asked, stepping closer. "That's funny. You don't look alive."
His smile faltered. For a moment, something old and sharp flickered behind his eyes. Then he leaned back, sighing. "So. You know."
"Yeah," I said. "She told me."
Silence stretched. I could hear the bass from the floor below, the thrum of dozens of mortal heartbeats pulsing through the walls. It made the air thick, heavy.
He didn't speak. Didn't deny it. Just studied me the way predators study one another, curious, wary, tired.
I took another step forward. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He tilted his head slightly, voice calm. "Tell you what? That I'm not what you thought I was?"
"That you're not human, Rhys." My voice rose, sharper now. "That you've been walking around pretending to be one of us—pretending to be my friend—while you were the very thing you warned me about."
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. "It wasn't your burden to carry."
My laugh was bitter. "No, you made sure of that. But it was hers, wasn't it?"
That got his attention. His eyes snapped open. "Don't," he said softly.
"Don't what?" I asked. "Say her name? She told me everything. How you turned her. How you disappeared. How you let her think you were dead."
Something in his expression cracked then just for a moment, before the mask slid back into place.
He looked past me, at the window, where the rain streaked silver down the glass. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that," he murmured. "I was in a bad place. I lost control."
"She said you loved her," I said.
"I did," he said quietly. "And that's why I left."
My hands curled into fists. "That makes no sense."
He looked at me then, and for once, there was no charm, no arrogance just exhaustion. "You don't understand what it's like to turn someone. To take away their life, their future, their humanity. I couldn't look at her without seeing what I'd done. So I did the cowardly thing."
"You faked your death."
He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. "It seemed kinder than the truth."
The words hit like a blade to the ribs.
"Do you know what that did to her?" I asked. "Do you have any idea what it's like to spend centuries waiting for someone who isn't coming back?"
He looked away, jaw tight. "Every day."
Something in his tone made my chest tighten. I didn't know whether to hate him or pity him.
"She's not yours anymore," I said finally. "You lost that right when you left her."
He studied me for a long time, something calculating flickering behind the sadness in his gaze. "And you think she's yours?"
I didn't answer. Because I didn't know.
All I knew was that when she looked at me, I felt alive again. More than I ever had as a human. And if that was wrong, I didn't care.
Rhysand leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth curling in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Careful, Az. Falling for your sire is a dangerous game."
"Maybe," I said. "But I think you'd know more about that than I would."
His eyes glinted, sharp as broken glass. "Touché."
The silence that followed was thick with everything unsaid, centuries of regret, of mistakes, of love curdled into guilt.
Finally, I turned to leave.
"Azriel," he called after me. I paused at the door, not looking back. "She's not what she seems," he said quietly. "She never was. Be careful with her."
I didn't reply because I already knew. And I didn't care.
Whatever she was. Monster, saviour, curse—I was already hers.
A/n - She does her best to help Azriel adjust to his shiny new immortality... and then reveals her entire tragic past on him :(
Azriel, being the busybody he is immediately decides he must confront Rhysand about it only to walk away with a warning instead of answers!!
Also, just to calm any rising panic, this is not a love triangle. I repeat NOT a love triangle. It might look like one for a hot second, but I swear that it's... let's just say it's complicated, but not that x
Pairing - Batboys x Platonic reader (Azriel x Rhysand x Cassian x reader)
Word count - 2.4k
Warnings - None
|| series masterlist || next ->
It was a warm, beautiful day. The kind poets liked to write about. Sunlight spilling over the mountains, the wind gentle enough to carry the scent of pine and steel through the air.
And yet, someone was screaming.
"Say that again," Cassian growled, wings flaring wide enough to cast a shadow across the stone balcony.
"I said," Rhys drawled lazily, "that if you had half a brain you might actually land one of your punches."
Cassian lunged. Azriel caught him by the arm before he could tackle Rhys clean off the edge.
I leaned against the wall, chewing on a piece of apple and wondering—not for the first time, how exactly I had ended up here.
Because the thing about gaining three older brothers was that no one warned you about the chaos.
Or the threats of murder. Or the fact that all three of them were powerful enough to level a mountain if they felt particularly dramatic that day.
Cassian shoved against Azriel's grip. "Move."
"No," Azriel said calmly.
Rhys smirked, crossing his arms. "He's right. You'd miss and fall."
Cassian bared his teeth.
I took another bite of my apple.
This, apparently, was my life now. Which was strange, considering it hadn't always been this way. No. It had started in Windhaven.
Windhaven was not the kind of place that welcomed girls. Especially not girls like me.
The Illyrian war camp sat high in the mountains, carved from stone and tradition, its inhabitants raised on blood, steel, and brutal expectations. Males were taught to fight before they could properly read. Wings were a mark of pride. Strength was everything.
And I had been born with neither wings nor importance.
My father was an Illyrian warrior, one of many males in the camp who believed battle was the only language worth speaking.
My mother... was not Illyrian.
No one ever said exactly where she had come from. Only that she had been beautiful, strange, and foolish enough to fall for a warrior who lived for war more than anything else.
Their union produced exactly one thing. Me. A daughter with Illyrian blood in her veins but no wings to show for it.
Which, in Windhaven, meant I might as well have been invisible.
No one bothered with me. The camp children ignored me unless they were looking for someone smaller to shove around. The warriors certainly didn't waste their time acknowledging a wingless girl who couldn't even dream of becoming one of them.
Even my parents barely looked my way.
My father had wanted a son. My mother had wanted... anything but Windhaven.
So I learned early how to exist quietly. How to slip through the camp unseen. How to wander where I pleased because no one cared enough to stop me.
And that was exactly how I ended up finding them.
The training fields in Windhaven were never empty.
But there was one clearing far past the main camp, hidden between jagged ridges and wind-bent trees, where only the most stubborn idiots bothered to practice.
Which was precisely where I heard the shouting.
Curiosity had always been my greatest weakness. So I crept closer. And found three boys trying very hard to kill each other.
Steel clashed. Wings snapped through the air.
Dust kicked up beneath brutal footwork as they fought with the reckless fury only teenage Illyrian males seemed capable of.
One of them had dark hair and violet eyes that burned with the kind of arrogant confidence that made you want to punch him immediately.
Another was broader, stronger, grinning like he was having the time of his life as he swung a blade that looked far too big for him.
The third barely spoke at all. Shadows clung to him like living things.
I watched them for a solid minute before deciding they were idiots. "Your footwork is terrible."
Three heads snapped toward me. Silence fell across the clearing.
The violet-eyed boy stepped forward first, chest puffing slightly like a peacock that had just been insulted.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
I crossed my arms. "Your worst nightmare."
For a moment, just a moment, he looked genuinely stunned. Then the other two burst out laughing.
Cassian had doubled over, clutching his stomach. "Your face—Rhys, did you see your face?"
Even the quiet one—Azriel, though I didn't know his name yet let out a quiet huff of amusement.
Rhysand, meanwhile, stared at me like he couldn't decide whether to be offended or impressed.
I didn't give him time to choose.
I pointed directly at Cassian. "You swing like you're trying to impress someone." Then at Azriel. "You move like you expect to lose." Finally, back to Rhys. "And you talk too much for someone who just got his ego bruised by a girl."
Cassian made a choking sound. Azriel's shadows shifted. Rhys's brows slowly rose.
"Well," he said after a moment, "this is new."
I shrugged. "You're welcome."
Cassian wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "You always insult others the first time you meet them?"
"Only when they deserve it."
Rhys tilted his head, studying me in a way that felt oddly... calculating. "You're not from one of the other camps."
"No."
"Not a warrior's daughter either," he continued.
"Wrong."
That surprised him. I jerked a thumb toward the mountains behind us. "Windhaven."
Cassian blinked. "Wait—really?"
I spread my arms. "Do I look like I'm lying?"
They exchanged glances. Something unspoken passed between them.
Then Cassian grinned. "Well," he said, sheathing his sword, "if you're going to insult our fighting you might as well stay and prove you're better."
"I didn't say I was better."
Rhys smirked. "But you thought it."
I smiled sweetly. "Obviously."
Azriel, quiet until now, studied me for a long moment. Then he said softly, "what's your name?"
The question hung in the air. No one in Windhaven had asked me that in a very long time.
So I stepped forward into the clearing, into the circle of three boys who would one day become the most dangerous males in Prythian—and said it.
None of us knew it then.
But that moment? That stupid argument in a forgotten training field? That was the day everything changed.
The day I accidentally found three brothers. And they found a sister.
Which, unfortunately for my sanity, brought us back to the present moment.
Cassian was still trying to murder Rhys. Azriel was still the only thing preventing it. And Rhys was still very much provoking the situation.
"You're stalling," Rhys said lazily, leaning back against the stone railing like he hadn't just nearly been thrown from it. "If you're going to attempt to kill me, Cassian, at least commit."
Cassian made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a war cry.
"I am committing," he snarled, shoving forward again. "Azriel, move before I throw you with him."
Azriel didn't even blink. "No."
Cassian's wings twitched violently.
Rhys gave me a look over Azriel's shoulder, violet eyes glinting with amusement. "You're suspiciously quiet."
"I'm enjoying the show," I said, popping the last piece of apple into my mouth.
Cassian whipped his head toward me. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"Why?"
"Because he insulted my fighting, intelligence and flying."
"You do fly like a drunken hawk," I said sweetly.
Rhys barked out a laugh. Cassian looked personally betrayed. Azriel's mouth twitched slightly, though he tried very hard to hide it.
"This," Cassian declared dramatically, pointing between Rhys and me, "is treason."
"You're overreacting."
"I am not—"
"Good morning."
The voice drifted up from behind us, casual and warm.
And for reasons I could not immediately explain, even to myself, my entire train of thought derailed.
I turned. He was walking across the courtyard below, sunlight catching on dark hair as he glanced up toward the balcony.
One of the newer males in Velaris, older than us, but not by much. Broad-shouldered, confident, the sort of male who carried himself like the world might actually be kind to him.
He spotted me immediately. His grin widened. "Hello," he called, lifting a hand in greeting.
For a split second, just a split second—I forgot how to function like a normal person.
Which was unfortunate.
Because the three most observant males in existence were standing approximately two feet away from me.
"Hi," I managed, trying very hard to sound normal.
He slowed as he passed beneath the balcony, glancing up again. His gaze lingered. Then he winked. And continued walking.
The silence behind me was immediate. Heavy. Suspicious.
I didn't turn around right away because I already knew what I would find.
Still, there was no escaping it forever. So I slowly pivoted back toward them. Three sets of eyes were staring at me.
Cassian's expression was the first to break. His mouth slowly curled into a grin so wide it looked painful.
"Oh," he said.
Rhys straightened from the railing, interest lighting his face like someone had just handed him a new toy.
Azriel crossed his arms. His shadows shifted lazily around his shoulders.
"Oh no," Cassian continued, voice thick with delight. "Did everyone see that?"
"I saw it," Rhys said thoughtfully.
Azriel inclined his head slightly. "Yes."
Cassian clutched his chest like he might collapse. "Did our fearless little menace just—"
"Stop talking," I said flatly.
Rhys tilted his head. "That," he said slowly, "was the least threatening 'hi' I've ever heard from you."
I pointed a finger at him. "Don't."
"Oh, I absolutely will."
Cassian leaned against the wall beside me, peering down into the courtyard like the male might magically reappear. "Who was that?"
"No one."
"You faltered," Azriel said quietly.
I turned on him. "I did not."
Cassian gasped. "You did," he said gleefully. "You absolutely did."
Rhys's smirk was becoming unbearable. "Our terrifying little sister," he mused, "suddenly loses all her bite."
"I did not lose anything."
"You said 'hi' like a nervous squirrel," Cassian added helpfully.
"I hate all of you."
Rhys clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly like he was studying a fascinating new creature.
"You threaten warriors twice your size," he said. "You insult Cassian's flying daily. You told an Illyrian commander his sword grip was embarrassing."
"He was holding it wrong."
"And yet," Rhys continued smoothly, "one random male walks by and suddenly you're shy."
"I was not shy."
Cassian leaned down so his face was level with mine. "Oh you were shy."
Azriel's shadows curled slightly as he observed me. "You blinked twice," he said.
"That means nothing."
Cassian snapped his fingers. "You also stopped chewing."
I stared at him. "You were watching me chew?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I'm very observant."
Rhys snorted. I crossed my arms. "You're all insufferable."
Cassian's grin turned wicked. "So you like him."
"No."
"That was very fast."
"I don't even know his name."
Cassian gasped again, louder this time. Rhys looked genuinely delighted. Azriel simply watched me the way a hawk watches something small and suspicious.
"Well," Cassian said slowly, "this just became the most interesting day of my life."
"You will do nothing," I warned.
Rhys smiled. Which was never a good sign. "Oh," he said softly, "I absolutely will."
Rhysand's pov -
"What happens if she turns around and claws your eyes out?" Cassian whispered—well, his attempt at a whisper, which sounded more like a low roar that would've woken a dragon.
"She won't," I replied, hauling the bucket of water closer, feeling the cold metal against my palms. "She's too asleep to care about anything except... whatever dream-land nonsense she's in."
Azriel, standing a little off to the side, didn't say a word just tilted his head, shadows stretching faintly in the morning light, silent judgment written across every motion of his lean frame.
He always acted like he was above our antics.
Cassian's grin, on the other hand, was impossibly wide, gleaming with dangerous excitement.
Dangerous because he had never had a plan fail... and terrifyingly reckless because he'd already imagined every way it could go wrong.
"Remember last time?" Cassian muttered conspiratorially, elbowing me. "When we dunked her and she nearly crushed the balcony railing in her fury?"
I rolled my eyes. "Last time was... educational. For her, mostly."
"She's fast," Azriel finally interjected, his tone neutral but that faint twitch of a shadow at his shoulder made me know he was watching. "And ruthless if provoked."
"And that's exactly why this is perfect," I said, dragging the bucket toward her bedroom. "It's payback."
Cassian cocked his head, curiosity flickering over his grin. "Payback? For...?"
"For stealing the last piece of cake yesterday," I hissed. "She laughed while we argued over who got the last slice. She deserves this."
Azriel merely raised an eyebrow, expression flat. "It's petty."
"It's perfectly petty," I corrected him.
The door creaked open, and there she was sprawled across the bed, sheets tangled around her like a nest, hair fanned across the pillow, completely oblivious.
She looked utterly peaceful... and far too innocent for what we were about to do.
Mission first. Payback second. Survival optional.
Cassian crouched beside me, eyes gleaming. "Do you think she's smiling in her sleep? Probably dreaming about smacking us all down, right?"
I ignored him, focusing on the task. Heart thudding faster than I liked to admit, a mix of adrenaline, excitement... and the tiniest pang of guilt.
Azriel's quiet voice cut through the tension. "She probably is. That's why you should be careful."
I positioned the bucket over her chest, careful not to spill a drop. "On three. One, two... three—"
The water hit.
A scream. A flail of arms. A catastrophic sprawl of hair, sheets, and flailing legs. She sat upright, wide-eyed, soaked from head to toe.
Cassian doubled over laughing. "Did you see that? Did you see it?!"
Azriel stepped back cautiously, shadows twitching as he tried not to smirk too openly. "Perhaps... we overestimated our control."
Then it happened.
Her eyes filled with tears. Quick at first, then growing louder. She buried her face in her hands, sobs wracking her tiny frame.
Instant panic. Instant regret.
"Wait—she's crying?" Cassian sputtered, frozen in place.
"She's... she's not supposed to—" I said, heart sinking, abandoning all thoughts of laughter.
Azriel's calm composure broke just a fraction. He moved closer, kneeling, shadows shifting around him protectively. "It's okay," he murmured. "We didn't mean—"
Cassian, wide-eyed, muttered, "We didn't mean to—"
I held my hands out, stepping toward her. "Hey, hey, we were just—fun. Fun, okay? Nothing else."
Her face lifted, red and dripping, tears mingling with the water from the bucket. She stared at us, silence heavy, before a tiny, quivering breath escaped.
My stomach sank. We were monsters.
But then, oh, then—she smiled. A dangerous, wicked, drenched smile.
"You thought you could prank me," she said softly, voice trembling, "but—"
Before I could process it, she lunged.
I barely had time to react as she tackled me. The bucket tipped, the remaining water splashing everywhere, on me, on Cassian, and even a little on Azriel's unsuspecting boots.
She was laughing uncontrollably, hair plastered to her face, victorious.
"Okay, okay, truce! Truce!" I gasped, sputtering water.
Cassian groaned from the puddle beside me. "Never in my life have I regretted a plan more—and loved it equally."
She leaned forward, dripping wet, eyes glinting with mischief. "Next time," she said, voice low and deadly playful, "it's your turn."
I tried to sit up, only to have her shove me back into the water again.
And in that moment, soaked, laughing, soaked again, the chaos felt perfect.
A/N - We start right in the middle of the chaos, because of course and then we jump into a little flashback to show how this absolute disaster trio (plus one menace) came to be, before snapping back to the present where they're still being loud, dramatic, and mildly homicidal x
They absolutely tease her for the world-ending crime of briefly forgetting how to function around a man. She, in return, would very much like to throttle all three of them :)
Thank you for reading <33
A Found Family 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 @cardiganconfessions @sleepyhumanhere @karolamurdock @historygeekqueen @casiiopea2 @acourtofbatboydreams
Men liked to say that sex with them was magic—earth-shattering, unforgettable.
I'd always thought that was a lie we told ourselves to mask the emptiness that followed.
Until her. Until the night she slipped past every defence I'd built and undid me with a single look.
She wasn't real. Couldn't be. No one that beautiful, that intoxicating, could belong to this world. She'd moved like smoke, kissed like a fever, and left me hollow and burning all at once.
Since that night, nothing had been the same.
The city sounded different. Every noise, every heartbeat, every hum of tyres on wet asphalt sharpened until it felt like the whole world was breathing in my ear.
The neon signs bled colour into the dark, brighter than they should've been.
And the smells... god, the smells. Cigarette smoke, spilt liquor, perfume, and sweat, each one cutting through the air like a blade.
Rhysand's nightclub used to feel like a blur of noise and bodies. Now it was unbearable, every conversation distinct, every pulse thrumming like a drumbeat beneath my skin.
And lately, Rhysand had been looking at me differently.
The same Rhys I'd known for years, the one who'd dragged me out of the gutter, who'd handed me a security job in one of his nightclubs when no one else would, watched me now as though I were something foreign.
His sharp violet gaze lingered too long, weighing me.
He'd clap a hand to my shoulder like always, but the warmth was gone, replaced by a quiet caution, the kind men reserve for wild animals.
I'd caught him studying me in the mirrored wall behind the bar once, as if he was checking to make sure I still cast a reflection.
Maybe he sensed it too. The wrongness in me. The shift. I didn't ask.
The air between us had thickened, stretched thin like a wire ready to snap. And beneath it all, sat a hunger that had started the moment she sank her teeth—no, her touch into me.
I didn't remember everything clearly. My mind kept skipping, replaying flashes of her eyes, the heat of her skin, the whisper of her voice right before everything went black.
But I remembered her.
The way she looked at me, as though she saw straight through the man I pretended to be and found something worth devouring.
Since then, I hadn't been able to eat. Or sleep. Or think of anything else. My reflection looked paler, sharper somehow. The veins in my wrists stood out like dark rivers under my skin.
And my heartbeat. It wasn't steady anymore. It came and went, faint as a dying echo.
Something was wrong with me. Or maybe something had been reborn.
I didn't know what she'd done, only that I needed to find her again.
I'd searched every street, every club, every shadow that smelled even remotely like her, smoke and dark roses and rain but she was nowhere.
Sometimes I thought I saw her silhouette in the crowd, a flicker of movement in the corner of my vision, gone before I could blink. And each time, the hunger inside me twisted tighter, whispering her name like a prayer I couldn't stop saying.
Whatever she was, she'd taken something from me and left something else in its place. A thirst that wasn't just for her touch, but for something deeper, darker.
Something I didn't understand yet.
The first time I felt it, I was walking home at dawn. A stranger brushed past me, her wrist grazed mine and suddenly all I could think about was the sound of her pulse. The scent of her blood beneath her skin.
It called to me, sweet and sharp, and for one horrifying second, I wanted to sink my teeth into her throat just to taste.
I'd stumbled back, shaking, terrified. But the fear didn't last long. Because right behind it came the rush, cold and clean and glorious.
The memory of her. The woman who had ruined me. The woman who had made me.
Now, I dream of her every night. Of her mouth, her voice, her eyes that glowed like molten gold when the world went dark. And when I wake, my veins hum with the echo of her name.
I don't know what's happening to me. But I know one thing. I'm going to find her.
Even if it kills me. Especially if it kills me.
Tonight the night had the kind of stillness that warned of storms. Inside the club, bass rolled through the floor like a living heartbeat, but I could barely stand to be there.
Every thrum of sound, every flash of light scraped against my nerves like steel on glass.
I was halfway through a shift I couldn't remember starting, half-lost in the rhythm of bodies and smoke, when the air changed.
It was subtle. First a chill, then the scent of rain. Not real rain, but something cleaner, sharper, threaded with that impossible sweetness that had haunted me for weeks.
My pulse stuttered. No. It couldn't be.
And then I saw her.
Across the room, framed by violet light and drifting smoke, she stood as if the chaos parted for her. The crowd seemed to blur around her shape, her stillness too deliberate, too knowing.
Her dark coat was thrown open, her eyes, those molten, liquid eyes found mine and held me still. My throat went dry.
"What are you doing here?" The words tore from me before I could stop them, rough and too human.
She moved toward me, unhurried. Every step a sin wrapped in silk. People brushed against her and never noticed, like she wasn't really there.
When she reached me, she smiled, not the cruel, sharp smile I remembered, but something almost soft. Almost.
"I had to come back," she said, her voice low enough to drown out the music. "Knowing what I did."
I blinked, my heart clawing against my ribs. "What you did?"
A shadow flickered across her expression, guilt or maybe hunger, it was hard to tell.
"You shouldn't even be standing here," she murmured, eyes flicking over me as though she was checking for cracks. "You weren't supposed to survive that night."
Something cold slid down my spine. "Survive what, exactly?"
She tilted her head, and for a moment, light caught on the faint curve of her smile, dangerous and beautiful. "You've felt it, haven't you?" she said softly. "The change. The hunger."
I swallowed hard, but couldn't tear my gaze away. "What are you?" I asked.
Her eyes gleamed, and the corners of her lips lifted. "Something your kind doesn't believe in."
I let out a shaky laugh that didn't feel like mine. "You mean... a story? A myth?"
"If that helps you sleep." She stepped closer, close enough that the air between us grew heavy, electric. "But you haven't been sleeping, have you?"
Her words slid under my skin like silk and poison. My body was tense, torn between wanting to step back and step closer.
"You did something to me," I said, trying to sound sure. "You changed me."
"I tried not to," she whispered. There was sorrow in it, real, heavy sorrow that didn't belong to a creature of dreams. "But I was starving. And you were..." Her gaze flicked to my throat, and her breath hitched. "You were too tempting."
The words hit me like a pulse of heat. The memory of her mouth, her hands, the bite—gods, the bite flashed behind my eyes.
"You turned me into one of you?"
Her expression faltered. "Not yet," she said quietly. "But you're close. Too close."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the hunger will keep growing," she said, eyes locking on mine. "Until you give in. Until you drink."
I stepped back, shaking my head. "Drink what?"
Her smile was sad, almost tender. "You already know."
The room felt smaller suddenly, the air pressing in. My chest rose and fell too fast, but there was no fear anymore only the ache, the pull toward her.
"I don't understand," I said, though every cell in my body already did.
"I didn't either," she murmured. "The first time." Her gaze softened. "I never meant to bring you into this. I was only passing through Velaris. I should've kept going."
"But you didn't."
Her eyes lingered on me like a confession. "No," she breathed. "I couldn't. I felt you waking. Felt you calling for me."
A shiver ran through me. "Calling you?"
She nodded, one gloved hand lifting as if to touch me, then faltering midair. "That night bound us in ways neither of us understand. Blood remembers. Desire remembers."
My pulse hammered. "So what happens now?"
Her lips curved, equal parts sorrow and temptation. "Now, you choose," she said softly. "You can fight it... or you can become what you were meant to be."
"And what's that?" I asked, voice low, rough.
She leaned in, her breath brushing my ear like a secret. "Mine."
The crowd seemed to sway around us, a blur of lights and sound. Her words still hung between us when the air shifted again.
A ripple of silence moved through the room.
I didn't have to turn to know who had entered, the energy in the space always changed when Rhysand walked in. It was the hum of confidence, of command, the quiet gravity that made people look before they knew why.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw him cutting through the crowd, dark hair ruffled from the wind, his expression sharp and unreadable. He must have come in from the street, his coat was still damp from the mist outside.
He stopped when he saw her.
Something in her stilled. The faint, practised smile faded from her face. For a heartbeat she looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
"Rhysand," she breathed, the name barely a sound, more memory than speech.
Rhys didn't answer. His gaze locked on hers, and in that single, endless moment, the noise of the club fell away. The lights seemed to dim, the world narrowing to the space between them.
Then she crossed it. No hesitation, no explanation just motion.
She reached him, lifted a hand to his face, and kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't polite. It was the kind of kiss that made time stop. The kind that told me whatever bound her to me was nothing compared to whatever history lay between them.
Rhysand's hands came up instinctively, gripping her arms, not pushing her away. He kissed her back.
Something in me fractured.
For a second I couldn't breathe. My body forgot how. The world seemed to tilt, the lights smearing into lines of colour as the bass thundered somewhere far away.
This woman, this impossible, beautiful creature who had undone me was standing inches away, pressed against the only person I'd ever truly trusted.
I felt the burn in my chest first, then the cold. Betrayal wrapped around my ribs like barbed wire, pulling tight until it hurt to stand.
She was everything I'd been searching for, everything that had consumed me for weeks... and yet her eyes weren't on me. They never had been.
When they finally broke apart, I caught the faintest flicker of recognition—something haunted in Rhys's expression. But he didn't look at me.
Neither of them did.
Reader's POV -
My intentions had been pure enough. At least, that's what I told myself.
I was going to leave Velaris, slip into the night, disappear before dawn, pretend none of it had happened.
I'd done it before, in other cities, other lives. Leave before they realise what you've done. Before the guilt can fester.
But this time, I hesitated.
I told myself I'd only linger to make sure he survived, to confirm the man I'd bitten, the man whose heartbeat had once drowned out the noise of the world, hadn't crumbled beneath what I'd done.
That was a lie. The truth was simpler, uglier. I couldn't stay away from him.
Azriel. The quiet one with eyes like storms and a soul that smelled of steel and sorrow. The mortal who'd looked at me as if he saw through the centuries and into something real.
I hadn't meant to touch him. Hadn't meant to drink from him. But hunger is a cruel god, and I was weak. He'd walked right into my orbit, dark, steady, unknowingly brave and I'd lost control.
I thought I'd ended him that night. Thought my thirst had consumed more than blood. But when the whispers reached me that a man in the city's underbelly had begun to change I knew it was him.
So I came back.
Back to the place where the lights were too bright, the music too loud, and the air reeked of heat and sin.
Back to the man I'd ruined.
And there he was, Azriel, standing in the half-light of the club, every inch of him coiled, hungry, and heartbreakingly alive. His pulse, faint, but still there called to me. I felt it under my skin, echoing like a song I shouldn't remember.
But then... then he stepped out of the shadows. Rhysand.
My sire. My curse. My beginning and my undoing.
For a moment, I thought my senses were betraying me. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be alive. I had felt him die centuries ago, under the weight of fire and betrayal. I had mourned him in my own violent, vengeful way.
And yet there he stood, as unshaken and devastating as ever.
The same violet eyes that had watched the world burn. The same half-smile that could unravel empires and hearts alike. The same air of control, dark and intoxicating, that had first lured me into his orbit.
The room tilted. The music dulled to a heartbeat. Mine. His. Ours.
He looked at me, and centuries collapsed between us like ash in the wind.
I wanted to scream at him. To demand why he hadn't come back for me, why he'd left me alone in the ruin of what we'd built.
I wanted to hate him for what he'd made me, for what I'd become without him.
But love and anger are twin blades, and both cut deep.
My body moved before my mind could stop it, drawn to him, to the impossible familiarity of his scent, to the warmth I'd convinced myself I no longer needed.
"Rhysand," I breathed. The name tasted of old promises and broken vows.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to. His eyes said enough, recognition, disbelief, that same quiet hunger that had never truly died.
And then I was in front of him.
My hands found his face, cold against the heat of him. The world fell away, the crowd, the lights, the guilt, Azriel's gaze burning from somewhere behind me.
None of it mattered. Not in that moment.
I kissed him.
It was like touching fire after centuries of frost. A desperate, furious thing. The collision of memory and need. The echo of a thousand nights that would never fade.
He kissed me back, and for one shattering instant, I was home.
But as the world returned in fragments, the music, the whispers, the ache of another heart breaking just behind us the truth struck hard and merciless.
I hadn't come back for redemption. I'd come back chasing a ghost. And now that ghost was real and alive.
I was caught between the man who'd created me and the one I'd damned.
A/n - So Azriel is a vampire now... she turned him that night and then disappeared x
Fear not she does come back for reasons you don't know yet (but I do) only when she returns, she runs straight into someone she thought was very much dead!!
Surprise! Trauma reunion—love that for her.
I know things seem confusing right now but I promise it'll all make sense soon. Probably. Hopefully. Eventually :)
Thank you for reading, you beautiful creatures <33
I didn't think the day this baby would finally vacate my body would actually arrive but, alas... eventually it did.
Two weeks late. Two very long, very uncomfortable, very swollen weeks late.
I vaguely remembered complaining about it that morning, well, complaining might be too gentle a word. I had been lamenting, dramatically and without shame, while sprawled across the couch in the sitting room.
Eris had been seated at the end with my feet in his lap, patiently massaging them as if the fate of the world depended on it.
"My feet look like loaves of bread," I had groaned.
"They do not," Eris had replied calmly, thumbs working firm circles into the arch of my foot.
"They absolutely do. Look at them."
"They look like feet."
"They look like bread."
Azriel had been leaning against the doorway as he watched the exchange with that soft, quiet amusement he rarely tried to hide anymore. "You've said that six times today," he'd murmured.
"Because it remains true."
Eris had sighed dramatically. "If this child does not arrive soon, I fear you may actually talk us both to death."
"I will haunt you if you say that again."
Azriel had snorted under his breath.
And now I sat panting in the guest room bed. Well. Technically the guest room.
It had once been my room when the contract still felt like something real and immovable. When I had still slept down the hall instead of between them most nights.
But at some point during the last month, Eris and Azriel had simply... relocated me.
They hadn't asked.
Eris had picked me up, literally picked me up and carried me down the hallway while I protested half-heartedly.
"You're too pregnant to sleep alone," he'd declared.
"I am perfectly capable of—"
"No." Azriel had simply appeared behind us with my pillows.
And that had been that.
But tonight, this room had been turned back into a guest room again.
Because apparently giving birth in our bed had been deemed unsanitary. Which I found incredibly rude.
Right now, however, I had bigger problems. Like the fact that my entire body felt like it was being slowly, methodically torn apart.
"Deep breaths," Azriel guided gently beside me.
I resisted the urge to shove him. "When does the lady with the nice drugs get here?" I groaned.
"We only called four minutes ago," Eris replied calmly from the other side of the bed.
I flopped back against the pillows with a miserable noise.
"You're the one who wanted a home birth," Azriel murmured, rubbing slow circles along my arm.
"Because comfort!" I cried. "And why would I go to a hospital when you two can just pay someone!"
Another contraction hit.
The words dissolved into a sharp gasp as pain gripped my body, tightening around my spine and stomach with brutal intensity.
My hand shot out blindly. I grabbed the first thing within reach.
Unfortunately for him that thing was Eris. His fingers disappeared instantly inside my grip. Bones creaked. "Gods," Eris muttered faintly.
"Don't you dare complain," I hissed through clenched teeth.
"I wasn't."
"You were thinking about it."
"I absolutely was."
Azriel was quieter beside me, his large hand sliding gently across my stomach as he murmured soft encouragements. "You're doing well," he said softly.
"I am not," I snapped.
"You are."
"I might die."
"You won't."
"I might kill you both."
Eris chuckled faintly. "If it helps," he said dryly, "I feel fairly certain we deserve it."
Another contraction built. Stronger. Sharper. My breath hitched as it rolled through me like a storm breaking across my body.
Azriel leaned closer, his voice lowering. "Look at me."
I did. His hazel eyes were steady. Calm. Completely focused on me. "Breathe with me," he murmured.
I tried. Gods, I tried.
Eris's other hand moved to my shoulder, grounding, warm and solid. "You're nearly there," he said quietly.
I glared at him. "You said that an hour ago."
"And I was correct then too."
I would have insulted him properly if another contraction hadn't slammed into me.
Somewhere in the background the midwife finally arrived, blessed woman was calmly directing things, but most of my awareness was fixed on the two men bracing me through it.
Azriel behind me now, one arm wrapped around my shoulders to support my weight as I leaned forward.
Eris at the end of the bed, his grip firm around my hand as he murmured encouragements that were surprisingly soft for someone who usually sounded like he was about to start a war.
"You're stronger than this," he said quietly.
I laughed weakly. "I hate you."
"Understandable."
Another push. The room blurred with effort and heat and exhaustion. Azriel pressed a kiss to my temple. "Just a little more," he murmured.
"You said that too."
"This time it's true."
Eris's voice came a moment later. "I can see the head."
My entire body went still. "What?"
Something in my chest tightened suddenly. Something overwhelming and enormous and terrifying.
"Almost here," Eris said softly.
The words made something fragile crack open inside me.
Another contraction surged. "Alright," the midwife said gently. "One more big push."
I drew in a breath that felt like it filled my entire chest. And pushed.
Time fractured into noise and pressure and burning effort and then suddenly—a cry.
Small. Sharp. Alive. The sound cut through the room like lightning. Everything stopped.
My entire body sagged against Azriel as the midwife lifted a tiny, squirming bundle into the world.
For a moment, no one spoke. I heard Eris inhale sharply.
"She's here," the midwife said softly.
She. A baby girl.
The baby was placed carefully against my chest. Warm. So warm. And impossibly small.
My hands trembled as they curled around her.
Her tiny cry softened almost immediately, her little body wriggling against mine as if she already knew exactly where she belonged.
Tears blurred my vision. "Oh," I whispered.
Azriel's arms tightened around me from behind. I could feel his chest rising and falling quickly against my back.
Eris stepped closer to the bed slowly, as if approaching something sacred. His amber eyes were wide. Soft. Almost disbelieving.
"She has your smile," Azriel said quietly.
I looked down.
She did seem to be smiling, well, maybe not smiling exactly, but there was something about the shape of her mouth that made my chest ache.
Eris crouched beside the bed, brushing a gentle finger along the baby's tiny hand. "And Azriel's eyes," he said softly.
Azriel leaned down slightly. "And Eris's nose," he added.
I laughed weakly through my tears. "Apparently she's a perfect mix."
Eris looked at me then. Not the baby. Me. Something deep and fierce burned in his gaze.
Azriel pressed a kiss to the side of my head. "She's perfect," he murmured.
I looked down at her again. At the tiny fingers curling weakly around mine. At the soft little breaths rising and falling against my chest.
And suddenly the exhaustion, the pain, the fear—none of it mattered.
Because she was here. And we were all still here. Together.
Eris's POV -
Our baby girl arrived into the world with the exact flourish we expected.
Which was to say loudly, dramatically, and with absolutely no regard for anyone else in the room.
Her cry had cut through the air like a declaration. Sharp. Fierce. Alive.
And I remember thinking, in that first stunned moment as the midwife placed her carefully into her mother's trembling arms, that perhaps the child had inherited more of me than anyone would have liked.
She had barely been in the world for ten seconds and she was already announcing herself like a queen.
I had never seen anything more extraordinary in my life.
The room had been warm and quiet afterwards, the chaos of the birth fading slowly into something softer.
The midwife moved around us with gentle efficiency, cleaning and wrapping the baby while Azriel remained seated behind her on the bed, his arms still loosely around her shoulders.
He hadn't let go once. Not during the labour. Not after. Not when the baby cried.
And when the tiny bundle had finally been placed against her chest, Azriel had gone utterly still behind her.
I don't think I had ever seen him look more undone. I was fairly certain I looked the same.
The baby made a small, squeaking noise as she shifted in the blankets.
All three of us froze instantly.
"Gods," she whispered weakly, staring down at the tiny face nestled against her chest. "She's so small."
"She's perfect," Azriel murmured.
I reached out cautiously, brushing one finger along the back of the baby's tiny hand. Her fingers curled instinctively around mine.
The sensation hit me like a physical blow. Warm. Soft. Alive.
I swallowed hard. "Well," I said after a moment, my voice quieter than usual, "she clearly has excellent taste."
She snorted tiredly. Azriel huffed a quiet laugh behind her.
The baby, our baby, made another small noise, squirming in the blanket as if already displeased with the world.
And for the first time in my life, I felt something settle inside my chest.
Something steady. Something permanent.
The next few days were a blur of exhaustion, quiet joy, and absolute chaos.
Apparently babies required an alarming amount of attention. Which, frankly, felt like an oversight.
She slept. Then she cried. Then she slept again. Then she cried louder.
And somehow this small creature, this tiny, furious little bundle had completely taken over the house.
Not that any of us minded.
The guest room had been transformed into something entirely new. Blankets, soft lamps, baskets of impossibly small clothing, bottles, towels, and pillows had slowly overtaken nearly every surface.
Azriel had quietly installed several fans and heaters to keep the room perfectly balanced no matter the weather outside.
Meanwhile, I had taken the far more important responsibility of ensuring the entire household remained silent during her sleep.
I leaned now against the doorway, watching the two figures on the bed.
She sat propped carefully against a mountain of pillows, her hair loose around her shoulders, the baby tucked safely against her chest.
Azriel sat beside her with the careful intensity of someone handling something unimaginably fragile.
Which, to be fair, he was.
Our baby slept quietly between them. Her tiny hand was wrapped firmly around Azriel's finger. He looked completely trapped. And utterly content.
"You look terrified," I remarked.
Azriel didn't glance up. "I am."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because if you weren't, I would question your judgment."
He finally lifted his head, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly. "You were the one pacing earlier."
"I was not pacing."
"You wore a path into the rug."
"That rug was ugly."
His mouth twitched faintly.
Behind him, she shifted carefully in the bed. "You two should be off looking after the baby," she said tiredly.
Azriel immediately leaned forward. "I am."
"You're staring at her."
"That counts."
Her gaze shifted toward me. "And you."
I raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"
"You've barely slept."
"That is slander."
"You fell asleep standing up this morning."
"I was resting my eyes."
Azriel snorted.
She sighed softly, glancing down at the baby nestled against her. "You should be focusing on her," she murmured.
For a moment, neither of us answered. Azriel looked at me. I looked at him. And then I stepped forward, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.
"We're doing exactly what we should be doing," I said calmly.
Her brow furrowed. "What?"
Azriel gently brushed a thumb across her shoulder. "Looking after you," he said quietly.
Her eyes flicked between us in confusion. "You just gave birth to a child," I continued. "After carrying her for nine months."
"And nearly murdering us both in the process," Azriel added.
She rolled her eyes weakly. "Someone had to."
I leaned forward slightly, resting my arms on my knees. "So forgive us," I said dryly, "if we intend to spend the next few weeks taking care of our girl."
She blinked. "Our girl?"
Azriel smiled faintly. "Yes."
Her voice softened. "You mean the baby."
I shook my head slowly. "No."
Understanding flickered slowly across her face. Her eyes widened. "You two—"
Azriel gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. "We can take care of both."
Emotion welled suddenly in her eyes. She looked down at the baby again. "She still needs a name."
The room fell quiet. I watched the tiny rise and fall of the baby's chest as she slept.
Freya.
The name had been circling quietly in my mind since the moment she was born. Strong. Bright. A name that belonged to someone who would one day shake the world simply by existing.
Azriel spoke first. "What about Freya?"
I looked up at him. He was watching the baby carefully, his voice calm but thoughtful.
"She's fierce," he continued. "She made that clear already."
She smiled faintly. "Freya."
The name seemed to settle into the room. Into the bed. Into the quiet little breaths of the child between us.
She looked down at the baby again. "Freya," she repeated softly.
The baby made a small sleepy noise, as if approving the decision.
I smirked slightly. "Well," I said, "that seems settled."
Azriel leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby's head. "Hello, Freya."
She wiped quickly at her eyes. I reached out, resting a hand lightly on her arm. "One big happy family," I murmured.
And for once in my life the words didn't feel like a joke. They felt exactly right.
A/n - And that's a wrap!! We end with a beautiful baby girl finally making her very dramatic entrance into the world. I kept her features vague on purpose, so you can decide for yourself who she takes after most :)
They finally get their moment of peace, clarity, and a well-earned happy ending x I hope this was worth the ride and that you enjoyed every soft, chaotic, emotional moment along the way!
The next series is called "A Found Family" and it's a platonic batboys x reader with lots of banter, teasing and comfort—the masterlist is already posted for anybody interested x
Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think <33
Bloodthirst was a merciless thing—a fire that roared through my veins, searing, hungry, alive. It was the oldest hunger, the kind that hollowed you out and filled the emptiness with longing until even the air tasted of desire.
Every breath I took was thick with the scent of him, that sweet, metallic promise that made my fangs ache and my pulse quicken.
Desire and hunger. Two sides of the same exquisite torment.
And tonight, fate had been cruel enough or kind enough to set him before me.
Azriel. The man who moved through the moonlit streets of the city as though he owned the night itself.
The faint tilt of his shoulders, the unguarded rhythm of his steps, there was the languid grace of alcohol in his movements, just enough to soften the precision that usually cloaked him like a second skin.
His inky hair caught the silver gleam of streetlights, and for a moment I forgot what I was. Forgot that I was the predator. He was too beautiful for that, too sharp, too untouchable.
Yet tonight he looked... mortal. Exhausted. Temptingly human.
The perfect quarry. The perfect sin.
My body tensed with the anticipation that always came before the kill. I could almost feel it, the heat of his blood, the pulse beneath his skin, the rush of vitality that would fill me when my fangs pierced that golden flesh.
I didn't move. Not yet.
Instead, I drew my maroon coat tighter around me, its heavy folds swallowing the tremor that ran through my body.
The night was cold, but the ache inside me burned hotter than flame. The hum of distant traffic bled into the night, a lullaby for sinners
He turned down a quiet lane, the kind where the shadows pressed close and the stars dared not look. I followed, unseen, my footsteps no louder than breath.
The city slept, unaware that a man was being hunted not by an enemy of flesh and blade, but by something far older.
Azriel's home loomed ahead, carved from shadow and glass.
To him, this penthouse was safety, a fortress of silence. He could not imagine the kind of danger that walked so silently behind him.
I slipped in after him like a sigh. Through the entryway. Through the hush of corridors lined with velvet darkness.
The air here was thick with him, smoke and leather and something darker still, a scent that made my blood sing. I moved with deliberate care, each step calculated, each breath steady. My heart thrummed not with fear, but hunger—pure, relentless, wild.
At last, I found him.
He was in his room now, stripping off his clothes with weary grace, the planes of his back gleaming in the soft golden light.
A living work of art. Scarred, divine, and utterly unaware that death had followed him home.
He sank onto the bed with a sigh that was almost tender. A sound that brushed against something inside me I didn't want to name.
The door closed behind me with a quiet click.
He froze. Slowly, he turned. Hazel eyes, ancient and fathomless met mine across the dim room. For one heartbeat, neither of us moved. The silence was a living thing, trembling between us.
I smiled. A slow, predatory curve that bared a hint of fang.
The shadows seemed to move with him, thickening, alive, like the darkness itself bent toward his will but it was too late
I stepped closer, unhurried. The hem of my coat whispered against the floor, the sound as soft as sin.
The scent of him filled me, dark blood, quiet power, temptation itself.
"You're pretty," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them, soft, disbelieving, almost reverent.
His voice all shadows and control, was gentled by surprise.
His hand lifted, hesitating for a fraction before his fingers brushed through my hair as as though I were a dream. "What are you doing?"
"I followed you." The words fell from my lips like a challenge wrapped in silk.
I shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that didn't reach the wild rhythm of my heartbeat.
His brows rose, a flicker of surprise cutting through his perpetual calm. Propped on his elbows, he studied me, curiosity gleaming beneath his composed exterior, a trace of amusement softening the sharpness of his gaze.
"And why would you do that?" he asked, voice low, edged with wary intrigue.
"I wish to please you," I lied smoothly, the words deliberate, a slow tightening coil of silk meant to ensnare.
My hands lifted to the clasp of my coat. I untied it with unhurried precision, the sound of the fabric whispering through the quiet as it fell to the floor.
Beneath, my nightgown dark as a starless sky clung to my skin, lace tracing every line of my body like smoke and shadow.
His eyes followed every motion, caught between restraint and temptation, between intrigue and allure.
I stepped closer one step, then another each one measured, deliberate, the air thickening with something electric.
The distance between us shrank until I could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath ghosting across my skin.
My fangs ached, hunger rising with every pulse of his heartbeat, that sound, that rhythm, a symphony that called only to me.
The scent of his blood was heady, intoxicating, warm, rich, alive.
I wanted it. I wanted him. Not just his body, but the quiet storm beneath his stillness.
I climbed onto his lap, slow and sure, straddling him. My thighs locked around his hips, my hands steady as his gripped my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, proof that even the most stoic could be shaken.
The hem of my nightgown slid higher up my thighs, each subtle movement, every breath, exposing more skin, more temptation.
"Undress," I whispered, my voice low, coaxing, threaded with command. The words brushed against his ear like velvet and smoke, a promise of something dark and consuming.
I grinded my hips in a slow teasing rhythm against him.
His fingers trembled barely but he obeyed reaching down to unfasten his pants, urgency flickering behind his eyes.
And in moments, the last barrier between us was gone, nothing left between his heat and mine but the unspoken, the inevitable, the dark pull between us.
I could feel how much he wanted me, wanted this.
"Are you ready?" I purred, my fingers gliding along the hard line of his jaw. His breath quickened at my touch, the sharp exhale betraying his.
He leaned into my hand, his face a portrait of unbridled desire, and I savoured the control, the way he willingly surrendered, even for a moment, to me.
I let my gaze linger over the line of his jaw, aware of the bloodline I was about to claim, the blood of shadows and darkness, deep and intoxicating.
"Yes," he murmured, voice ragged.
I tilted my hips, letting him ease the delicate fabric of my gown further up, feeling the heat of his eagerness, the tremor of his desperation.
Then I lowered myself onto him, a slow, deliberate descent that stole both our breaths, our bodies meeting in a heated embrace.
For a moment, I held still, savouring the power, the intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at me as though he'd die if I didn't move too soon, if I didn't give him more of myself.
I let him wait, let him suffer for it, watching the desperation grow in his eyes.
"Will you please me?" I murmured, rocking my hips in a slow, torturous rhythm.
His hands traced up my thighs, gripping tighter, his head falling back as he surrendered to the pleasure, baring his throat to me in unguarded abandon.
"What... what do you mean?" he gasped, his voice unsteady, fragile, as I continued to move, drawing him deeper into this dance.
I traced my fingers up his neck, pressing my thumb against the rapid pulse beneath his skin.
His eyes lifted to mine, wide and unguarded and in that charged instant, I let my fangs slide into view, a slow, dangerous smile curling across my lips.
A flash of fear and thrill sparked in his eyes, but he did not pull away.
If anything, his hands gripped me tighter, a frantic need to hold onto me, to keep this intensity between us.
"What... what are you?" he whispered, torn between wonder and dread.
"Thirsty," I replied, drawing my tongue slowly over my fangs, letting him see the hunger in my eyes, letting him feel it in every undulation of my body as I moved against him.
"I want to taste you," I murmured, voice low and darkly sweet. "Your blood... it calls to me."
He did not speak. His breath caught in his throat, gaze transfixed, as I leaned closer.
My lips brushed his neck, feeling the heat of his pulse just beneath the surface, and I sank my fangs in, breaking the skin in a slow, exquisite bite.
A gasp tore from his lips, his hands clutching me tighter as I drank, the taste of him flooding my senses, sweet and coppery, a nectar that filled me with dark ecstasy.
I moaned against him, savouring each drop, feeling his life pour into me as I claimed him, body and blood.
I drew back, licking my lips as rivulets of blood traced down my chin. His head lolled back, eyes glazed with awe and pleasure, mouth parted as he stared at me, dazed and utterly undone.
He was beautiful like that, a wreck of desire, surrender and trust.
The sight of him only sharpened my hunger, my need, feeding the dark maelstrom within me.
Each ragged breath he took echoed through me, a twisted sense of power and longing that blurred the line between predator and seducer.
With his cock buried inside me and his blood on my lips, I felt my climax crest, a wave of pleasure that consumed me, tearing a shudder from my body as I rode him, lost in the ecstasy of him, of the perfect mingling of pleasure and pain.
Reluctantly, I pulled away, our bodies parting as I collapsed beside him.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, flushed with the intensity of our connection, and my gaze lingered on the bite at his neck, a perfect mark of claim.
Gently, I traced my fingers over the wound, collecting the last few drops of blood, bringing them to my lips.
He watched, wide-eyed, fingers brushing against his neck where my fangs had marked him, fascination overtaking any lingering fear.
"What... what are you?" he asked again, voice softer now, reverent, as if he could not quite believe I existed.
I leaned close, letting him see the fangs that had left him weakened and wanting, a predator's smile curving across my lips.
"Your nightmare," I whispered, words both promise and curse.
He shivered, his gaze locked on mine as he lifted his hand, the blood on his fingers glistening in the dim light.
Slowly, he pressed them to my lips, eyes dark with curiosity and desire.
I parted my lips, taking his fingers into my mouth, licking the blood from them, savouring every last taste as I looked up at him through my lashes.
If he was afraid, he didn't show it.
He was entranced, bound to me by blood, by lust, and by something far darker, something he couldn't name, yet was helpless to resist.
His fingers lingered at my lips, blood-stained and trembling, the taste of him warm, metallic, and sweet.
My eyes stayed fixed on his, daring him to look away, as I dragged my tongue slowly over his skin, lapping up every drop.
His gaze grew hazy, lips parting as he watched, utterly entranced. I could see the flush spreading across his cheeks, feel the familiar heat building between his thighs.
He was utterly undone, consumed by a need he barely understood, a need that pulsed under his skin, one I had ignited, an endless thirst that only I could quench.
I let his fingers slip from my mouth, leaning back just enough to see the to see the stirring desire flickering in his eyes.
He was hard again and I smiled, a low, sultry laugh escaping my lips as I arched a brow.
"Oh, darling" I murmured, reaching down and running my hand teasingly over the hardness pressing against me.
"Still hungry, are we?" I teased, my voice a velvet taunt that seemed to drive him deeper into a dazed state, pupils dilating as he watched my every movement, helpless under my gaze.
"Yes," he whispered, voice raw with need, breath a shaky gasp. "I... I want more. Whatever it is you just did—I'll give you anything. Take my blood, my soul... all of it, if you can make me feel like that again."
I chuckled, running my fingers down his chest, letting my nails scrape lightly against his skin, leaving faint red trails in my wake.
"Oh, I know, darling. And you'll beg me to take it," I said, lowering myself until my lips brushed his ear, my breath warm against his skin.
"But be careful. A pleasure like this has a price."
He shuddered under me, hands finding my waist as if to anchor himself, steady against the pull of my power.
I could feel his resolve weakening, pulse racing under his skin, the need for me thickening the air between us, making it almost too easy to bend him to my will.
"I don't care what it costs," he gasped, eyes locking onto mine with a desperation that only fanned the fire inside me. "Please... I'm yours, completely."
I smirked, pressing my lips to the hollow of his throat, letting him feel the sharpness of my fangs grazing his skin.
He moaned, head tilting back, surrendering entirely. I could feel his body straining beneath me, aching for the touch of my lips, my teeth, the promise of the sweet, intoxicating agony I could give him.
"Is that right?" I whispered, lips tracing a path down his neck, voice a low purr as I let one hand wander down, fingers brushing lightly over the tautness between his thighs.
"You'd give me all the blood in your body... for this?" I squeezed, and his entire body tensed, breath catching as he nodded, eyes wild with need.
"Yes," he breathed, words spilling out in a shaky whisper. "Every last drop, if you'll have it."
My laugh was dark, indulgent, a sound that promised everything and nothing.
"Oh, darling, I will have all of you... over and over, until you forget anything but the feel of my fangs in your neck, my body around yours."
His grip tightened, hands desperate, pulling me closer as I let him think just for a moment, that he was in control, he was the one pulling me toward him.
But he knew as well as I did who was truly in charge, who was truly devouring whom.
I took his face in my hands, fingers brushing along his jawline, looking into his eyes with dark, smouldering intensity.
"This is just the beginning, my sweet shadow. You will give me everything... and I will take it. Again, and again, and again, until there's nothing left of you but a memory."
He swallowed, gaze captivated, lips trembling as he stared back at me, helpless, spellbound.
I leaned down and kissed him, a deep, consuming kiss that stole his breath, his thoughts, leaving him as nothing more than a vessel for my pleasure, my hunger.
As our lips parted, I smiled, a glint of mischief in my eyes, and whispered, "You've made your choice, then. You're mine now... forever."
Feeling his pulse racing beneath my hand, the warmth of him, the life I would drink from him, I knew he would keep that promise, every last delicious drop.
This taste, this night, it was just a morsel.
He would come to understand what eternity truly meant.
I leaned closer once more, my breath ghosting over the mark I'd left. His eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat, a soft surrender, and I traced the familiar rhythm of his pulse.
This time, my fangs brushed the wound lightly, more a hint than a claim.
The moment stretched, suspended between heartbeats. His blood thrummed through me, warm and insistent, and beneath that rush... something lingered.
A spark, faint and electric, threading between us like a secret neither of us could name.
The light in the room shifted with him, shadows stretching and bending toward me as if the darkness itself leaned in.
His breath caught, his fingers tightening around mine, and for a flicker of a moment I could feel his soul echo inside my veins.
When I drew back, he blinked, dazed, lips parting as if to speak but no words came.
I pressed a gentle kiss to the mark on his neck, tasting the lingering warmth, savouring the subtle pulse that lingered there.
"Rest now, darling" I murmured, voice soft as dusk. "The night has claimed you."
Outside, the wind shifted. The city dreamed on. And somewhere, deep within the silence, two heartbeats whispered in perfect unison.
A/n - First part and I took a one-shot I wrote ages ago and Frankensteined it to fit this story!
Writing this nearly destroyed my sanity though because I could not decide whether to stick with the ACOTAR world or turn it into a modern setting (I settled on modern x)
This part is basically to set the stage with tension, questionable decisions and a generous helping of spice and bloodsucking :)
Thank you so much for reading, let me know what you think <33
The eighth month of pregnancy did not pass. It crawled. Every day felt longer than the last, stretched thin between anticipation and exhaustion.
Eight months pregnant meant my body no longer belonged entirely to me. Every movement required thought. Every breath felt deeper, heavier. Sleep came in fragments.
And my stomach was enormous.
The baby had claimed every inch of space inside me, pressing against ribs, lungs, organs that I was fairly certain had been politely relocated somewhere near my spine. Even sitting upright required negotiation.
Eight months pregnant.
Eight months living in a house that had once felt enormous and unfamiliar and now felt... dangerously close to home.
Eight months of sharing space with two men who had started as strangers and somehow, impossibly, become the centre of my daily life.
Eight months of reminding myself over and over that it wasn't permanent.
Which was why the ordinary moments were the hardest.
Like tonight. I sat at the dining room table with my swollen stomach practically pressed against the edge, staring down at the plate in front of me like it had personally offended me.
Across from me, Azriel and Eris watched with identical expressions of infuriating patience.
"The baby," I said firmly, pushing the plate away with two fingers, "does not want to eat that."
Azriel calmly slid the plate back toward me. "Chicken liver is good for the baby."
The smell alone made my stomach revolt.
Eris leaned back in his chair, arms folded, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Hurry up and eat some," he said lightly. "Then you can have actual dinner."
My eyes narrowed. "You're bribing me?"
"No."
"You're torturing me," I corrected, gesturing dramatically toward the kitchen where the scent of fresh lasagne filled the air. "You're withholding that beautiful, delicious lasagne until I eat organs."
Azriel pressed his lips together. "So dramatic."
I glared at him. They had both become insufferably calm about my pregnancy moods.
I sighed heavily, dragging the fork across the plate like I was preparing for execution. The bite I cut was microscopic. Possibly symbolic.
I looked up one last time with my most tragic expression.
Both men looked away immediately. Azriel suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. Eris began tossing the salad with exaggerated focus.
"Traitors," I muttered.
The fork lifted. The bite went in. I chewed. And immediately regretted every life choice that had brought me to this moment.
The taste was—oh god. A miserable groan escaped me.
"Oh come on," Eris said lazily, still not looking at me. "It can't be that bad. It's just—"
My fork clattered against the plate. The sound cut him off instantly. The groan had turned into a gasp. Not theatrical. Sharp. Wrong.
Both of them looked up at the same time. Their expressions changed instantly.
I barely noticed. Because suddenly—pain.
Not the dull aches I'd grown used to. Not the stretching discomfort or the heavy pressure that came with eight months of pregnancy.
This was different.
It ripped through my stomach like something twisting violently inside me. My breath vanished.
"Oh—" I gasped.
Eris was already on his feet. Azriel's chair scraped across the floor as he stood.
I tried to answer but the pain hit again. Harder. My entire body folded forward instinctively.
"I don't—I don't know—" I choked.
My hands gripped the edge of the table as another wave slammed through my abdomen, sharp and blinding.
"It hurts."
Azriel was beside me in an instant, one hand bracing my back. "Where?"
"My stomach—" The words broke apart as another bolt of pain made me gasp.
I tried to stand. That was a mistake. The moment I pushed away from the chair, the world tilted violently. My knees buckled and I nearly collapsed.
"Hey—careful," Eris said sharply, catching my arm before I fell.
The panic in his voice made my heart start racing.
"It really hurts," I gasped, clutching Azriel's shirt. The fabric twisted in my fist as fear climbed up my throat.
Eris suddenly went very still. "Oh—fuck." The word came out quiet but full of dread.
I followed his gaze downward. For a moment my brain didn't understand what I was seeing.
White fabric. Red spreading across it. Bright. Too bright. Blood.
My stomach dropped. "Oh my god—" My breath hitched violently. "Oh my god—what's happening?"
Panic exploded through my chest, fast and uncontrollable.
Azriel's hand tightened around my shoulders. "Hey—hey," he said quickly. "Look at me."
But I couldn't. My hands were shaking. The baby.
"I'm losing them," I gasped, tears already spilling over. "Oh my god I'm losing the baby—"
"You are not," Azriel said firmly. His voice cut through the panic like a blade. "We're going to the hospital. Right now."
Eris was already moving. His keys appeared in his hand as if by magic. "Car's ready," he said.
Azriel didn't hesitate.
He scooped me up before I could protest, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back as he carried me out of the dining room.
I clung to him instinctively, my face pressed into his shoulder as another wave of pain rolled through my stomach.
"Please," I whispered helplessly. "Please let the baby be okay."
"You're okay," he murmured.
But I could feel the tension in his body.
The car ride blurred into something frantic and disjointed.
Eris drove like a man possessed. Streetlights streaked past the windows in glowing lines while Azriel held me in the backseat, one hand gripping mine, the other resting protectively over my stomach.
"Breathe," he said softly.
"I am breathing," I cried.
But the words came out broken. The pain had dulled slightly, but the fear hadn't. All I could see when I looked down was blood.
What if it was too late? What if something had gone wrong? What if—
"We're here," Eris said.
The car hadn't even fully stopped before Azriel was moving again.
The hospital lights were blinding after the dark car ride. Nurses appeared. Questions were asked. Someone brought a wheelchair.
Everything became noise. Monitors. Voices. Cold gel on my stomach.
I cried the entire time.
Quiet, uncontrollable tears sliding down the sides of my face as the doctor examined me, as machines beeped softly in the background.
Azriel stood on one side of the bed. Eris on the other. Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away.
Finally the doctor leaned back slightly. "Well," she said gently.
My heart stopped.
She smiled. "The baby is completely fine."
The words didn't register immediately. "What?"
"Heartbeat is strong. Movement is good."
A small speaker filled the room with a rapid, steady rhythm. The sound shattered something inside me.
That heartbeat. Alive. Strong. Relief crashed through me so violently I started sobbing.
"I thought—I thought—" I cried.
Azriel immediately pulled me into his arms. His hand cradled the back of my head as I buried my face in his chest, shaking.
Eris's hand settled gently on my shoulder.
The doctor continued speaking softly. "It looks like a minor placental irritation. Not uncommon this late. The bleeding can be frightening but it's not dangerous in this case."
I barely heard her. All I could hear was that heartbeat. Still going. Still there.
The sound filled the small examination room. Fast. Steady. Alive.
For several long seconds, that heartbeat was the only thing I could hear. It echoed through my chest like proof that the worst thing my mind had imagined hadn't happened.
Still going. Still there.
My fingers curled weakly into the hospital sheet as tears continued slipping down my temples. I hadn't even realised how tightly I'd been bracing myself until the doctor's words sank in.
Not dangerous. The baby is fine.
The relief was so intense it left me shaking.
I pressed a trembling hand over my stomach, feeling the faint warmth beneath my palm as if that alone could confirm what the monitor had already told me.
"You see?" the doctor said gently, glancing between the three of us. "Strong heartbeat. Good movement. Baby looks perfectly healthy."
Across the bed, Azriel hadn't moved. Not once.
His hand still rested at the back of my head where he had pulled me against him when I started crying, fingers threaded carefully through my hair like he was anchoring me in place.
On the other side, Eris stood unnaturally still, one hand braced on the metal railing of the hospital bed as if he needed something solid to grip.
For a man who rarely showed fear plainly, the tension in his shoulders said enough.
"I thought..." My voice cracked badly. I swallowed and tried again. "I thought I was losing them."
Azriel's chest rose slowly beneath my cheek.
"You weren't," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "You're both alright."
The doctor finished the exam a few minutes later, explaining again that the bleeding had likely been caused by irritation and strain. Nothing unusual for this stage. Nothing life-threatening.
Still, she instructed rest. Plenty of it. "No unnecessary stress," she added kindly.
I nearly laughed at that.
The ride home was quieter than the one to the hospital.
Eris drove this time with far less reckless urgency, though his hands remained tight around the steering wheel. Streetlights passed over the windshield in slow pulses of gold and shadow.
In the back seat, Azriel kept one arm around me the entire time.
A steady warmth across my shoulders while my head rested against him, exhaustion settling into my bones now that the adrenaline had drained away.
Neither of them spoke much. They didn't need to.
Every few minutes Azriel's hand would shift to rest gently over my stomach, feeling for movement, grounding himself in the same reassurance I had needed earlier.
Each small kick felt like a quiet promise.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, I was barely keeping my eyes open.
"Easy," Azriel said softly when the car door opened.
Before I could even attempt to stand, he was already lifting me again.
I didn't protest. Normally I would have insisted on walking, on maintaining whatever small pieces of independence pregnancy hadn't already stolen from me.
Tonight I was too tired. Too emotionally wrung out.
The house was dark and quiet when we stepped inside.
Dinner still sat on the dining table where we had abandoned it hours earlier, the smell of lasagne lingering faintly in the air.
Neither of them commented on it. Their attention was entirely on me.
Eris moved ahead of us, flicking on the hallway lights and pulling back the blankets in my room before Azriel even reached the doorway.
By the time I was lowered carefully onto the mattress, the bed was warm and waiting.
Azriel helped guide my legs beneath the covers while Eris disappeared briefly into the bathroom.
He returned a moment later with a glass of water and the prenatal vitamins the doctor had insisted I keep taking.
"Drink," he said gently, handing it to me.
I obeyed without argument. That alone made them both pause.
Normally I would have complained about the size of the pills. Tonight I swallowed them without a word.
When the glass was empty, Azriel took it from my hands and set it on the bedside table.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Pillows?"
"I'm okay."
Eris adjusted the blankets anyway, tucking them lightly around my legs before sitting down on the edge of the bed.
For a moment none of us spoke. The quiet felt different now. Heavier. Like we were all still catching up to the terror of the evening.
Azriel leaned back slightly against the headboard beside me.
"You're sure you're alright?" he asked again quietly.
The question was gentle. Careful. But something about hearing it again made my chest tighten. I nodded automatically. "Yes."
My throat closed. The room felt too warm suddenly. Too full. "I'm fine," I said again, though the words sounded thin even to my own ears.
Azriel didn't press but he didn't look convinced either.
The silence stretched again. And then the tears came back.
I tried to stop them. I really did. But something about tonight, about hearing that heartbeat again after thinking it might disappear had cracked something open inside me.
My vision blurred.
"Oh no," I whispered hoarsely, pressing my hands to my face. "I'm sorry—I'm not trying to—"
Azriel's hand closed gently around my wrist, lowering it. "You don't have to apologise for crying."
That only made it worse.
"I just—" My voice shook badly. "I thought everything was about to end."
Eris leaned forward slightly, his voice softer now than I had ever heard it. "What do you mean?"
My chest rose in a shaky breath.
"I thought I was about to lose the baby," I admitted. "And all I could think about was that it would mean... everything ending."
Their expressions shifted slightly.
"Everything?" Azriel repeated quietly.
I hesitated. This was the moment. The one I had been avoiding for months. My heart started pounding again.
"I didn't want to say anything," I whispered, staring down at the blankets gathered in my hands. "Because it wasn't part of the agreement. And I know what this arrangement was supposed to be and I know I shouldn't—"
My voice broke. "But I don't want to leave."
The words spilt out before I could stop them. Both men went completely still.
"I know that was always the plan," I rushed on, my voice unravelling. "I know the baby is yours and this house is yours and I was only supposed to be here until—until after the birth but I—"
My breathing became uneven. "I don't want to go."
The confession hung in the room like something fragile.
"I know that's selfish," I continued quickly, panic creeping in now. "And I'm not trying to change anything or make it complicated. I just thought you should know because tonight I realised if something had happened to the baby I would have lost—"
"Stop."
The word wasn't harsh. It was firm. I looked up. Azriel was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Eris looked equally stunned.
"We never said you had to leave," Azriel said quietly.
I blinked. "What?"
"You said that," Eris added slowly. "Not us."
My mind scrambled. "But the contract—"
"We know what the contract says," Azriel replied calmly. "That doesn't mean we wanted you gone."
The words hit me like a physical thing. "You... didn't?"
Eris leaned back slightly on the mattress, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled. "Gods, no."
My heart skipped. "But I thought—"
"You thought we saw you as temporary," he finished.
I didn't answer because yes, that was exactly what I had thought.
Azriel's voice softened. "We never corrected you because we assumed you meant it."
Eris nodded slowly. "We thought pushing you would make you uncomfortable."
I stared at them both. "You... wanted me to stay?"
Eris gave a quiet, incredulous laugh. "Wanted?" He looked at Azriel briefly before meeting my gaze again. "I don't think I've wanted anything more clearly in my life."
My breath caught.
Azriel shifted closer beside me. "We want this child," he said carefully. My stomach tightened. "But we don't want the child without you."
The room went completely silent.
I stared at him, unable to process the words. "You mean that?" I whispered.
"Yes."
Eris's voice was softer now too. "We know this situation isn't exactly... traditional."
I let out a shaky breath. "That's one way to put it."
"People already stare," he continued with a faint shrug. "They already think it's strange. Unnatural."
His eyes flicked briefly to Azriel before returning to me. "We don't care."
Azriel nodded once. "Whatever this is between the three of us... it's real."
Emotion surged up my throat again. "I thought I was the only one feeling it," I admitted quietly.
"You weren't."
Eris reached for my hand then, threading his fingers carefully through mine. "You never were."
Azriel's palm settled over my stomach again, warm and steady.
The baby shifted faintly beneath his hand. Alive. Here. Binding us together in ways none of us had expected.
"For the record," Eris murmured gently, "you staying was always the outcome we were hoping for."
My vision blurred again. This time the tears didn't feel like grief.
They felt like something dangerously close to relief.
For the first time since this whole arrangement had begun—the future didn't feel like an ending anymore.
Azriel's POV -
"You're going to strangle the flowers with the way you're gripping them."
Eris's voice drifted across the room, dry and amused.
I looked down. My fingers were indeed wrapped around the stems like I was preparing to snap them in half.
I loosened my hold immediately.
"They're fine," I said.
Across the dining room, Eris raised one brow, leaning back slightly to observe the arrangement of candles on the long oak table.
"Mmh," he hummed. "Convincing."
I ignored him and adjusted the flowers again, rotating the vase slightly so the white petals faced the doorway. They were simple, nothing extravagant but they smelled soft and clean, the kind of scent that wouldn't overwhelm her sensitive stomach.
Eris had insisted on them anyway. "Pregnant women like flowers," he'd said earlier.
"They like not vomiting," I'd replied.
Still, he'd brought them home.
The house looked different tonight. Warmer. Softer.
Candles lined the table in quiet rows, their light flickering gently against the walls. The heavy overhead lights were off, replaced by the dim glow of lamps and flame.
Dinner rested in the kitchen behind us, carefully prepared, meticulously planned.
Every dish had been chosen for one reason. She'd craved it.
Mango sorbet in the freezer. Fresh bread still warm. Lasagne she had complained about being denied that night at the hospital.
Eris had even gone out of his way to find the brand of ginger tea she'd mentioned liking weeks ago.
"You're pacing again," Eris observed lazily.
I stopped mid-step. "I am not."
"You are."
I exhaled slowly.
It had been three days since the hospital.
Three days since she had sat in that bed with tear-streaked cheeks and confessed she didn't want to leave. Three days since we had told her she never had to.
Everything between us had shifted after that. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just... gently.
Like a door that had been closed for months finally opening.
And yet tonight felt strangely important. Not because of the food. Not because of the candles.
But because it was the first time we were openly acknowledging something that had been building for months.
Care. Affection. Something deeper that none of us had been brave enough to name before.
"She'll be down soon," Eris said. His tone had softened slightly now.
"She said she needed five minutes," I replied.
Eris smirked faintly. "She said that fifteen minutes ago."
Pregnancy had made time an unpredictable thing. Five minutes could mean twenty. Or thirty. Or an hour spent trying to tie shoes she could no longer reach.
"She'll come when she's ready," I said.
Eris studied me for a moment. "You're nervous."
"I am not nervous."
"You are gripping flowers like a man preparing for war."
I looked down again. My hand had drifted back to the vase. I released it.
Eris chuckled quietly. For all his teasing, I could see the same tension in his posture too. He'd changed shirts twice tonight.
The sound of footsteps upstairs interrupted us. Both of us looked toward the staircase immediately.
And then she appeared. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Eight months had transformed her in ways I hadn't anticipated.
Her stomach curved prominently now beneath the soft fabric of her dress, round and unmistakable. The gentle slope of it shifted her centre of gravity slightly, giving her movements a slower, more careful rhythm.
One hand rested instinctively beneath her belly as she descended the final step.
Her hair was loose tonight, falling softly over her shoulders.
She looked... radiant. Not in the glowing, polished way people described pregnancy. In the quieter way. Real. Alive. Beautiful.
Her eyes moved from the candles to the table to the flowers. Then to us.
"What..." she began slowly.
Eris spread his hands. "Dinner."
Her brows lifted. "With candles?"
"Yes."
"And flowers?"
"Yes."
"And you both looking like you're about to attend a royal banquet?"
Eris smirked. "You wound me."
She looked back at the table again. Realisation softened her expression. "You did this for me," she said quietly.
I stepped forward. "Yes."
Her eyes flicked to mine. "Why?"
The answer felt obvious. "Because you deserve it."
Something in her expression shifted then, something warm and vulnerable. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble," she murmured.
Eris scoffed lightly. "It wasn't trouble."
"Cooking for three hours is absolutely trouble," she said.
"Incorrect," he replied smoothly. "Cooking for people we don't like is trouble."
That made her laugh softly. Gods, I loved that sound.
I stepped closer and pulled out the chair for her. "Sit," I said gently.
She obeyed, lowering herself carefully into the seat while adjusting the fabric of her dress around her stomach.
Eris moved to the kitchen, returning moments later with the first plates. Lasagne. Her favourite. Her eyes widened slightly.
"You remembered."
"Of course we remembered," Eris said.
I watched her carefully as she took the first bite. Her expression softened immediately. "Oh my god."
"Good?" Eris asked.
She nodded emphatically. "Incredible."
The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. We ate slowly. Talking. Laughing.
She told us about a strange dream she'd had the night before where the baby had been born already arguing with Eris about vegetables.
"Accurate," he said.
"You're already corrupting them," she replied.
At some point, Eris brought out the sorbet.
Her entire face lit up. "You're spoiling me," she said.
"That's the goal," I replied.
She finished the last spoonful and leaned back in her chair with a content sigh. "I might actually cry."
Eris leaned forward slightly. "That would be a good review."
She laughed again. The room felt warm. Peaceful. Safe.
And then her gaze drifted toward us both. Something softer entered her expression. "You two are ridiculous," she said quietly.
"Correct," Eris replied.
But she was still looking at us. Still watching. Emotion flickered briefly across her face.
Before I could think too hard about it, I stood and walked around the table.
She looked up at me curiously. "What are you doing?"
Instead of answering, I placed one hand gently on her cheek. Her breath caught slightly. "I've wanted to do this all evening," I admitted.
Then I kissed her. Softly. Carefully.
Her lips parted against mine almost immediately, her hand lifting instinctively to rest against my chest.
The kiss was slow. Tender. Full of everything we hadn't been able to say for months.
When I pulled back slightly, she was smiling.
Eris leaned against the table beside her. "Are we taking turns now?" he asked.
She laughed breathlessly. "Yes."
He didn't hesitate.
His hand slipped beneath her chin, tilting her face up before pressing his lips to hers.
Where my kiss had been gentle, his carried warmth and confidence, slow and affectionate, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw.
When he pulled away, she looked slightly dazed. "Well," she murmured.
Eris grinned. "Successful evening."
She looked between us, eyes bright. "You two planned all this just to kiss me."
I shrugged slightly. "Partially."
Her laugh filled the room again.
And as she reached for both of our hands across the candlelit table, for the first time since this whole journey began—
None of it felt temporary anymore.
A/n - The hospital scare was a very intense moment that finally pushed everyone to say what's been building for months... and wow, those confessions were LONG overdue!!
And then we switch to Azriel's POV where the two soft idiots put together the sweetest little candlelit dinner (with approved food this time) just to spoil her... which of course leads to kisses, feelings, and a whole lot of "oh... this is real now" :)
We love a little emotional whiplash, panic—relief—romance x
The chaos of Amaya's early arrival slowly settled into something softer, something calmer. The house that had once been full of shouting males, hurried footsteps, and panicked energy had transformed into something peaceful.
A routine had formed without any of us truly meaning for it to.
Mornings filled with quiet feeding and soft laughter. Afternoons where Azriel pretended to work but spent most of his time hovering near the cradle. Evenings where Kalel insisted on carrying his sister around the house like a very serious bodyguard while she blinked sleepily at the world.
It was a quiet little life. One that involved the four of us. Me. Azriel. Kalel. And Amaya.
The house had never felt more like home.
I woke slowly to golden sunlight spilling through the curtains, warming the bed in soft bands of light.
For a moment I simply lay there, enjoying the peaceful stillness and the comfortable weight of Azriel's arm resting loosely around my waist. Then instinct kicked in. My eyes drifted toward the cradle beside the bed.
And immediately widened.
It was empty. The blanket lay folded neatly inside, the tiny pillows undisturbed but Amaya was not there.
For half a second, pure panic shot through my chest. I sat upright so quickly the blanket tangled around my legs.
But then voices. Soft. Faint. Coming from somewhere outside.
I froze, listening carefully. A familiar voice drifted through the open balcony doors.
"... rule one."
I exhaled slowly, relief flooding through me as I slid carefully out of bed. Of course.
I padded quietly across the room and stepped out onto the balcony.
The early morning air was cool and fresh, the sky still painted in soft shades of gold and pale blue as the sun climbed higher above the mountains.
And there they were.
Kalel sat perched on the stone railing like some enormous, overly protective gargoyle.
His wings were folded neatly behind him, one boot braced carefully against the rail as he balanced with easy confidence. Cradled carefully in his arms was a very small bundle wrapped in blankets.
Three blankets, from the looks of it.
Amaya's tiny wings poked out from the edge of the fabric, twitching sleepily every so often. Wisps of shadow drifted lazily around her fingers as she waved them slowly in the air.
Kalel was staring down at her with intense focus. Like he was delivering the most important speech of his life.
Amaya blinked up at him.
"If anyone ever bothers you," he continued quietly, "you come to me first. Not Father." He leaned slightly closer to the baby. "Me."
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop the laugh that bubbled up my throat.
It didn't work. A soft snort escaped me.
Kalel froze. Slowly, very slowly, his head turned toward the balcony doors. The moment he saw me standing there, he looked absolutely horrified.
"Mother," he said quickly. His posture shifted immediately into defensive mode. "I was just making sure she was warm."
My eyes drifted down to the mountain of blankets surrounding the baby. "She looks very warm."
"I didn't want her getting cold," he added quickly.
"She's wrapped like a pastry."
Kalel opened his mouth to argue—
A pair of familiar arms slid around my waist from behind. Azriel's chin rested lightly on my shoulder as he looked out over the balcony.
"He's been out here for an hour," he murmured softly against my ear.
I turned my head slightly. "An hour?"
Azriel nodded once, clearly amused.
Kalel pretended not to hear us. Instead he shifted Amaya slightly in his arms, adjusting the blankets with careful precision. Then, very gently he stood.
My heart immediately jumped into my throat. "Kal—"
Before I could finish the warning, his wings spread. Not wide. Just enough. With a slow, controlled motion he pushed lightly off the railing.
For a brief moment he hovered in the air just beyond the balcony. Not really flying. More... floating.
Amaya remained tucked safely in his arms as he drifted a few feet off the edge of the stone.
She made a tiny curious sound, her little wings twitching excitedly.
Kalel smiled down at her. "That's how you do it," he told her quietly. "I'll teach you properly when you're bigger."
Behind me, Azriel cleared his throat. "Careful."
Kalel rolled his eyes dramatically but he landed immediately anyway.
The moment his boots touched the balcony again he walked back toward us, still holding Amaya carefully against his chest.
I studied him quietly.
The way his arms supported her so gently. The way his wings curved slightly around her like a shield. The way his expression softened every time she made even the smallest sound.
My heart squeezed painfully in my chest.
Azriel must have felt it, because his hand tightened gently around my waist.
Our son had grown up.
Somewhere between reckless training sessions and teasing arguments, between childhood and adulthood he had become someone steady.
Someone kind. Someone protective. Someone who looked at his tiny sister like she was the most important thing in the world.
And suddenly I couldn't imagine a more perfect ending than this.
Kalel stepped closer, carefully lowering Amaya back into my waiting arms. Her little shadows curled sleepily around my fingers.
"She was cold," he muttered defensively.
I smiled softly. "Of course she was."
Azriel leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Amaya's head.
Then another to my temple.
For a moment we all simply stood there together on the balcony, the morning sun warming our skin as the quiet world slowly woke around us.
Our little family. Whole. And perfect.
Azriel's POV -
"Aren't you just the cutest little baby ever?" Mor cooed, her voice pitched embarrassingly high as she bounced Amaya gently in her arms.
Across the table Cassian leaned forward, wiggling a finger in front of the baby's face in an attempt to steal her attention. "No, no—look at me, tiny warrior. I'm clearly the more entertaining one."
Amaya stared at him with wide, solemn eyes. Then promptly turned her head back toward Mor.
Cassian gasped in mock offence. "Did she just reject me?"
Rhys chuckled softly beside him, swirling the wine in his glass. "Careful," he drawled. "Don't let Kalel hear you calling her cute like that."
Mor rolled her eyes. "Why? What's he going to do?"
My mate, seated beside me, smiled faintly as she took a slow sip from her drink.
"He's not coming tonight anyways," she said.
Cassian perked up immediately. "He finally got out of dinner with the family?"
"He has plans with Wren tonight," I explained calmly, reaching for my glass. "His mother practically pushed him out of the house to go see the 'kind and gentle' female."
Beside me, my mate scoffed. "I did not push him," she said defensively. "I simply encouraged him gently."
"You shoved him toward the door," I replied mildly.
"I encouraged him with enthusiasm."
Cassian snorted. "You mean you want grandbabies."
"Cassian."
"What?" he shrugged. "I'm just saying—"
Amaya suddenly made a small, impatient sound in Mor's arms, her little wings twitching as she wriggled against the blanket.
Mor looked immediately betrayed. "Oh no, don't start that. You were perfectly happy a moment ago."
The baby fussed again, clearly unimpressed.
"Someone wants her mother," Rhys said lazily.
Mor sighed dramatically before standing and carrying the baby across the room. "Fine. Go to the favourite."
My mate accepted Amaya with a soft laugh, immediately settling the tiny bundle against her shoulder. The baby quieted almost instantly, her small shadows curling lazily around the edge of the blanket.
Mor returned to the table with a pout.
Dinner had just been placed out when footsteps sounded in the hallway. Familiar ones.
I frowned slightly, turning toward the doorway. A moment later Kalel appeared. I raised a brow.
"I thought you had plans tonight."
Kalel hesitated in the doorway for half a second. Then stepped aside. A second figure appeared behind him.
Wren. The young Winter Court heir stood just behind him, looking a little uncertain but smiling politely as she glanced around the room.
Kalel rubbed the back of his neck.
"I... brought her here," he said, clearly trying to sound casual. "If that's okay."
My mate brightened immediately. "Of course it is," she said warmly, rising from the table. "Come in, Wren."
The young female visibly relaxed as she stepped inside.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, looking far too amused for someone who hadn't even been part of the conversation.
"Well, well," he said loudly. "Look who suddenly enjoys family dinners."
Kalel scowled. "I've always enjoyed family dinners."
Cassian gestured dramatically toward Amaya. "Funny how that changed the moment there was an extra attendee."
Kalel's wings shifted irritably. "That has nothing to do with it."
Rhys lifted a brow. "Doesn't it?"
Wren hid a small smile. My mate ushered her toward the table. "Sit," she said kindly. "You're always welcome here."
Within minutes everyone had settled again.
Dinner resumed with the usual mix of conversation, teasing, and Cassian attempting to make Amaya laugh by pulling ridiculous faces across the table.
Kalel, however, had positioned himself directly beside the cradle. And had not moved since.
Every time someone reached toward the baby he visibly tensed.
Mor leaned down after a few minutes, reaching toward Amaya's tiny hand. Kalel's voice came instantly. "Careful."
Mor froze mid-motion. "I'm just touching her hand."
"She's delicate."
Rhys raised a brow. "She's a baby, Kalel. Not a priceless artefact."
Cassian leaned across the table with a grin. "Relax, big brother."
Kalel shot him a glare that could have melted stone. "She's small."
"We noticed."
"She's fragile."
"She's breathing just fine."
"She could get cold."
Cassian blinked slowly. "We're inside."
Wren laughed quietly beside him, quickly covering her mouth when Kalel glanced at her.
Amaya stretched slightly in the cradle then, her tiny wings fluttering once. Kalel immediately leaned down to adjust the blanket around her.
My mate caught my eye across the table. Her smile was soft. Fond.
And I realised something then as I watched our son carefully tuck the blanket around his sister, making sure the edge rested just beneath her chin.
He had barely looked away from her the entire evening. Not once. Not even when Wren spoke.
Rhys seemed to notice it too. He leaned back in his chair, studying Kalel with mild amusement. "You do realise she's not going anywhere."
Kalel straightened slowly. "I know that."
"Then perhaps sit down and finish your food."
Kalel glanced between the cradle...and the table. The internal battle was obvious.
Cassian leaned toward Wren conspiratorially. "He's been like this for weeks."
Kalel ignored him.
Eventually he sat but he dragged the chair closer to the cradle. Just in case.
Dinner continued like that for a while, conversation drifting easily between topics, laughter echoing through the room as the night settled comfortably around us.
At some point Amaya stirred again.
Kalel immediately stood. Before anyone else could even react. He lifted her carefully from the cradle, cradling her against his chest as he paced slowly beside the table. His wings curved instinctively around her like a shield.
The baby quieted instantly.
Mor sighed dramatically. "That's it. I'm offended."
Cassian nodded. "She clearly prefers the brooding winged types."
Rhys smirked into his wine.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, watching them all. My family.
My mate sat beside me, smiling softly as she watched Kalel walk slowly around the room with Amaya nestled safely in his arms.
Wren stood beside him now, looking up at the baby with quiet fascination as Kalel murmured something to her.
Cassian and Mor were still arguing about who the baby liked more. Rhys looked entirely too pleased with the chaos.
And for a moment, just a moment everything felt perfectly still. Peaceful. Full.
My mate's hand slid into mine beneath the table. I squeezed it gently.
Across the room Kalel shifted Amaya carefully against his shoulder as she let out a tiny sleepy sigh.
Cassian noticed immediately. "Well," he said loudly. "Looks like the general has found his new commanding officer."
Kalel didn't even argue. He just looked down at his sister. And smiled.
By the time we returned home, the house had fallen into that quiet, comfortable silence that only came late at night.
The kind that wrapped around you gently after a long day.
Dinner with the Circle had stretched far longer than any of us intended, Cassian refusing to stop telling stories, Mor stealing Amaya every few minutes until Kalel started hovering like an angry storm cloud, Rhys and Wren laughing quietly at the chaos of it all.
But eventually the evening ended. And the four of us returned home.
Our house. Our quiet little world.
The fire in the sitting room had already burned low, casting warm amber light across the stone walls as we stepped inside.
Kalel closed the door behind us while my mate carefully carried Amaya further into the room, the baby half-asleep against her shoulder.
"She did well tonight," she murmured softly, brushing a gentle hand over Amaya's dark hair.
"She survived Cassian," I replied.
"Barely."
Kalel snorted quietly as he moved to pull one of the chairs closer to the fire. "You'd think he'd never seen a baby before."
"He hasn't in a while," I said dryly.
That earned a small laugh from my mate as she settled onto the couch.
The baby stirred faintly, her tiny wings twitching against the blanket as if reacting to the warmth of the fire.
Kalel noticed immediately. "Is she warm enough?"
My mate blinked up at him. "She's fine."
"She was outside earlier today."
"For three minutes."
"That's long enough."
I crossed the room slowly, resting a hand on the back of the couch as I looked down at them. Amaya's little shadows drifted lazily around her fingers as she stretched slightly in her sleep.
Kalel hovered nearby. Still. Watching.
My mate caught the look and sighed fondly. "Kal."
He immediately looked up. "Yes?"
"Sit."
He hesitated. His eyes flicked to the baby. Then back to us. Finally, reluctantly, he sat on the arm of the couch. Close enough that he could still watch her.
My mate shifted slightly then, carefully lifting the baby. "Here," she said softly.
Kalel looked startled. "What?"
"Hold her."
"I did earlier."
"You can hold her again."
"I might wake her."
"You won't."
He still looked deeply suspicious of the entire situation but he leaned forward anyway.
My mate carefully placed Amaya in his arms. This time he didn't panic. Not like the first time. He simply adjusted the blanket carefully around her tiny body, settling her gently against his chest.
Amaya made a soft sound in her sleep. Her little wings fluttered once. Kalel froze. "She moved."
"She's fine," I said calmly.
"She twitched."
"She's a baby."
Kalel stared down at her like she had just performed some remarkable feat.
Then something very small happened. Amaya's tiny hand slipped free of the blanket. Her fingers curled slowly around the edge of Kalel's shirt.
His entire posture softened instantly. The tension left his shoulders. His wings relaxed slightly behind him. He looked... calm. Content.
My mate leaned into my side quietly. "You see it too, don't you?" she murmured.
I nodded.
The reckless, sharp-edged young warrior who used to fly through the house and challenge every rule we ever gave him had grown into someone steadier.
Someone careful. Someone gentle.
Kalel looked down at his sister again. "You're going to cause trouble when you're older," he told her quietly.
My mate smiled. "She's barely a month old."
"She has wings."
I chuckled softly. "Not everything with wings causes trouble."
Kalel looked up at me. "Yes it does."
My mate laughed quietly at that. The sound filled the room softly.
Outside the windows, the Night Court stretched into darkness and starlight. Inside the house, the fire crackled gently.
Kalel continued holding his sister like she was the most important thing in the world. My mate rested against my shoulder and for a long moment no one spoke.
We simply existed together. Our family. Complete.
Everything felt exactly the way it was meant to be.
A/N - Last part and we just have lots of softness :)
This has been such a joy to write, I hope it left you feeling a little soft and a little happy. Please let me know what you think x
The next series is called "Eternal Hunger" and it's a vampire AU—the masterlist is already posted for anybody interested!!
hiii i just finished night 5 of 7 and i feel like death 🫶🏼 buttt that’s not why i’m here… i can't promise anything, so please don't hold me to this but would anyone be interested in an ADULT Nyx x reader fic? someone asked on Wattpad months ago and i said no at the time but now i think it could be fun to write something with Feyre and Rhys parenting an adult as a subplot. and before anyone gets excited (or the opposite) i am still promising NOTHING 😭 this is purely me being curious. once i actually start writing something i could very easily change my mind again. i just wanted to see what you guys think!! (ignore any mistakes, i'm sleep deprived )
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 :)
Pairing - Batboys x Platonic reader (Azriel x Rhysand x Cassian x reader)
Summary - Growing up with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel meant accepting one simple truth. Peace was never an option. Not in Windhaven. Not in Velaris. Not anywhere they exist.
They prank her like it's a blood sport. Scare off anyone foolish enough to flirt. Hover when she's sick. Snowball fights become tactical warfare and a casual smile at the wrong male becomes a territorial incident.
Three of the most powerful males in Prythian—High Lord, General, Shadowsinger. And somehow, she's the one they call trouble.
Three brothers. One sister. Absolutely no mercy.
Tags - found family, platonic relationships, banter, humour, playful chaos
Contents -
𝜗ৎ One | The Beginning | 2.4k words
𝜗ৎ Two | Territorial Instincts | 3.5k words
𝜗ৎ Three | A Quiet War | 2.8k words
𝜗ৎ Four
𝜗ৎ Five
𝜗ৎ Six
ACOTAR Masterlist
A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.
Request by @galacticoceans in messages—platonic Bat Boys x reader! Expect found family, endless banter, teasing, comfort, and all the little moments that make life with these four chaos magnets... interesting :)
Each part is like a tiny scenario in their wild, messy, loveable lives. There will be laughter, protective shenanigans and all the feels x
Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3
