hold me tonight
pairing: Azriel x human!Reader
content warnings: vomiting, fear of death/mortality (?), loneliness, brief mention of past attempted sexual assault, reader needs a hug
word count: 4.0k
synopsis: As if life as the only human in Velaris was not terrible enough, you also had to endure the consequences of your mortal immune system. Azriel refuses to let you suffer alone.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
There were many things you hated about being human.
Every day that passed in this entirely foreign and ethereal world seemed to chip away another brittle piece of your exterior, revealing another mundane flaw hiding beneath your skin. Another weakness.
You wished you had been tossed into that Cauldron.
It was a selfish thought, perhaps. One that used to claw at you with guilt every time it flit through your mind—every time you watched your sisters crawl deeper inside themselves as they grappled with all they had lost. As they mourned what the Cauldron stole from them.
Feyre was decidedly not a shell of herself, though, and she was fae. She was beautiful, strong, more sure of herself than you had ever seen her. She had a mate.
Mate.
They all had mates now.
They all had friends.
A purpose.
Bile rushed up your throat as you lurched for the toilet, the porcelain icy against your feverish skin. Your body heaved, violently expelling whatever illness had weasled through your measly defense system.
When the overwhelming wave of nausea finally abated, you slumped against the hard porcelain, only slightly cringing at where you had rested your head. At least it was your own bathing chamber.
In a magic house.
You huffed a half-delirious laugh, your ribs aching and throat burning as you slowly pushed away from the toilet. Your movements were sluggish, your limbs heavy and trembling as you fully lowered yourself onto the cold floor. Your cheek pressed against the chilled tile, eyes fluttering shut at the momentary relief. You curled in on yourself, exhaustion curling around you like smoke, and you begged it to take you away.
~ ~ ~
A gentle brush against your cheek made you twitch, your face twisting as you turned away from whatever had broken through your momentary reprieve. The touch still lingered, a featherlight caress that followed along your jaw up to your forehead, pressing gently against your sweat-damp skin. Their touch was cold and soothing—a harsh contrast to the bitter chill running up and down your spine.
You tilted your head up, chasing the touch you had turned away from seconds ago. Everything felt heavy. Hot. It was so hot.
“Y/N,” a deep voice murmured. Their tone was cool like their touch, a soothing balm over your inflamed mind cascading into hazy delirium.
You sucked in a breath, your face turning toward the voice. “Y/N,” they said again, this time a little louder, firmer.
You forced your eyes open, your lashes fluttering as light from the window made you wince. It took a moment for your vision to focus, for shapes and blurs to regain their sharp lines and definition—for you to recognize the massive figure kneeling beside you.
“Azriel?” you rasped. You swallowed hard, wincing at the burn in your throat and the acidic taste clinging to your mouth. “What are you doing here?”
There was a little crease between his brows as he looked at you, his gaze otherwise eerily still. “You’re burning up.”
You huffed a pitiful laugh that sounded more like a cough, your ribs flaring with pain. “I didn’t notice.” His palm was still pressed to your forehead, and you were still lying on the floor of your bathroom. Next to your toilet. The mortification that flooded you was almost hot enough to dull the chill nestled deep in your bones. “Did one of my sisters send you?”
Azriel scowled, the crease between his brows morphing into a deep furrow, his lips forming a flat line as his eyes flared with indignation. He pulled his hand away, leaving your flushed face entirely exposed to the stale air around you. You shivered, as if your body wanted to physically remind you that it was currently at war with itself. As if you had forgotten.
Azriel’s scowl disappeared as quickly as it had formed, even the crease between his brows smoothing out as he slipped a hand behind your back. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Let's get up.”
You let him guide you up, not that you really had to let him do anything. He was so large. Even kneeling on the floor with his wings pulled tight behind his back, he still dwarfed you. Everyone here looked like they could crush you with the toe of their shoe.
The change in position sent a rush through your head, your blood pulsing in your ears as your vision danced with spots. You grabbed the edge of the toilet as another violent wave of nausea roiled through you, heaving your body over the bowl just in time to expel whatever little remains lingered in your stomach.
Azriel didn’t leave. As much as you wished he did, as much as you wished you could fall through the floor and weather this alone, he stayed. He stayed with a steady hand on your back that rubbed up and down your spine, the thin fabric of your nightgown a weak barrier between your skin and his.
It was ugly, and disgusting, and you felt like a frail shell of yourself when the heaving finally ended and you sucked in shaky desperate breaths. Azriel brushed the errant strands of hair plastered to your skin away from your face, the tie you had sloppily pulled it back in failing at its job.
“How long have you been like this?” he asked, voice quiet and restrained, as if worried about breaking the fragile stillness that had fallen over you.
You opened your eyes, still sucking in breaths with more effort than you would have liked. You glanced at the window, the sun streaming through with bright beams. You shrugged, sort of, and answered weakly, “It was dark.”
Azriel murmured under his breath, his ministrations on your back faltering. “Why didn’t you call for someone?”
Your mouth was dry. Your throat hurt. Your head ached. You really weren’t in the mood to be chastised. “Who?” you bit out. “How? No one is here. Cassian is away. Nesta is away. You—”
“I would have come. I did come as soon as—” his words cut off, Azriel seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. You slowly moved your head toward him, lifting your head from where it was cradled in your arm still resting on the toilet. He met your gaze, his eyes wild with emotions you didn’t have the energy to tease apart. “I gave you that pen and paper. Told you my shadows would deliver any message.”
You remembered. Remembered the pitiful safeguard your sisters had likely forced upon Azriel to give to you as a sad Solstice gift. “That’s for emergencies.”
“It’s for anything,” he argued, his voice rising a bit. He sighed, shaking his head as his hand came up to cup the nape of your neck, the touch sending goosebumps across your skin. “Are you done?” he asked, voice much softer.
You blinked at him, your mind swimming from the fever and pain and his touches and his voice and the way you just noticed his shadows licking softly at your bare feet. You grimaced as you glanced at the toilet, reaching to flush the contents away as you pushed yourself up. “For now,” you murmured.
Azriel didn’t move, barely gave you space to sit back on your heels. You felt a bit detached from your body, your limbs shaky and heart racing as you struggled to keep your mind tethered to your arms and legs that were meant to carry you through this wretched illness.
“Good,” Azriel said, his voice incredibly close to your ear. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
You shook your head, immediately protesting at the thought of walking to your bed just to inevitably have to hurdle yourself back in here soon. “Can’t.”
“I will get you a bowl,” he said, like a man that was used to plucking solutions out of thin air without being challenged.
Your bed would be nice. You were suddenly freezing after suffering through the wave of heat you had awoken to, and your ostentatious but undoubtedly soft mattress would inarguably be more comfortable than this hard bathroom floor. Your blankets, your sheets—
Your sheets. Embarrassment curled in the center of your chest, almost mistakable for another bout of nausea if you didn’t know better. Your sheets were uninhabitable after you had awoken from your sleep so suddenly, so violently, you didn’t have a chance to do more than throw the covers off your body before the nausea won over you. “My sheets are—”
“Clean.”
Your eyes snapped toward Azriel. “What?”
His lips curved slightly, into what might have been a smile if he was not kneeling beside you on your bathroom floor after watching you throw up in your toilet. You shivered again, a mixture of your self-disgust and the fever sending another chill through you.
His hands squeezed your arms. “Come on.”
You really didn’t want to stand up, but you did want your bed, and something told you Azriel wouldn’t leave until you got up off your bathroom floor. You nodded, head lolling a little too far forward as your vision swam and your ears buzzed.
“Okay?” Azriel asked softly.
You took a slow breath, willing the dizziness and fatigue away for just a few seconds. “Fine.”
Azriel had moved onto his feet at some point, but he was still crouched beside you as he watched you pitifully push yourself up using the toilet as leverage. Whatever blood and tension that had pooled in your head, making it feel heavy only moments ago, vanished once you stood.
You stumbled, reaching blindly for something to stabilize yourself with before two arms curled around you. “Okay,” Azriel huffed, then lifted you with startling ease. “That’s enough of that.”
He was still in his leathers, you realized, only once your cheek was pressed against the dark fabric across his chest. Where did he come from? How did he even know to look for you? Why did he care?
Your chest prickled with indignation as he carried you into your room, an undercurrent of anxiety running through your veins as you thought about just how vulnerable you were. Anyone could have found you in that bathroom. Sure, you were safe here, in this mountain you could never leave unless you asked someone. They said you were safe.
But you were still a human in the fae lands. You were a human in an enchanted house that was your only company for sometimes days on end, and you were weak and alone. You could never defend yourself if it came down to it. Let alone when you were sick and unconscious on your bathroom floor.
Azriel could have done anything he wanted. He could have—he could have touched you. He could have taken whatever he wanted from you, like the males in your village had once tried—had almost succeeded—and they were mere humans. Azriel was not only fae, he was a warrior, a spy, and he served alongside the most powerful high lord. He could—
He sat you gently on the bed, crouching in front of you as his hand came up to cradle your face with so much gentleness, his thumb hovering before wiping away a tear you didn’t know had fallen. “Hey,” he said, voice a gentle hum. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” His eyes ran over you, a little frantic. “Did I hurt you?”
Azriel would never. You knew that.
You knew that.
A sob forced its way through your lips. Azriel’s eyes went wide, and before you knew what you were doing, you were falling into him. Your forehead pressed against his leathers, your nose inhaling the faint cedar scent that lingered around him. His arms immediately wrapped around you, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as you cried into his chest.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured.
The name weaved in between your ribs and coiled around your heart, squeezing tight as another ugly sob broke free. You wanted this. You wanted him. You wanted a life with your sisters. You wanted a mate, a love, like they had—and you never would.
“Hey,” Azriel murmured, holding you tight against him as he came up to join you on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, holding you in a way no one ever had before. Even as a child, you couldn’t remember a time someone just held you. “Breathe, Y/N,” he soothed, the words soft and gentle. “Take a breath. You’re okay. It’s okay.”
“I’m scared,” you admitted through broken and shaky sobs. “I’m so scared.”
Azriel held you tighter. “You’re going to be fine,” he murmured. “Madja is coming. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
You shook your head, sniffing as exhaustion made your sobs die out, but tears continued rolling down your cheeks. “One day I won’t be,” you whispered, the soul crushing words burning your throat.
“What?” Azriel asked softly.
“I’m human, Azriel.” You sniffed, turning your face into his chest. “One day, I won’t be here, whether because of illness, or age, or a stupid accident, because I’m human. I’m weak, and I’m alone,” you choked on the word, trembling as anxiety and exhaustion and lingering nausea scraped their claws through your chest. “I don’t want to die,” you whimpered, shoulders shaking. “I don’t want to die while everyone I love gets to keep living. I don’t want to grow old without my sisters. I don’t—I can’t—”
“Okay,” Azriel murmured, rubbing his hand over your head. “Okay,” he said again, the word sounding fragile. “You’re not alone,” he finally said, the words a soft rasp against the top of your head.
You scoffed, starting to protest, but he cut you off. “You’re not.” He squeezed you tighter. “You’re not alone, Y/N.”
“They have mates,” you argued brokenly, “I will never have that.”
“That’s not true,” Azriel assured, the words sounding a little strangled—like they might mean as much to him as they would to you. “I promise, that’s not true.”
You wanted to argue. You wanted to get mad, to yell, to tell him he couldn’t possibly know that. You wanted to push him away, you wanted to hide from whatever feelings you felt toward the man—male—who currently held you in his lap. You wanted to protect yourself from another inevitable heartbreak.
But like you said, you were alone, and you so desperately wanted not to be. You were sick, and shaking, and the fever was still clouding your mind in a dense fog, even as your volatile emotions started to evaporate under the pressure of exhaustion.
“I’m tired,” you murmured weakly, head lolling against his chest.
“I know.” His hand rubbed up and down your arm, and you might have been falling into delirium when you thought he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “Do you want to change?” he asked, softly.
You nodded, hating the thought of climbing into bed wearing the same gown you had spent hours lying in on the bathroom floor. It was also thin, and short sleeved, and you were freezing.
“Okay,” Azriel said, shifting you gently off his lap. You might have whined, or whimpered, your body aching from the movement and your heart throbbing at the loss of him. He ran a hand over your head as he left you leaning against the many pillows along your headboard. “You’re okay,” he soothed. “I’ll be right—” His breath caught, his eyes snapping toward the foot of your bed. He blinked, his shadows pulsing once, twice, and you thought his ears might have turned pink—it was hard to tell in the dim light of your room thanks to your closed drapes.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said instead, the words releasing some of the tension that had held your shoulders up to your ears. He reached toward the end of the bed, a navy sweater folded neatly at your feet. “Put this on,” he told you. “It will be warmer.”
You glanced at the sweater he had lain on your lap, the fabric absurdly soft and plush against the exposed skin of your thighs. It wasn’t yours.
And as much as you wanted to engulf yourself in Azriel’s sweater, to swaddle yourself in the lush fabric that would feel worlds better than the scratchy nightgown that was beginning to suffocate your skin—you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want him to see how your arms would undoubtedly shake, and you didn’t want to use every last ounce of your strength just to change out of a single article of clothing.
“I can help you?” Azriel asked, a gentle offer with only a hint of hesitation, his hazel irises dripping with sincerity and concern that made you flush all over despite the chills still crawling under your skin.
This was—it was too much. You couldn’t ask him to do this. He should leave. He had done more than enough for you already, more than enough just by caring enough to check on you, for whatever reason that had been. You weren’t his to take care of, and he wasn’t yours to want him to—even if you did, with every fiber of your being.
You were human.
And he—
He was—
He sat down on the bed, his wings draping gently behind him, one covering your lower leg. He didn’t seem to notice.
You dragged your gaze away from the sight of his wing against your skin, forcing your eyes to meet his. He smiled softly, his lips turning up so gently at the corners. “Let me help you,” he nearly begged. Your eyes started burning again, and he reached up to wipe away the moisture that quickly escaped from your waterline. “No more tears,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”
You nodded, taking in a shaky breath as you stared at the sweater still on your lap. Tan and scarred fingers picked it up, setting it beside you on the bed. “It will take seconds if I help,” he said.
“You shouldn’t have to,” you whispered.
His hand cupped your face, your eyes immediately meeting his again. “I want to,” he murmured. A shadow crawled up his wrist to stroke your cheek alongside his thumb. “If you let me.”
“Okay,” you whispered.
Azriel’s hands immediately went to the hem of your gown that was already rucked up embarrassingly close to your waist. Then he paused, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for one last confirmation.
Something in your chest fractured. A fissure branching out from your heart and all the way down to your soul, another hit with the startling reality that this could be your life. If things were different, you could have had this. Him.
You could pretend to have him tonight.
You nodded, and Azriel’s lips pulled into another tiny smile as his eyes stayed on yours, and he pulled the gown up and over your head with gentle ease.
The soft sweater went over your head in quick succession, Azriel guiding your arms through the sleeves as the fabric fell down your torso and pooled around you on the bed. Only then did he let his gaze wander below your shoulders. “Oh,” he murmured, “here.” Then he gently coaxed you forward, and the pads of his fingers brushed the skin of your back as he did up one of the slats in the back of the sweater.
Because it was his sweater. Meant for large, magnificent wings.
“There,” he said, satisfied, and then guided you to lie back into the pillows before standing up. He pulled the covers back, gently tugging them out from underneath your legs just to pull them back up to your chin as you scooted further down.
It had been a very long time since someone tucked you into bed.
Azriel brushed some stray hairs away from your face, and you didn’t even have the energy to care how you must look. He leaned down, his lips pressing to your forehead, and you were fairly certain you were not hallucinating this time—not when his kiss lingered, and he pulled away just to press a second quick peck a little closer to your hairline.
You watched him closely as he pulled away, watched how his shadows seemed to pour from his body and seep toward your bed, watched the way his wings twitched before he refolded them behind him. Watched the way his throat bobbed and his cheeks tinted the same shade of pink you thought his ears had earlier.
“You’re still pretty warm,” he murmured, the back of his knuckles tracing gently over your cheekbone, as if he couldn’t quite pull himself away.
When his touch finally fell away, and he took a half step back, panic squeezed the air from your lungs. “Azriel,” you rushed out, your panic poorly hidden in the rough and breathy words. “Please,” you said, swallowing once. “Please don’t leave.”
His face turned softer than you knew was possible, and you wanted to keep this version of Azriel to yourself for an eternity—even if your chest hurt at the reminder that his eternity would span centuries beyond yours. Tonight then. Tonight, maybe you could keep him, just until you were well enough to stand without crumbling to the floor.
“I’m not leaving,” he assured.
He kicked his boots off, soft thuds on your floor as they fell over. Then he started unbuckling sheaths and straps that held…who even knew what close to his body. “I’m not leaving,” he said again, before disappearing into your bathing chamber.
Your heart was racing. You glanced at the large bowl that had magically appeared on your nightstand, and you desperately hoped you wouldn’t need it. For the first time, you wondered if anyone else knew you were sick.
Probably not, unless Azriel told them somehow. You still didn’t understand how exactly they all communicated with each other.
You hoped no else knew, and that Azriel would stay.
He came out in a new set of clothes, his leathers traded for soft lounge pants and a plain t-shirt, his sock-covered feet carrying him back to you. You didn’t know where he got the clothes, just like you weren’t sure where his sweater you were wrapped in now came from, but you had learned to stop questioning every little thing since living here.
This time, he crawled onto the other side of the bed, his back leaning against the headboard as his wings flared out on either side of him. One of them grazed your cheek as he tried to extend it, then bumped the top of your head as he moved around. “I’m sorry,” Azriel murmured, almost embarrassed. “Do you want me to move?”
“No,” you answered a little too quickly. You shuffled closer to him, closing the distance between your bodies and making more room for him to rest his wing. “You’re warm.”
You had not meant to say that, not really, but Azriel seemed to preen from the possible half-compliment, if you could even call it that. Then his wing draped completely over you, a second cover that offered immediate warmth you were craving. The edge of his wing rested gently against your cheek, the membrane silken and smooth against your skin, and you wanted to touch it with the tips of your fingers—but you were not entirely lost to your illness, and still had some decorum, so you kept your hands tucked beneath the covers, and let yourself finally drift off into sleep as you breathed in the soothing scent of soap and cedar.
~ ~ ~
Later, when your room was darker and the sun no longer creeped out behind the edges of your curtains, you awoke with your head in Azriel’s lap, and his fingers gently drawing figures along your collarbone. His wing still covered you, an extra layer of protection from the outside world that you never wanted to leave.
Your head was spinning as you shifted around, sleep still clinging to the edges of your mind. Azriel’s fingers came up to lightly trace your jaw, the motion gentle and soothing in a way that had you melting back into him, allowing sleep to slowly creep back in.
Exhaustion reclaimed you, and you were dreaming again.
You must have been, when you murmured, “In another life, maybe you were mine.”
And he said back softly, “I am in this one.”
