summary: you meet azriel's family for the first time- well, they meet you, and you're blissfully unaware
Azriel doesn't often pray.
It's not so much a practice that many Fae engage in, but a lifestyle that few adopt and leave the many out of. Azriel is not an extremely religious man, but he's praying to whoever wants to listen to him- be it the Mother, the Cauldron, hell, even a human god - that no one is awake when he gets home.
You're snoozing against his chest, one of his hands under your knees while the other curls around your back to support your weight. You'd dozed off on his shoulder down by the bank of the Sidra and he's sure that he would have had to be a vile, cruel man to wake you. Instead he'd scooped you into his arms, walking at a steady pace and shielding you from the chilly night air with a blanket of his shadows that were all-too delighted to swarm your sleeping figure. They adore you, and Azriel feels a phantom pull at the corner of his mouth that he doesn't indulge in, instead readjusting his hold to tuck you further into his chest.
You let out a sleepy sigh against his neck, face burrowing there like a heat-seeking missile. Your breath fans out over his neck and down his chest, warming him and chilling him all at once. He nearly stumbles in his path, suddenly overcome with the privilege it is to be able to do this- to hold you, to feel you, to love you, to carry you to bed when you doze off on his shoulder like he makes you feel safe.
You're newly mated but taking it slow. You haven't made him food yet, and he doesn't want you to, because he wants to savor moments like these. Moments where you're leaning into his touch not because your body tells you to, but because your heart does. You'd gazed up at him earlier and told him you'd seen a black cat roaming the streets outside of your job earlier, and you'd thought of him. You'd said it so sweetly, 'It made me think of you- I think it was you coming to say hi to me, wasn't it?'
His heart had nearly beat right out of his chest. Your pretty eyes when you'd said it, your pretty voice, the way you'd leaned closer to him until your legs were brushing his were all so much to bear that he'd almost stopped breathing. This tender sweetness isn't slow to him, it's not boring or excruciating or anything else that Cassian has described not bedding Nesta as, and he's more than happy to take his time with you if it means carrying you home after date nights by the river.
The only problem is, he can't take you home. Not to your apartment; you're already starting to shiver despite his shadows which means it's too cold to walk you the length of Velaris, and he'd wake you if he flew. The distance between your apartment and his residences has never been an issue due to his wings, but the last thing he wants to do is wake you, so he carefully treks up towards the River House and prays for an empty foyer.
What he gets, of course, is his entire family awake and alert.
If they'd known he was going out on a date earlier, they hadn't said anything. But Morrigan had looked long and hard at his attire, and Amren had scathed about the cologne he'd chosen, griping about how she hated special occasions because 'the boys switch their stenches'.
He ascends the staircase as steadily and gently as possible, his senses on overdrive as you breathe against him and he tries scoping out the environment simultaneously. It's rather hard to focus and so he takes a deep breath, sending a shadow to open the french doors in the garden and stepping into the seemingly empty space.
Damn his family- they'd been too smart to sit within eyesight.
They're bunched up on couches and chairs to his left and his right, eyes widening and filling with glee as he carries in a sleeping woman. There are shadows clouded around your face that keep you shielded from the bright lights of the foyer, but Rhysand throws out a hand anyways to dim them.
"Well-"
"Don't." Azriel and Cassian speak in unison, two brothers going head to head as Azriel tucks you tighter against him, "She's asleep, and she will stay asleep. We can talk later... I will talk later. Just- let her sleep."
"I'm expecting her for breakfast." Rhys warns, and Azriel will be sure to smuggle you out before the table is set should you wish to escape the chaos.
"She's pretty," Feyre breathes, her eyes glittering, her and Morrigan craning their necks to catch a glimpse of your face, but everyone keeps their voices low and no one protests as he heads for the stairs. Azriel can sense that they very much want to, but he thanks the mother at least for their respect as he stars up the stairs, shoes tracking wet footprints against the carpeting that he's sure will be magically expunged by morning.
He lays you in his bed with reverence. He can't believe he gets to put you there- it doesn't matter to him that your clothes are on or that your hair had gotten frizzy against his shoulder, that your fingers are cold to the touch or that your breathing is starting to thicken in soft snores. You couldn't be more beautiful to him than like this: peaceful and safe in his bed.
He backs away and surveys you like a masterpiece. He nearly forgets to cover you, but his shadows drag his thick duvet up around your shoulder as you turn on your side, nose pressing into the pillow Azriel is sure smells like him. Then he remembers he's getting in with you, and dazedly wanders to his dresser to get changed. He opts for a respectable amount of clothing instead of his usual briefs, and tears prick at his eyes when you roll into his arms the second the bed dips beneath his weight. You let out a hum- a sound so groggy yet satisfied that it thrums in his ribcage, playing at his heartstrings like a harp. He found you. You found him. He gets to do this for the rest of his life.
He's never fallen asleep faster than he has with his arms around you, and it'll be well worth the interrogation he receives from his family tomorrow morning.
In the bathroom at Rita’s, bending you over the counter and wrapping a scarred hand around your mouth to stifle your moans.
On the dinner table, after everyone’s gone to sleep, pinning your wrists above your head and rutting his hips so hard that the table moves almost a foot off from its usual spot.
In the back alleyways of Velaris, fingers pumping in and out of you, voice taunting as he forces you to orgasm quiet enough so that you don’t get caught.
Against a tree, at a party in the Day Court, whiskey running through his veins as his fists grip onto your hair and teeth graze against your neck.
In the library, pinning you up against the bookshelves, with his face buried in your thighs as he holds your legs up over his shoulders.
Over his desk, in his office, with your face pressed into the papers spread across the mahogany, drool falling out of your mouth as he fucked your third orgasm out of you.
A/N: Sorry I disappeared, work has been kicking my ass and my psychiatrist thinks my on going mental health struggles may be caused by my untreated ADHD so I've been all over the place. But I saw a tik tok about ways to ragebait men and I got a little boost of inspiration. Hope you all enjoy!
-------------------
Cassian:
He’s been a prick all day; starting at training first thing in the morning, flaring his wings and winking whenever someone is looking at him, peeling off his shirt even though it’s freezing. Then at breakfast with his brothers, when the waitress had openly flirted with him and he’d called her sweetheart, even though he knows that you hate when he calls anyone that but you. Now, at Rita’s, sitting in a booth, toned arms stretched out over the back of the leather seat, not so subtly flexing those rippling muscles and tattoos. You suspect he might actually be able to get off just on riling you all up like this. It has to be on purpose.
And honestly, you shouldn’t let it get to you, you know that he doesn’t really mean any of this shit. He thinks it’s funny when you turn a little green with jealousy; loves it when you make your own not so subtly show of claiming him in front of other people. But today it’s just rubbing you the wrong way.
So when Azriel, Rhys and Mor all join you in the booth, drinks in hand, you down a shot of liquid courage and turn to face the towering male.
“Cass, do you ever wish you were taller?”
Beside you, Mor snorts her drink all over the table. Rhy’s bellowing laugh echoes across the cavernous space. Even Azriel breaks into a grin, though he tries to hide it behind his glass of whisky.
Cassian is predictable. His eyes darken, just a fraction, the grin on his face slipping nearly into a sneer as he adjusts his sitting position to his full height.
You take another sip of your drink, trying to not burst into a fit of giggles as he stares you down like your an opponent on the battlefield.
“No, no sweetheart, the thought had never occurred to me.”
“Hmm,” you say into the rim of your glass. “Why not?”
“Yeah, Cass, why not?” Rhys jeers, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You are kind of small compared to the rest of us.”
Mor is still laughing, even as she reaches over your shoulder to drunkenly squish his cheeks in her hands. “So cute and tiny. The wittle lord of bloodshed.”
Cassian takes a sip of his drink to collect his thoughts and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep it together.
“I don’t think little is a word anyone has ever used to describe me.”
You let your gaze slowly roam down his broad chest, down that trim waist, and over the muscled thighs you love to sit on so much. “Hmm. Maybe you weren’t listening.” You shrug and take a sip of your drink, satisfied with the outcome.
At least, until a waitress comes with another round of drinks, tearing everyone’s attention away long enough for your mate to lean down, warm breath fanning the side of your face, as he whispers, “That’s certainly not what you were saying about me the other night, sweetheart. Maybe you need a reminder when we get home, hm?”
Maybe you played right into his game in the long run, but it was only fair, he started it.
And now you know exactly how to rile him up in the future.
------
Rhysand:
He’s been trying to get ready for over an hour, endlessly changing suit jackets and shoes and it’s all starting to blur together. Somehow, you’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed, ready for nearly thirty of those sixty minutes. The wait is starting to get annoying especially when there is nothing wrong with any of the outfits he’s put together.
Honestly, you’re not really trying to be mean, you’re just bored and the words slip out before you can stop them. “What does your tailor do for a living?”
He stills, wings twitching, as he looks at you over his shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. “What was that?”
You can physically see the blush dusting your cheeks, but the boredom is winning out, and truth be told, you love seeing the polished High Lord get thrown off his game every once in a while. He’s always so quick-witted, always prepared with a comeback. The moments you can catch him by surprise are rare, and you’ve got to take advantage of it.
“I asked what your tailor does for a living.”
“He’s a tailor,” his wings are still twitching as he straightens his lapels. “Tailoring is a job.”
“You sure?”
He turns to face you, brows raised. “Did you hit your head?”
“I mean, those sleeves aren’t even-” they are “and they don’t pair well with the bracelet,” it’s a watch. A really expensive watch at that.
A muscle in Rhys’s brow bulges, as he reaches out to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Do you have a fever? This is a watch.”
“Looks like a bracelet to me.”
“It has numbers! It tells time!” He says, voice a tad shy of shrill.
You bite down a laugh. “It’s shiny. It’s on your wrist. It has a little clasp. It’s a bracelet.”
“No-!” He bites his tongue as he unclasps the watch and tosses it on the bed with a growl. “You’re being ridiculous and we don’t have time for this.”
“How can you tell what time it is if the clock’s in the kitchen?”
The bond you two share pulses with such an intense wave of frustration that you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. You try to cover it with your hands or a cough, but it only makes it worse.
The tightness in Rhys’s shoulders drops as you double over, “You’re so easy to mess with.”
“Ha ha,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should do a comedy routine at Rita’s.”
When you finally manage to collect yourself you stand and go over to him. He doesn’t move, frowning like a statue there in the center of your bedroom. You grin as you stretch up on your tiptoes and give him a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re taking this dinner too seriously.”
“Well you could have been more supportive,” he huffs.
“I was very supportive of the first and second outfits, both were perfect. Just like you.”
He makes a little grumble as you kiss him a second time.
“No stop pouting and pick something before we really are late.”
He tosses the suit jacket into the growing pile on the bed and slides into the first, midnight black one he’d had on an hour ago.
“And maybe add the bracelet, it’s cute.”
He smacks your ass in response this time. “You’re so mean to me.”
“You love it.”
A ghost of a grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I do.”
-----
Azriel:
Azriel’s more of a pouter than a reactor; bottling up his irritation, letting his shadows writhe around him when he’s upset or on edge. Most of your attempts to ragebait him have failed horribly. It’s so bad that Nesta has a betting pool on what phrases she thinks will get a verbal response from him.
Obviously, you can’t use them all at once, he’ll be on to your scheming, but you’ll slip them into conversation every once in a while and lay in wait for the day you finally get him.
Coming up from the Library to bring lemonade to the Valkyries and their training partners on a particularly hot day seems like a good time to give it a shot. The question has been sitting at the top of Nesta’s betting pool, and on a summer day, when all the males have stripped off their shirts, seems as good a time as any.
You pass over the glass of ice cold lemonade and start casually, “So Azzie, I’ve been thinking.”
He takes a sip, eyes never leaving yours over the sweating rim of the glass, waiting for you to finish.
“I kind of want to start working out. I’m tired of getting winded going up the Library steps.”
His eyes light up at the thought; he’s been begging for you to join him for at least a session a week with him, like Nesta does with Cassian. You almost feel bad for the words that come out next, with how happy he looks. “Do you know anyone who can recommend a good gym?”
Out of the corner of your eye you see Emery clap her hand over her mouth to hold back a snort. Nesta’s icy eyes are glued to Azriel, waiting, hoping for some sort of reaction.
At first, the Shadowsinger merely quirks a brow at you, as if you’ve made a joke he doesn’t quite understand. His shadows drift lazily off his tattooed biceps, drifting on the dry breeze to dust affectionately over your cheeks. As much as you love the contact, it’s a bad sign, because it means he’s not worked up over the comment, just taking a second to think.
“I can think of a certain someone, yes,” he says with a smirk.
And that’s how you end up running laps with Cassian for an hour, until your legs give out and you lie face down in a patch of grass, begging for relief.
Cassian chuckles as he leaves you there and Azriel takes his place.
Your mate squats down to be close to you, grinning wolfishly, as he says softly, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about Nesta’s little bet, love?”
You haul yourself onto your knees, mud streaked across your forehead. “I’ll get you one of these days, Azriel.”
He leans in to kiss your cheek. “If you can catch up to me with your jelly legs that is.”
Nothing, nothing, just marriage of convenience az where it’s obvious you both don’t like each other much, always fighting, constantly butting heads but keep up appearances for the greater good (Rhys demands it so)
But, then you’re doing recon in another Court and some guy is flirting away, shmoozing you and plying you with pretty flowers and trying to show off all the things he can offer you. Azriel appears out of nowhere like some sentient being, wings stiff, posture lethal and gaze murderous; scaring off the male like predators do to anyone who tries to piss on their possessions.
You turn to face him, some snarky quip itching to snap off your tongue but something in his eye makes you pause. He reaches for your left hand, pressing a kiss to the top but his gaze never falters when he questions, “Where the fuck is your ring?”
"If it were anyone else, you would let them go." you grumble.
Rhys sighs and sets down both his utensils. The table goes silent.
No one could get into a fight like the two of you. Perks of knowing each other since you were children. Rhys is like the little brother you never wanted, but really treasured. And you were like the older sister he never asked for, but really needed. Especially after his mother and sister were brutally taken from him and his father died.
Which is how you now that he's treating you differently. If it were Azriel or Cassian asking to go on this mission he would happy oblige. If it were Feyre he might hesitate but he would let her do it. Mor or Amren he would let them do it. Nesta, well he doesn't tell her what to do ever. And Elaine, if she wanted to do something like this you think he might watch in shock. Never mind the valkyries.
"So you understand, great." he says sassily.
You slam the table, "Stop being rude. I deserve to go on this mission. I deserve what I'm owed."
"What makes you think-"
"I'm owed the head of the man who massacred my family. I am owed Rhysand!" you shout.
"Maybe we can come back to this conversation-" Cassian starts.
You and Rhys look at him in an instant. "Butt out Cass."
Cassian puts his hands up in surrender. You grunt and apologize to him. He nods his head once and places his hands down. You look over at Rhys.
"I'm going. Whether you want me to or not. I'm not asking for permission." you speak.
You stand up from your seat and storm out of family dinner. Something you have never done before. You know how important it is to Rhys and it's important to you too. But you know that tensions are high and you might say something you can't take back.
Its a long walk to your room. And as you sit on the edge of your bed you can't help to think to yourself about the circumstances. If this were Rhys, if he could go after Tamlin you wouldn't stop him. You'd help him.
So why does he not want you anywhere near this?
Your door opens and you green yourself up for a fight, thinking it's Rhys. But when your eyes meet Azriel's you deflate a little bit. Actually a lot. You can feel the tears forming in your eyes.
"I'll ask him to put me on the mission. And then I'll winnow you in." he says.
You look at him in pure confusion. You can't believe what he's saying. Was Azriel...defying orders for the first time? You've never seen him do something like this. To offer you something like this?
"Az, you can't." you say.
"I can. If you agree." he says.
"Why would you disobey Rhys like that?" you ask.
He looks at you. His eyes are basically piercing into your soul. And while you look into his eyes you understand why he's not answering you. He's not saying anything but he's saying everything.
"You know why." he puts simply.
It doesn't surprise you. It doesn't come as a shock. You don't know why but with him standing there and looking at you, you feel it. What you've been feeling for a while underneath the surface.
And he doesn't say anything else. He leaves and shuts the door behind him. You sit there with nothing else to say either. You don't chase after him. You don't call out his name.
Azriel. It's Azriel. How have you been so blind this whole time?
Summary: your mate forces you to stop working and take some time for yourself.
Wc: 1k (short and sweet)
Written for this request: Hey, Could you do prompt no.94 for Azriel?❤️✨
Also hi, I’m alive. Just getting my butt kicked by a very busy work schedule right now. Sorry this is so short but work is slowing down again so I’ll actually have more time to write. Also I wrote this on my phone.
I sat up at the desk, the words in front of me swimming as I forced my eyes to focus on them. Hands still stained blue from the last pot of ink I had clumsily knocked over with my sleeve. I just had to get this recipe written down. The healing potion that neutralized faebane, the one thing I had been working on for months. I needed to get this test run written down because it was the closest I had been to figuring it out. I knew it was right in my grasp and I could sleep once I was done.
At the thought of sleep, I could feel my eyes growing heavier. My traitorous body demanded I crawl into my soft bed that would smell like my mate. I shook my head again, like I could displace the need. It worked for a second, a deep breath left me as I struggled to recall just how much bittergreen I added to this batch.
The creek of the door had my eyes flickering up slowly before I pulled my focus back to the book in front of me. I fought back a sigh as shadows swirled around my wrists attempting to pull me up.
“You should be in bed, sweetheart.” Azriel’s voice carried from the door.
“I will in a little bit.” Was all I responded with.
“It’s three in the morning. You woke up early to start working and I know you didn’t take a break to eat dinner.” He huffed, his shadows wrapping tighter around my arms to drive home is irritation. A wave of shock went through me at his words. Had I really been at this for that long?
“I didn’t realize…”
“You’re half asleep right now. This will still be here in the morning.” I didn’t hear him walk behind me. His hand ran lightly down my neck and over my shoulders and I couldn’t fight the urge to lean back into him. His hand went to my hair, strong fingers rubbing the tension around my temples. The careful attention made my sleepy eyes burn as I tried to blink them open.
“Az, I need to-“
“No. You need to sleep. I’ll help you with this tomorrow. After you’ve gotten enough sleep.”
I didn’t want to fight with him over this. It was like he could feel his victory. “Plus, you’re not going to be able to read that anyways.” He looked over my head at the book in front of me. I followed his eyes and saw the illegible chicken scratch my handwriting had devolved into. I fought the urge to cry as I noticed the hours of hard work I had wasted.
Azriel held out his hand and with a defeated groan, I took it. When I stood up my legs screamed in protest. Not noticing how heavy my body suddenly was. I tried to take a step and would have collapsed into a pile if it wasn’t for my mates strong arms holding me to him.
He didn’t waste a second in sweeping my body off the floor and into his arms. His shadows swirling around me, clearly concerned for me.
I closed my eyes as I nestled further into his chest. Breathing in his comforting scent as he carried us to our room. I think I fell asleep before he could put me down or maybe I lasted a little longer than that but I barley felt the warm blankets before sleep overtook me for good.
I woke up the next morning burning up. Azriel was fully laid on top of me. Still sound asleep. I wiggled slightly, trying to sneak out from underneath the furnace that was Azriel when he slept. A small huff left his lips as he wrapped and arm around my waist. I waiting for him to wake up but he still seemed to be out for the count. I sighed and decided to close my eyes again. Realizing I had no chance in moving him.
When I woke for the second time, I was noticeably cooler. Azriel was laying across from me, fingers tracing small patterns along my bare stomach. His soft touch immediately making goosebumps rise in their wake.
“Good morning.” He said as I rolled over to face him. I smiled and moved over until my face was against his chest.
“Good morning. Care to tell me why I’m not wearing any night clothes?”
“Well someone wouldn’t let me put them down long enough to get them on. But I had to get your corset off of you at least.” His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m sure you tried very hard.” He chuckled and continued his earlier patterns along my skin. “Thank you.” I said, moving closer to press a small kiss to his lips.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I know we would both work ourselves to death if the other didn’t stop it.”
“You’re not wrong.” I gave him another, longer, kiss. His hands paused to wrap around my waist.
“I just want to see you happy.”
“And naked.” I finished for him. He shrugged and gave me a boyish smile that made me want to do anything but get up. I kicked my leg free of the thick blanket and wrapped it around his waist.
“Well I know what would make me extremely happy…”
The thought trailed off as he pulled me closer to him. His hands and lips tracing all thoughts of work far away.
Summary: Request -Hiyaaa loved your Az story. So freaking good. I had one in mind and wonder if you could write it? Maybe some deep Azriel and reader angst? I'm picturing a scene where Azriel, drowning under his duties and secrets snaps harshly at the reader, our newest healer at the Night Court when she gently suggests he talks about what’s weighing on him. His words sting, making her doubt her role at the court... Read Rest Here
A/N: Whew this was challenging to write but I really love how it turned out! Please let me know how you like it below. And as always, keep sending in your requests!
Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Dawn Court Reader)
Word Count: 6.2k +
TW: Mean Az, Harsh Words (soft ending!)
When Madja, the esteemed healer of the Night Court, realized the growing demands of her duties required an apprentice she petitioned the High Lord for permission to seek out a promising candidate. Her search led her to Dawn Court where your skills and unique approach to healing caught her attention. Impressed, as she often wasn’t, she offered you the chance to study under her. A chance to take over for her in a few hundred years. It was a proposition that both excited and terrified you. Normally you were more risk-averse but something within urged you not to let this opportunity slip by. Accepting the offer might be a decision you'd regret forever if declined.
Your arrival at the Night Court was a mix of awe and overwhelming pressure. You were acutely aware of the Court’s reputation with its warriors and schemers, and its dances of politics and power. Yet, as the years unfolded you found more than just acceptance. You found a place where you felt like you just might belong. Madja was an exacting teacher and under her guidance you thrived. Your skills became indispensable to the Night Court.
Mor, your favorite social butterfly, took it upon herself to integrate you into the Court's vibrant life. She invited you out with the girls to Rita's where the music and laughter helped weave you deeper into the fabric of Night Court society. Cassian with his easy grin and boundless energy offered to train you in physical defense. He said it was essential for everyone at the Court to know how to protect themselves. And even Rhysand himself showed you how to fortify your mental shields as a necessary skill amidst the intrigues that often played out around them.
Yet despite these warm inclusions, Azriel was the only one who kept a cautious distance. The shadowy spymaster was polite but reserved. He often watched you with a contemplative gaze that suggested he was trying to figure you out from a safe distance. His reluctance to engage was not overtly hostile but it was clear he held reservations. His own shadows clinging too tightly, perhaps, to allow another close. This delicate balance of respect and curiosity marked your interactions, or lack thereof, with the spymaster. You often caught glimpses of Azriel as his presence like a whisper in the vast halls of the Court. He was always just out of reach, both physically and emotionally. His aloofness didn't hinder your duties. But it did create a space of unanswered questions in your mind.
One cool evening in the Night Court the opportunity to bridge that distance between him presented itself unexpectedly. Azriel returned from a particularly grueling mission. His arrival unannounced except for the quiet clatter of his boots in the hallway of the healer's quarters. As he pushed open the door, the grimace etched across his face spoke volumes of the pain he was enduring, both visible and hidden beneath the surface.
You ushered him in, your professional demeanor in place yet your heart beating a tad faster with the realization that this was the closest you had ever been to him. His usually guarded expression was replaced with a rare, unguarded grimace of pain. It revealed a vulnerability he typically masked beneath layers of shadows and silence making you feel a touch uneasy.
"Let me help," you offered softly while guiding him to a seat where you could better assess his injuries. The proximity to him in this moment tending to his wound felt like an unspoken permission to finally address the silent questions that had lingered between you. It was an opening to understand the man who had so thoroughly perfected the art of being untouchable.
"Let's take a look at that," you murmur while taking his hand in yours. Your hands are steady and careful as you gently peel away the fabric near his wound. The cut isn't deep, but it's laced with poison, enough to have caused significant discomfort. “I’m sorry. This is going to sting.” You whispered as you rushed off to grab the needed supplies.
As you apply a soothing salve you notice Azriel's clenched jaw and the way his muscles tighten under your touch—not just from the sting of the wound. You've seen warriors in all states, and you recognize the signs of inner turmoil as clearly as physical injuries.
"Azriel," you start, your voice soft but firm, "even the strongest warriors can benefit from sharing their burdens. It doesn't make you weak to speak about what's weighing on your heart." You try and sound confident in your words, but it comes out as meek.
His reaction is immediate and sharp. It cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. Azriel's eyes snap up to meet your with a coldness in them that freezes you in place. "You think you have the right to offer me counsel?" he says with his voice low and biting. "You, who have barely seen a fraction of the darkness I have faced. Yet you presume to understand my duties, my sacrifices?"
You open your mouth to apologize. To clarify your intentions but he doesn't give you the chance. "No, don’t," he snaps. Cutting you off as your heart begins to sink. "Don’t patronize me with platitudes and naive compassion. You know nothing of the burdens I carry. Of the secrets that consume me. You see surface wounds and think to heal a soul scarred by centuries?" It was the most you had heard him speak and unfortunately for you those words made your heart nearly twist in two. Surely that wasn’t what you were trying to do.
Your eyes begin to burn. His words slicing through any defense you might have had. You look down instead focusing on the bandage. To hide the hurt that’s welling up, threatening to spill over. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"
"Save your apologies," Azriel interrupts with a tone as harsh as a winter storm. "They mean nothing in the face of what I endure daily. You wish to help? Do so by not overstepping your bounds again." You drop his arm after finishing up removing the poison and sealing the cut. But he wasn’t done, no. You just wished he’d fly away instead of cutting you even deeper. You had no intention of offending him yet here he was, hurt by your very own words. You’d never truly felt like a helpless child in all your centuries until this very moment.
As he continues his words grow even colder, each one a deliberate stake right into your very own heart. "Understand this, healer. My life, my pains are not fodder for idle chatter or curious minds seeking to 'fix' what they perceive as broken. You cannot begin to comprehend the wars I fight within the shadows. Wars meant to protect you and everyone else here from horrors you should hope never to encounter." His words were final, offering you no chance at rebuttal. Not that you would have been able to find the words. Your mind was racing in horror about what had just transpired in your very own healing hall. You, the one who was meant to mend broken souls might’ve just torn his right back open.
He stands abruptly with his wound tended but the air around him colder than the stone walls of the court. His departure is swift, leaving a wake of silence so deep it echoes through the chamber. You're left alone with the sting of his rebuke more painful than any physical wound you've treated. His words replay in your mind as a harsh reminder of the chasm between his world of shadows and your desire to heal. Guilt begins to consume you as you replay the words that struck you so hardly in your mind.
The room feels overwhelmingly empty as you struggle to compose yourself. The impact of his dismissal weighing heavily on your heart. You realize that healing Azriel might be beyond your reach. Not for lack of skill, but because the wounds he carries are far deeper and more complex than you ever imagined. Perplexed and deeply hurt you find yourself grappling with a tumult of emotions. Confusion is the first to surface. You had approached the situation with genuine concern. Your offer to listen driven by the empathy that defines your role as a healer. His aggressive response, then, feels like an undeserved refusal. A dismissal not just of your words but of your very intent.
You replay the conversation in your mind, dissecting each exchange, each barbed word. His accusation that you, nestled in your world of herbs and healing, could never understand the scope of his darkness stings sharply. It's true though you realize. That the depths of his secrets are beyond your grasp. This acknowledgment doesn't ease the sting of rejection. If anything, it deepens the wound. You had not claimed to understand. You only wanted to listen. And yet, he had cut you off, leaving no room for reconciliation.
As the initial shock fades, a deeper, more persistent ache settles in. You're hurt. Undeniably so. Hurt by his insinuation that your attempts at comfort were trivial, naive even. Does he truly see you as just another court member? As just a healer? Naive to the true workings of his world? The thought is disheartening, and you feel a profound sense of isolation creeping in. A sense that perhaps you are out of your depth in this court of shadows and secrets. Perhaps your mother was right. You weren’t built for the Night Court. You had a wonderful, easy life in Dawn. She had even picked out a high-ranking husband for you that would’ve provided and kept you safe. Her nagging words pricked at the back of your mind as the last five years here almost fell all for nothing. Five years was no time in the world of fae, you knew this. You were still the new healer, but you had thought that maybe you were finally finding your footing here. But then again maybe you were wrong.
Yet, beyond the hurt and confusion there's also a glimmer of resolve. You're a healer, trained not only to mend wounds but to understand the people you treat. Azriel's outburst, though harsh, reveals more than his disdain. It highlights his immense burden. His profound isolation. Perhaps your approach was too direct. Too unguarded for someone so accustomed to concealing his emotions.
As you clean up the space a quiet resolution forms in your mind. You won't push him again, no, not without invitation. The sting of his words lingers, and you decide that perhaps the best way to handle this is to give him the space he seems to fiercely guard. He may have dismissed your concern today but it's clear that what he desires most is distance. Not the compassion you offered. In this moment of reflection, you recognize the complexity of healing. It’s not just about tending to visible wounds. It’s also about understanding when to step back. Recognizing that some scars are too deeply etched to be approached without consent. Azriel has his walls, high and fortified. And you, you decide, will no longer attempt to scale them. Instead, you resolve to avoid him, believing that distancing yourself is the kindest thing you can do for him right now.
This decision doesn't come easy. You're a healer, trained to offer solace and aid to those in pain. Yet, in this case, the healing you want to provide is not welcomed or perhaps even needed in the way you thought. You accept that sometimes healing means stepping back. It means allowing wounds to close in the solitude they were opened in. Maybe with time he will seek you out if ever he feels ready to lower his guard. Until then you'll focus on those who welcome your help carrying with you the lesson that sometimes the best way to care for someone is simply to let them be.
After the confrontation in the healing room the atmosphere at the Night Court seemed to shift becoming dense with an unspoken tension that hung heavily in the air. Azriel quickly became burdened by the discomfort of his own harshness. It wasn’t often but he felt an acute sting of regret. His words, sharper and colder than he had intended, replayed relentlessly in his mind. Each sentence an echo of a reminder of the pain he had inflicted on somebody so kind.
Late into the night he found himself wandering the quieter corridors of the court trying to clear his mind.. The stone beneath his feet was cold and unyielding much like the mask he wore so well. With each step he attempted to outpace his regret, but solitude brought no relief. The memory of the genuine shock and sadness in your eyes haunted him. A vivid image that refused to fade into the shadows where he so often retreated.
Why had he lashed out? Azriel questioned himself. His normally composed thoughts unraveling with unusual disorder. He knew the stress of his duties as the spymaster often left him on edge, a blade perpetually sharpened and ready. Yet, it was more than just the strain of his role. It was the fear of vulnerability. Of opening those darker parts of himself he fought so hard to control. Seeing your concern, so innocent and genuine, had somehow threatened the walls he had meticulously built around his emotions for centuries. He couldn’t become undone by your one simple question.
He hated himself for how he had responded to you. How his instinct to protect his inner turmoil had manifested as cruelty towards you. The more he thought about it the more he despised the part of himself that had become so adept at pushing others away, especially those who dared to care.
As Azriel continued his nocturnal wanderings the shadows around him seemed to whisper of solitude and sorrow. Yet, it was the sorrow in your eyes that lingered most prominently in his mind. He realized then that his actions might not only have hurt you but could also have damaged whatever budding respect or friendship could have grown between you. This thought tightened the already constricting band around his chest. He had messed up badly and he knew it. His shadows knew it.
Resolving to seek redemption, not just for his peace but to mend the fracture he had caused, Azriel decided he would apologize to you. He needed to explain to you. To make you understand that his outburst wasn’t a reflection of his feelings towards you but a misguided defense against his own insecurities.
His journey through the night didn’t erase his regrets, but it solidified his resolve. He would try to bridge the gap his words had created hoping that you would understand and perhaps forgive. In the quiet before dawn Azriel finally stopped walking, the decision firm in his mind. Tomorrow, he would face you again, not as the Night Court's daunting spymaster, but simply as Azriel… imperfect and remorseful.
As he moved silently past the gardens the moonlight cast a serene glow over the night-blooming flowers illuminating the path with a ghostly light. Drawn by the soft, muffled sounds of distress his shadows unconsciously steered him towards a secluded alcove hidden by tendrils of ivy and the long shadows of the towering trees. It was unmistakably you. His heart tightened as he approached. Driven by a mix of concern and a need to understand the impact of his earlier harshness.
There in the dim light, he found you seated on a small bench. You were not alone, but with one of the younger assistants from the healer's quarters he had recognized. The assistant, whom you often mentored, sat beside you with a hand on your shoulder. Her presence meant to support you as you struggled with a flood of emotions.
"I don’t know any more Helena. Maybe I just don't belong here," you whispered between sobs. Your voice shaky with uncertainty. Tears streamed down your cheeks unrestrained after holding them back for so long. Azriel's words had not just stung. They had acted as a dam break, releasing all the pent-up doubts and fears you had about your place in this illustrious court. "I keep thinking maybe I should just go back to Dawn. My very own mother always said I was chasing a fantasy coming here. Maybe she's right. Maybe a quieter life away from all this would be better for me. Maybe I’m not cut out for the Night Court."
The young assistant, Helena, looked up to you not only for your healing skills but also for your kindness and leadership. She listened intently. Her expression one of deep empathy and concern. "You can't think that way," she responded softly. Her voice earnest. "Everyone here, especially Madja, respects you so much. Cassian, Mor, even Rhysand—they all see how much you bring to our home. It's not just you’re healing. It's your spirit. You're meant to be here with us. Please don’t think like that. I’ve learned more than I ever thought possible from you. We need you here."
Her comforting words were meant to bolster your spirits, but the reassurance felt hollow against the backdrop of your raw emotions. Despite her encouraging tone, the doubts seeded by Azriel's harsh outburst lingered. They tainted your thoughts with shadows of uncertainty about your place in this world you had grown to love yet still sometimes felt alien in.
Azriel was hidden just out of sight. He felt a deep pang of regret as he listened. The raw pain in your voice and the sight of your tears struck him more profoundly than he had ever expected. He realized then that his careless words had cut far deeper than he had intended, not just challenging your confidence but piercing the very core of your sense of belonging. Knowing that an apology would be necessary but not sufficient, Azriel resolved to actively show that you were valued and essential. Not just as a healer but as a vital member of their community. His thoughts solidified in the quiet of the night. He would make amends, starting with a heartfelt apology and followed by actions that would hopefully restore your faith in your place at the Night Court.
It was an ordinary yet busy day in the healer's quarters of the Night Court. You were deeply focused on tending to a young fae warrior who had sustained a minor but painful injury during training. As you carefully applied a healing salve the sound of urgent voices and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.
"He needs help now!" Azriel's voice carried a tone of dire urgency as he burst into the room. He was supporting a limping Cassian whose leg was bleeding profusely from a deep gash surely laced with poison. These damn Illyrians always coming back with some form of poisoned injury. The sight of such an injury would normally have you on your feet and rushing over. But the presence of Azriel, the harbinger of your recent heartache, gave you pause.
For a split second your gaze met Azriel's and the memory of his harsh words and cold dismissal surged through your mind. You looked away as quickly as you could. Your chest immediately tightened with anxiety at the thought of what to do. It wasn’t fair to Cassian to ignore him, but you didn’t think you could face Azriel right now. Terrified of another confrontation and still raw from the last you quickly turned your attention back to the young fae before you.
"This one's in a critical state, I need to focus here. Helena, please attend to the General." you called out your voice slightly louder than necessary. The lie laid bitter on your tongue. It wasn't entirely untrue. His injury did need attention, but it certainly wasn't as dire as Cassian's condition.
Helena, who had followed in behind Azriel and Cassian, quickly stepped forward to assist, sensing the tension. "I've got him, don't worry," she spoke as she moved to tend to Cassian with a swift efficiency that you were grateful for.
As you focused intently on the young fae's injury with your back turned to the drama unfolding behind you, you heard every strained whisper and shuffling footstep echoed ominously. Despite your efforts to concentrate your mind spun with anxiety and dread. You knew your actions were a protective shield guarding you from a confrontation you felt unprepared to handle.
Behind you, Azriel's concern for Cassian was palpable. His usual stoic demeanor was pierced by urgency. His voice a low, constant murmur as he assisted your assistant. Yet, his mind was partly on you. He was troubled by the palpable tension and the rigid set of your shoulders. The memory of his previous harshness towards you weighed heavily on him, mixing regret with a newfound caution. He wondered if his actions had broken something essential. Perhaps fearing that your trust in him might be irreparably damaged.
Cassian, despite his pain noticed the strained dynamics as well. As your assistant worked on his wound his eyes flicked towards you, then back to Azriel. "What happened between you two?" he hissed under his breath not missing the unusual distance you kept. Azriel's silence was an answer in itself. It was filled with remorse and resignation. Cassian's frown deepened. Concern for his friends overshadowing his physical discomfort. "You need to fix this, Az," he muttered, firm yet worried. "She’s not just any healer. She’s part of this family now. She’s going to replace Madja someday."
Once the immediate crisis was handled and Cassian was stable Azriel made his way towards you. His steps were hesitant, each one heavy with regret. When he paused by your side his presence felt like a cold shadow. His usual warmth for his family became obscured by the barrier that had formed between you.
"Thank you," he said softly. His voice low and perhaps understanding more than you wanted him to. "For all that you do here." You sucked in a breath at his words. Was he apologizing? Was he sorry? Were you completely misreading the situation yet again?
You didn't turn to face him. Fear of what you might see in his eyes—anger, disappointment, or worse, indifference—kept you fixed in place. "Of course," you managed to whisper. The words barely escaping your lips. He sensed that this wasn’t the time nor place to dig deeper so he resolved to keep his words simple. He would find you later when you weren’t busy working. He truly needed to apologize to you.
After he left the weight of the encounter settled heavily upon you. You felt a mix of relief at having avoided direct confrontation and a deep-seated guilt for your evasion. You knew this wasn't just about professional duties. It was about the fractures within a team, a family you had grown to cherish.
Later, as the healer’s quarters quieted and the evening settled in, Cassian found you in the gardens, where the night’s cool air seemed to echo the chill in your own thoughts. It was your favorite place to relax and unwind. Your sanctuary in the chaos that was the Night Court. He approached with a confident stride despite his recent injury and his expression was serious.
"Hey," he started. His voice carrying a hint of his usual directness mixed with concern. "Things were off between you and Az today. He’s worried, and frankly, so am I. We’ve all had our rough patches, but we don’t let that drive a wedge between us. Yeah?"
You paused, looking down at your growing herbs rather than meeting his gaze. You let out a soft sigh before answering him. "I’m just scared, Cass. I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing again. It’s like... I’m tiptoeing around landmines with him. How do I even start to fix that?"
Cassian nodded. His features softening slightly. "Az can be intense. I won’t argue with that. But he’s also one of the most upright guys I know. Just be honest with him. Tell him you’re trying to avoid making things worse. He respects straightforwardness. Always has." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "And remember, it’s not just about avoiding the landmines. It’s about clearing the field. Start with the truth. It’s always been the best foundation for us here, no matter how hard it might be."
You nodded appreciating his words. He was right. The truth got you so much further. "Thanks, Cass," you replied feeling a resolve begin to form. "I think I’ll talk to him. Just lay everything out."
"That’s the way," Cassian said with a brief nod. "We’re all here together, and we keep no secrets... save Azriel,” He smirked knowing that’s likely what got the two of you in the situation in the first place. “At least not the kind that hurt. If you're honest, he’ll listen. And if there’s anyone who can understand the value of facing hard truths, it’s Azriel."
As Cassian left you to your thoughts the weight on your shoulders didn't lift entirely but you felt more prepared to face the challenge ahead. Honesty would be your approach; you would share your fears with Azriel, hoping that it would bridge the gap between you. After all, in the Night Court, even the darkest shadows were faced together, not alone.
The next night you found yourself back in the serene confines of your herb garden where the evening light softened the edges of each leaf and petal. You were deeply absorbed in tending to a cluster of chamomile. The quiet focus on your plants provided a necessary reprieve from the swirling anxieties that had occupied your thoughts lately. However, your calm shattered when a shadow loomed unexpectedly over you. Azriel.
Startled, you looked up, only to find him standing there watching you with a curiosity you’d never seen from him before. His sudden presence was imposing and unexpectedly close and sent a rush of panic through you. His height and the intensity in his eyes seemed to fill the space making the air around you feel thinner.
"Oh! Azriel, you surprised me! I didn’t hear you walk over," you blurted out. A nervous chuckle escaping you as you hastily tried to gather your scattered wits. "I was just, um, focusing here, and—you know, plants don’t really talk back, so I guess I wasn't expecting any company."
He paused after noting your discomfort. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you," he said gently. His voice a soothing rumble. "I came to apologize. For the last time we spoke. I was too harsh. It was unfair to you."
Your response tumbled out in a rush. Your words tripping over each other. "No, no, it’s fine, really. I mean, not fine fine, but you know… I should’ve been more aware or something. I’m usually not this jumpy, I swear. Maybe a little—actually, maybe a lot right now because, well, you're kind of, um, imposing? And this wasn’t how I imagined our next conversation going..."
Azriel’s slight smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it did appear to carry a hint of amusement at your rambling. "I appreciate you saying that, but truly, I am the one who should be apologizing. I’ve thought a lot about what I said... and I regret it deeply. You didn’t deserve that." He took another step toward you as you stood.
You swallowed hard trying to steady your racing heart. "Why are you apologizing now?" you managed to ask feeling suddenly very aware of how close he was standing. The question felt bold, but your voice was anything but confident.
He took a slight step back giving you a bit more space. "Because I realized I might have made you feel unwelcome or undervalued here and that’s… that’s the last thing I want. We all need to support each other, and I failed in that moment. I want to make it right if you’ll let me."
Your mind raced with every thought, but you nodded feeling a mix of apprehension and relief. "I... yeah, I’d like that. I’ve been feeling a bit lost here. Like maybe I don’t belong. It’s been tough, and, well, your words stung. But maybe, I don’t know, maybe we can start over? Try to understand each other a bit more?" As you offered him a tentative smile the garden seemed to return to its peaceful state. The earlier tension dissipating slightly.
Azriel’s gaze softened with a rare flicker of amusement lighting his eyes as he noticed your unease. "You handle the complexities of healing with such ease," he commented with a slight tease in his voice, "yet you seem quite disarmed by a rather simple conversation."
You gave a small self-conscious laugh appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, it's one thing to deal with herbs and potions. They tend not to talk back. It's another to navigate apologies and emotions. Especially with someone who usually keeps his cards so close to his chest."
He smiled and it transformed his face, softening the usual stern lines. "Fair enough," he conceded. Then, his expression turned more serious. The playful glint replaced by a depth of sincerity. "I really am sorry, though. For everything. I know I keep saying it, but it’s because I mean it. I’ve been... difficult towards you these last few years. And I don’t want to burden you with the things I’ve carried. Of the decisions I've had to make. It’s not your weight to bear."
You listened, understanding dawning as you saw the heavy cloak of responsibility he wore. Something that was so integral to his identity yet so isolating. "Maybe not," you replied softly, "but sharing those burdens doesn’t mean you're passing them on. It just means you’re not alone with them anymore. We can share without it being a burden. Sometimes, sharing is how we heal."
Azriel looked at you with something like wonder flickering in his gaze. "I suppose you’re right," he admitted. "It’s just not easy for me. I’ve always thought keeping my troubles to myself was a way to protect others. But maybe... maybe I’ve been wrong about that." The conversation deepened as each of you explored the nuances of forgiveness and the strength found in mutual understanding and empathy. Azriel learned about the power of vulnerability. Not as a spymaster but as a man. And he saw how your empathy and gentle nature enriched the court in ways that strategy and strength could not.
"I've kept many secrets," Azriel confessed. His voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of rustling leaves. "Not because I enjoy the solitude but because I fear the consequences of those secrets unraveling."
"You don’t have to tell me everything," you assured him. "Just knowing that you trust me enough to admit you have these secrets is a step. We all have secrets Azriel. What matters is how we face them and who stands with us when we do."
Azriel nodded. The corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled. A real smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you for understanding."
You nodded but still felt a nagging question at the bottom of your heart. The gardens around you seemed to hold their breath as you voiced a concern that had been shadowing your thoughts. "Azriel, back when you... when you were upset. You called me 'healer.' Is that… is that all you see me as?" Your insecurity got the better of you. The question sounded so much more childish as you asked it aloud, but you needed to know the answer.
Azriel’s expression changed instantly. The regret in his eyes unmistakable. "Gods, I am so sorry, Y/N. I was angry and overwhelmed and I unfairly took it out on you." His voice was thick with remorse. His usual stoicism giving way to a rare openness. "You are so much more than just a healer to us, to me. I should never have made you feel otherwise." Seeing the sincerity in his gaze you felt a complex knot of emotions begin to untangle. Yet, there was still a shadow of sadness in your eyes. A remnant of the hurt his words had caused.
Noticing this, Azriel did something completely unexpected. He stepped closer. His presence enveloping you whole, and hesitantly, almost awkwardly he opened his arms. "May I?" he asked softly giving you the choice.
With a small nod you stepped into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It was a rare gesture from him as he was known for his guarded nature. It spoke volumes of his regret and his desire to make amends. His shadows ever a part of him, seemed to curl around the both of you gently. A comforting whisper against your skin.
As you stood there held in his careful embrace Azriel spoke again, his voice gentler than you had ever heard. "I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. I let my anger and frustrations dictate my actions and you bore the brunt of that. I promise you this, I will do better. You deserve better."
Pulling back slightly he looked down into your eyes, ensuring you could see the truth in his. "Thank you for giving me the chance to apologize, to make things right. I don’t take your forgiveness lightly."
Your heart that was once heavy with doubt and hurt now fluttered with a burgeoning sense of renewed connection. "Thank you, Azriel, for understanding, for this," you said, your voice steady despite the emotions brimming within.
This conversation that was once a tentative path to reconciliation had blossomed into something deeper. A genuine connection fostered by understanding and shared vulnerabilities. Azriel's willingness to show his softer side, to bridge the gap with both an apology and a hug, marked a new chapter in your relationship. One filled with potential for even greater understanding and closeness. Together in the quiet of the herb garden you both began to navigate a path toward healing. Your relationship strengthened by the honesty and empathy of your exchange. It was a tentative step forward. One filled with potential for deeper understanding and a strengthened connection.
As the weeks turned into months, the atmosphere between you and Azriel visibly shifted. You both continued with your roles at the Night Court—Azriel, cloaked in shadows as the spymaster, and you, weaving magic and medicine as a healer. The sharp edges of earlier interactions softened replaced by a mutual respect and an unspoken understanding that grew with each passing day.
One evening during a relaxed gathering at the Night Court, the air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the warm laughter of friends and allies. Under the gentle glow of twilight you found yourself beside Azriel discussing something that excited you greatly—a plan for a new herb garden specifically designed for healing and restorative properties.
As you outlined your ideas your enthusiasm was palpable. "I’ve been researching some rare herbs that could thrive here under the Night’s eternal stars," you explained with your hands gesturing animatedly. "There’s this one flower, Lumina Blossom, known for its potent healing capabilities with poison but incredibly rare. I think with the right care, we could cultivate it here."
Azriel watched you with a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened intently. The usual shadows that clung to him seemed to lift slightly instead replaced by a light of curiosity sparked by your passion. It was a stark contrast to the brooding intensity he was known for. His gaze was fixed on you, clearly fascinated by your knowledge and the excitement that lit up your features.
"Have you considered adding Dawnlight Belle to your garden?" he suggested. His tone encouraging but slightly hesitant, as if he were treading on unfamiliar ground. "I've heard it's a good one. Especially for salves used in treating deep wounds, which unfortunately, we encounter often here."
You paused, your expression a mix of surprise and delight. "Azriel, I'm impressed you’ve heard of Dawnlight Belle," you said while nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, it's remarkably effective for healing deep wounds and incorporating it here would indeed be incredibly beneficial. It's also a bit of home but with a practical use for the Night Court."
Azriel’s smile widened slightly. His usual reserve melting away in the warmth of the conversation. "I thought it might be useful," he said softly. "It’s important to have pieces of home with us. And you’ve done so much to find your place here. It’s only fitting your garden does the same."
The conversation flowed easily between you as it slowly had come to. And as you spoke more about your plans Azriel's responses were thoughtful, showing his deep respect for your work. It was clear that he was not only listening but also truly engaged in what you were sharing.
As the evening wore on you found yourself more relaxed and open to discussing your hopes and dreams for the garden. Azriel's attentiveness and the sincere interest he showed in your passions brought a new depth to your interaction. A sense that something meaningful was blossoming between you, rooted in mutual respect and a shared sense of purpose.
Together you sketched out potential layouts for the garden. His strategic mind complementing your creative vision. The project that was born from a casual conversation was shaping up to be a beautiful symbol of regeneration and unity. It was a confirmation to the growing relationship forming between you as you both discovered the joy of collaboration and mutual understanding.
From across the way Cassian caught Rhysand and Feyre’s attention, nodding subtly towards you and Azriel with a wide grin. "Look at that," he chuckled. "Seems our resident shadowsinger has found a bit of light. Never thought I’d see the day."
Rhys, with a sly grin and a sparkle in his eye that matched the mischief in his voice, glanced over at you two. "Oh, I’d say there’s a bit more than just gardening going on there," he quipped as he leaned back with an air of casual intrigue. "Wouldn’t you agree, Cass? Feyre? It seems our spymaster might just be more enchanted with our lovely healer than he lets on."
Cassian laughed. His loud voice booming across the room. "You're one to talk, Rhys. Just don’t start planning their mating ceremony yet. Let them at least decide if they like each other first."
Feyre, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her place next to Rhysand, chuckled and shook her head. "She seems so good for him I must admit. But don't you dare meddle, Rhysand. We know how that turns out," she teased. Her eyes gleaming with humor. "Remember the Great Cake Incident of '49?"
The group erupted into laughter, including Rhys, who rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Alright, alright, no meddling," he conceded. His voice still laced with laughter. "But for the record, that cake deserved better and meddling here would only help them."
The evening continued with the stars twinkling above as conversations flowed around the room. Your interaction with Azriel, now less guarded and more genuine, did not go unnoticed by those who knew him best. As the night deepened, the easy banter and shared smiles between you and Azriel spoke of something that was quietly strengthening. It was clear to everyone, even without Rhysand’s playful meddling, that something significant was blossoming. Something that went beyond the professional respect of two court members.
Together, you and Azriel discovered that even in a place as mystical and imposing as the Night Court, the true magic lay not just in ancient spells or hidden power but in the connections forged through vulnerability, trust, and perhaps, the beginnings of something deeper.
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vampire!azriel x fem!reader – blood, feeding, rhys watches (more on him soon!). approx. 600 words.
Azriel's ears perk at the shuffling of bare feet in the next room, both his and Rhysand's heads turning curiously as you stumble into view, eyes teary.
You're rather akin to a newborn deer, unsteady as you creep on the balls of your feet, shivering and cradling yourself for comfort.
Rhys doesn't think he's ever seen Az soften with such urgency, his steely countenance turning on its head as that first fat tear rolls over the swell of your cheek.
"My angel," he coos. "Come to me, baby."
You seem to hesitate, but you're quickly enticed closer by the roaring fire at the edge of the room, lulled into his arms without much protest at the crackling promise of warmth. Hues of gold and orange split into dappled rays that climb the expanse of Azriel's bare chest, the milky skin stark against the dark of the sitting room. It's an incentive for you to venture closer, a reward for spending your days shrouded in cold and darkness with this creature that calls you mate.
Rhys quirks a brow. "Who's this?"
It's as though those two words have set every fight response Azriel's body possesses alight, his temper flaring; a growl rumbles through him, his grip tightening as he snatches you up to his chest as though somebody will attempt to steal you away. Rhys lifts his hands in surrender.
You go soft, submitting in an attempt to placate the vexation that crawls through his every vein like molten lava. Your head spins, fatigue weighing down your every limb as though they're filled with molasses. He grazes the edge of a fang along your pulse point. Just enough to break the first layer of skin.
He watches the drop of blood well, ooze and drip, settling in the hollow of your throat.
You sniffle, stomach flipping. He knows what you want; he just enjoys the desperation lacing your tone. You need the release of the feed as much as him. "Please."
Onyx strands of hair sweep over his eyes as he dips his head low to flatten his tongue across your throat, humming lowly at the tang of copper that bleeds over his tastebuds. He nudges your jaw with the tip of his nose.
"So polite, little bird," he hums. "Lean on me, baby. Az has you."
You hiccup, pushing closer into his space. A scarred hand brushes the hair from your throat, fangs entirely unsheathing as the tips of his teeth pierce your tender flesh.
You whine and thrash like a wounded prey animal, but you're quickly subdued as his venom seeps into your bloodstream. Euphoria bursts behind your eyelids, skin buzzing with the high that a feeding always brings you.
The other male's voice is muffled as though your ears are wadded with thick cotton. You sigh when Azriel slips his arms beneath your shoulders and hikes you upward with frantic urgency as he takes longer, dragging mouthfuls, squeezing as though the blood will pour from your wounds more rapidly.
"Az, you should stop. You'll kill her if you feed for much longer."
Azriel pulls away just enough to pant and growl, "She's fine."
The twin puncture wounds pulse and gush when Azriel tilts his head to watch his brother, irises entirely engulfed by inky darkness.
Your head drops, limp against his shoulder. Your limbs are flooded with warmth, body heavy like treacle and sated with the venom that twines around your veins like ivy, burrowing beneath your skin. Azriel's tongue flattens against your throat to clot the blood, sealing your seeping punctures.
"Shall we get you to bed, pretty bird?" he coos, mouth tilting upward blissfully. Your nose scrunches and you mouth at the bare skin as his silk shirt falls away from his form.
You're simply too tired to open your eyes, or protest, or even respond.
