I think you would eat up a who did this to you trope with Azriel 😛😛
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Summary: "Who did this to you!?"
Authors Note: Lowkey this may be one of my favourite tropes...
Training in the Illyrian camps had always been brutal.
You knew that long before you decided to train.
Bruises were common. Bloody lips happened. Even Cassian had once shrugged at a dislocated shoulder like it was a mild inconvenience.
But this?
This was different.
The male across from you circled slowly, wooden training sword spinning lazily in his hand while several others watched from the sidelines. The afternoon sun beat harshly against the training ring, sweat sticking your leathers to your skin.
“You’re distracted,” the Illyrian sneered.
You tightened your grip on your blade. “I’m fine.”
He smirked.
Then he struck.
Hard.
The force of the blow rattled down your arm painfully enough to numb your fingers. Before you could fully readjust your stance, he swept your legs out from under you which you tried to clumsily recover from.
Pain exploded across your cheekbone as the hilt of his weapon clipped your face hard enough to send you finally sprawling.
The world tilted sickeningly.
You hit the dirt hard.
A few males laughed nearby.
Humiliation burned hotter than the sting of your cheek.
“Get up,” he barked.
You did.
Again and again, he came at you too aggressively for a sparring match. Every strike was meant to hurt. To embarrass. To prove something.
And when you managed to land a decent hit to his ribs—
His temper snapped.
The next shove sent you crashing directly into one of the wooden posts surrounding the ring. The male hit you hard enough that your vision blurred.
You stumbled backward as his hand grasped the front of your leathers, boots skidding across the dirt as he dragged you away forcefully into the middle of the ring, before slamming shoulder-first into the ground once again.
Something cracked painfully along your ribs.
Pain exploded across your side and a sharp gasp escaped you before you could stop it.
The training ring went quiet for half a second.
The male looked almost satisfied.
“You’re weak,” he spat.
You swallowed hard against the pain radiating through your ribs. “I said I’m fine.”
But your voice sounded strained even to your own ears.
He eventually grew bored and wandered away.
You ignored the looks from the others as you left the ring, forcing your breathing steady while your side screamed with every step. You didn’t want pity. Didn’t want a scene.
You especially didn’t want Azriel finding out.
Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed personally committed to ruining that plan.
You had barely made it beyond the training courtyard when shadows curled around your ankles.
Your heart dropped.
Azriel stepped from the shadows directly in front of you.
He took one look at your face and froze.
His eyes took everything in.
Your split lip. The darkening bruise across your cheekbone. The rip in your leathers exposing bloodied skin beneath. The way you were holding your side like breathing itself hurt.
The world seemed to go silent around him.
Even his shadows stilled.
“Who did this to you?”
The words were terrifyingly calm.
You immediately straightened despite the pain. “Az, it looks worse than it is—”
“Who.”
You had heard him interrogate enemies with more warmth than that single word.
You swallowed hard. “It was training.”
Azriel’s gaze dropped to the blood soaking through your side.
Then to the trembling hand you were unsuccessfully trying to hide behind your back.
His jaw flexed once.
“Training,” he repeated softly.
The shadows around him began writhing violently.
You stepped forward quickly before he could vanish. “I’m alright.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That does not comfort me.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word and suddenly the anger on his face looked dangerously close to panic.
Azriel moved toward you slowly then, like he was holding himself together by sheer force. His scarred hands hovered near your waist, hesitant—as though he was afraid touching you would hurt.
“Let me see.”
You winced as he carefully moved your arm from your ribs.
Blood stained his fingers instantly.
He went utterly still.
The kind of stillness that meant something terrible was about to happen.
You knew it immediately.
“Azriel,” you said carefully.
His hazel eyes lifted to yours.
Cold. Lethal.
“Who,” he repeated quietly, “hurt you?”
You hesitated for half a second too long, your eyes instinctively flickering over to the male in question.
That was all he needed.
His shadows surged violently around him as understanding settled across his face.
You grabbed his wrist immediately. “Please don’t kill him.”
His gaze snapped back to yours, and somehow that terrified you more because his expression remained perfectly calm.
“I need you to go inside.”
You blinked. “What?”
Rhysand’s mother’s old house sat just beyond the camp, warm light glowing faintly through the windows.
"Go inside."
"Not unless you come with me."
He didn't say anything for a moment, but eventually he nodded his head sharply.
You heaved a sigh of relief, as much as your ribs allowed you anyway.
Azriel guided you towards the house carefully, one hand firm against your back while shadows circled restlessly around both of you.
“Azriel, I'm fine—”
“You’re hurt. You can barely stand.”
That shut you up because unfortunately he was correct.
Pain stabbed sharply through your ribs with every breath now, your head spinning unpleasantly from whatever damage had been done to your face.
Azriel opened the door and guided you inside with startling gentleness compared to the fury radiating from him.
The moment the door shut behind you in your room, he turned toward the small wash basin, grabbing a cloth to press carefully against the blood at your side.
His hands shook, so slightly that anyone else may have missed it.
But not you.
That scared you more than the injuries.
“Azriel…”
His eyes flicked upward.
You softened immediately at the sheer rage and fear warring there.
“I’m okay,” you whispered.
Something painful crossed his face.
“No,” he said quietly. “You aren’t.”
He cleaned the blood from your cheek with impossible care, but every new bruise he uncovered only darkened his expression further.
When he touched your ribs, you inhaled sharply.
Azriel closed his eyes.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Then he stood.
You immediately grabbed his hand. “Don’t.”
His fingers curled tightly around yours for one brief second.
“You know I can’t let this go.”
“He was just a bit rough, that’s all—”
“He enjoyed it.”
Silence.
Because again—he was right.
Azriel crouched in front of you then, both hands cupping your face carefully despite the blood still staining your skin.
“You are not supposed to look like this after training,” he said softly.
The fury in his voice made tears sting unexpectedly behind your eyes.
You leaned into his touch instantly. “Please don’t kill him.”
A shadow of dark amusement crossed his face.
“I’m going to try not to kill him.”
“Azriel.”
His thumb brushed gently beneath your swollen cheekbone.
“I’m simply going to remind him,” he said softly, “that if he ever touches you like that again, training or not, they’ll never find enough of him left to bury.”
You stared at him.
He stared calmly back.
Oh, he meant business.
“Azriel—”
He leaned forward, kissing your forehead tenderly before you could continue arguing.
“Stay here.”
And before you could stop him, darkness swallowed him whole.
You groaned softly, dropping your head back against the chair. “Mother save that male.”
It was nearly an hour before shadows finally stirred near the fireplace again.
Azriel stepped from them silently.
Your head snapped up from where you’d been anxiously waiting wrapped in blankets.
He looked entirely uninjured.
Calm.
Too calm.
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Did you kill him?”
Azriel paused mid-step like he genuinely needed to consider the question.
“No.”
Suspicion flooded you instantly. “Azriel.”
His mouth twitched faintly.
“I didn't kill him.”
“I don't believe you.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped him then as he crossed the room toward you.
The tension in your chest eased immediately despite yourself.
He was alive. He was safe. Most importantly, he was here.
Azriel crouched beside your chair, hands settling carefully around your waist as though checking you were still real.
“I merely reminded that filth,” he said mildly, “that training with you does not grant him permission to brutalise you.”
You squinted. “Define reminded.”
A pause.
“He will struggle to sit comfortably for a few days.”
“Azriel.”
“And perhaps his hand is broken.”
You stared at him in shock.
Azriel looked entirely unrepentant.
“He shouldn’t have touched you.”
The possessive fury beneath the quiet words made your stomach flip.
You sighed tiredly. “You’re terrifying.”
His expression softened instantly. “Not to you though, right?"
You smiled gently at him, brushing some stray hairs tenderly from his forehead. "Of course not."
The rest of the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
His hands slid carefully up your arms, pulling you gently into his lap despite your quiet protest about your ribs.
Azriel ignored you completely.
He tucked your head beneath his chin, wings curling protectively around both of you while his shadows settled at last.
Safe.
You felt his lips brush softly against your hair.
“No one hurts you,” he murmured quietly, “and walks away unchanged.”
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.
Summary: Azriel’s attempts at an apology fall short, Cassian’s advice backfires, and confrontations force both you and Azriel to face uncomfortable truths—though not the same ones.
Warnings: angst. a heavy grudge, a male incapable of owning up to his mistakes, a well-meaning but wrong-steering best friend, verbal fighting, physical fighting, brief mentions of blood
Word Count: 8.5k
this was going to be two parts but... for the drama, ive decided to offer a feast and not just a meal
Part Two ┃ Series Masterlist ┃ Part Four
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Azriel hadn’t meant to let it sit for this long.
His shadows had been needling him for days, hissing reminders at the edge of his mind: Fix this. He intended to. He just didn’t know how. There were too many eyes on him now, too many people that expected his great, grand apology.
It was hard to focus on anything else. Even when he was with Selene, her words barely touched him. His mind was consumed by the unease that gnawed at him, the constant pull of you, somewhere, still angry over what had happened.
Azriel wanted to ask Selene about her words. Why they’d taken root in his mind, why he’d echoed them back to you. But he didn’t. He let Selene talk, smiled when she asked for his opinion, and tried to let the softness of her lips on his drown out the unease.
He didn’t know exactly why it felt so much harder with you— felt harder to argue, felt even harder to apologize. Everything else in his life, every delicate situation, every broken, jagged thing, he could attempt to handle with steady hands. But you—every time he stepped near you lately, it felt like stepping onto unstable ground. One wrong move, and everything shifted beneath him.
His shadows had made sure to remind him, trailing after you through the house, feeding him fragments of your clipped words to Mor, the slam of a cabinet door when you thought no one was paying attention. They weren’t even subtle about it anymore, curling around his ears like smoke, whispering your whereabouts.
He’d tried small things—leaving you treats, a smoothie for breakfast, or a croissant on a plate with your name carefully written on a napkin. But every time he returned to check, they were untouched. Once, he found the croissant flattened and crumpled, as if you’d squeezed it with a tight fist before tossing it back onto the plate. His shadows confirmed you were angry that night, their murmurs suggesting no coincidence in your evening spent with Mor.
Since then, every instinct told him to stay away and retreat, to wait until he’d figured out the right thing to say instead of stumbling through this mess. But waiting had gotten him here, hadn’t it? And now he was scrambling to undo weeks of silence. He thought, maybe, he should have something written out. Something properly planned, so that he knew what he wanted to tell you. But every time he thought about what to say, his mind came up blank. After hours of failure, he’d convinced himself that, with you, it would come naturally. It always had.
Or, at least, that’s what he kept repeating as he made his way downstairs, finding you in the kitchen.
You didn’t look up right away, but you knew he was there.
“Are you sure you want to be in here without a chaperone?” you said, slicing into an apple slowly. “What if something happens?”
Shadows swirled around his shoulders. Angry, they whispered. As if he didn’t already know.
“Stop,” Azriel said. “Can we just... stop with the comments. Please.”
“Why?” You said, finally tossing a glance his way. “Is it bothering you?”
The look on your face was nothing like he expected. It wasn’t just anger. It was exhaustion, too. He didn’t like it, the way the shadows under your eyes and the stiffness in your shoulders spoke louder than anything you’d said to him in days. Didn’t like that he’d probably been the one to put that exhaustion there.
“Yes,” Azriel finally responded. “It is bothering me.”
You let out a laugh, something low and humorless, and it twisted in his chest. Should he apologize for making you lose sleep, too? He’d already failed at the rest of it—what was one more thing to add to the pile?
Azriel cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”
“Now you want to talk?”
His fists clenched at his sides. The familiar burn of frustration, the heat of guilt, rose up his throat. “How was I supposed to talk to you before when you’d just ignore me or say something snarky and leave?”
You stilled at his words and Azriel was almost tempted to embrace the small flicker of relief he felt. He should have apologized sooner, yes, but you had been avoiding him fervently. He convinced himself he wouldn’t have been able to apologize before now, anyways.
“Okay,” you said, setting the knife down and leaning against the counter. “Well, I’m here now. So what do you want to say?”
Azriel’s eyes flicked to the knife instinctively. It was far enough from your hand that he probably didn’t need to worry. Probably. Not that he thought you’d do anything—though there was that one time Cassian had nearly stabbed him with a butter knife. He’d been significantly less angry than you were now. The memory did nothing to ease Azriel’s nerves. He pushed the image away.
This was it—his chance to fix things. To say all the things he’d been rehearsing in his head. But the words didn’t come. Instead, he found himself saying, “How was the meeting with Keir?”
The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back down his throat. He could see it in the way your expression shifted—something sharp and disbelieving cutting across your face. Azriel didn’t need his shadows to tell him he’d screwed up again. The words had barely landed, and already he was bracing for the fallout.
“That’s what you wanted to talk about?”
Azriel froze. His shadows curled tighter around him. Stupid, stupid. He swallowed, desperately trying to correct it. There was no going back. “Rhys said I should expect some tension at the next meeting. I wanted the full picture.”
“The full picture?” You repeated darkly. “Well the full picture wasn’t great, Azriel. Because you weren’t there. And because I was pissed—because of you.”
Azriel nodded, swallowing hard. Idiot. “Right. I shouldn’t have asked that. I should’ve—” He stopped himself. No, he couldn’t fix that now. He needed to focus on what mattered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, the words leaving his mouth like rocks tumbling down a hill. He hated the way it sounded—weak, like he didn’t mean it. But he did. He just didn’t know how to make you believe it. Azriel continued, the apology already unraveling in his head. “For how you feel.”
“Oh,” you said softly, but there was a thick sarcasm in your voice. “You’re sorry for how I feel?”
Azriel rushed to correct himself. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what did you mean?” You shook your head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Do you even know what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Then what are you sorry for?”
Azriel cursed himself for the hundredth time. Why was this so hard?
Because it was you, he heard his own voice reply, because he couldn’t bear the thought of failing you again. He knew he was failing—knew it in the sharp edge of your voice and the way your eyes narrowed every time he opened his mouth. And still, the right thing to say stayed maddeningly out of reach.
“I’m sorry that your feelings got hurt.”
His shadows slowly loosened, trailing down his body like they didn’t want to be associated with him anymore. He didn’t blame them. You blinked slowly at him, that look of exhaustion softening your features.
“That’s not an apology, Azriel. That’s—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “You know what? Nevermind.”
Azriel was transported back to the night of the fight, remembering how you’d said similar words then, too. He tried to salvage it again, but you were already moving, wiping the cutting board with a hurried motion. You didn’t notice as your apple, barely sliced, rolled off the counter’s edge. His shadows were there almost instantly, catching the fruit before it fell.
You reached out, and for a brief moment, your shoulders softened as you grabbed it from their hold.
“Where are you going?” Azriel asked. He wondered if his voice sounded as desperate as he felt. As frustrated.
“To train with Cassian,” you replied, still not looking at him. Your hand paused on the counter, and you glanced over your shoulder. “Do you think I should stop by Nesta first? Make sure she’s okay with me being around her mate? I wouldn’t want to ruin their relationship too.”
Azriel’s chest tightened. “Can we stop this?”
“No,” you replied swiftly, and Az could have sworn he heard a crack in your voice.
And then the silence stretched. You ate the small slices of apple as you put things away, the quiet dragging on as he stood there, still unable to speak. Finally, you stopped and looked at him. He tried to offer a smile, something to soften the weight in the air. But you just frowned.
“Did you expect to wait this out? Wait until I got over it?”
Azriel shook his head, his voice low. “No. I never thought that. I just—”
“Just what?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
You stared at him for a long moment, like you were seeing him for the first time, and the disappointment in your gaze made his chest feel tight. He should have been able to find the right words. But it didn’t matter anymore, not in this moment, not as you let out a small, bitter laugh, nodding as if something inside you had finally broken.
“Always so afraid of saying the wrong thing that you never say the right one.”
Azriel opened his mouth, desperate to correct himself, to make it right, but the words just wouldn’t come. He had never considered that before—at least, not with you. He’d never thought he needed to say the right things, never cared enough to learn how.
“I never realized how much of an asshole you could be,” you said, with a final, almost dismissive glance. “I guess some females are into that.”
And then you were gone.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Training couldn’t have come at a better time.
You needed to hit something—needed to feel that release. Not in a petty, frustrated way, like slamming your fist into a wall, but in the desperate, raw way that left you aching. It was the only way to escape your frustration and, maybe, remind yourself that you were still you, despite how Azriel made you feel.
And for a while, it worked.
Cassian had spent centuries mastering the language of battle, the unspoken rhythm of war. He could read the tension in a stance, spot when someone's body didn’t follow through with the mind’s intentions. He didn’t get enough credit for it, you thought, his ability to read someone without words. He was looking at you now, with that critical eye, head tilted slightly, like he was waiting for you to crack.
“Alright,” Cassian grunted as he parried another strike. “What’s on your mind?”
You ducked beneath his swing. “Nothing,” you said, deflecting the question with a swipe of your sword. Too fast, too aggressive.
Cassian dodged it easily, raising a brow. “Right. Because ‘nothing’ is exactly what makes you swing like you’re trying to decapitate me.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up, but you didn’t laugh. You weren’t in the mood for his teasing, no matter how good-natured it was.
“It’s nothing. Seriously.”
He rested the flat of his blade against his shoulder. “Come on, spit it out before you take my head off for real. I’ll pester you all day.”
You sighed, pacing a few steps away. He’d wait. He definitely would. And there wasn’t much point in pretending anymore—he clearly knew you weren’t fine. Continuing to train like this was useless when your head was so unfocused. Avoiding the topic wasn’t helping either. At this point, everyone knew what was going on. Hell, they all seemed more bothered by it than Azriel.
Still, you’d been dodging these conversations. Talking about it felt...stupid. Saying it out loud would make it real—all the messy, painful feelings you’d been shoving down would be out there, staring back at you like some pitiful mirror. Your conversation with Azriel this morning had only made your bitterness stronger.
But Cassian was watching you, expecting, and it was nice, in a way. Having someone care this much. Maybe it would be easier to talk to him. Mor had helped, sure, but her comfort recently came in the form of dragging Azriel through the dirt. It didn’t actually solve anything.
"It’s this stupid thing with Az," you muttered finally. "I’m starting to feel like he doesn’t actually care about me."
Cassian leaned on the hilt of his sword. “Well, that’s not true.”
You leveled him with a stare, your body tensing as a surge of frustration ran through you, hot and heavy. “It isn’t? He talked to me for the first time today and didn’t even apologize. Not properly. Just asked about Keir.”
Cassian’s expression softened. “He gets wrapped up in his own head about things. Probably just embarrassed, you know? Doesn’t know how to approach the situation.”
You’d run that possibility through your mind a hundred times. Mor had even said it herself. But it didn’t help with the ache, the anger. It was hard to believe your spymaster—so fearless, so eager to throw himself into the fire—was struggling to talk to a friend. Out of all the hard things Azriel had done, surely a simple apology wasn’t beyond him. You’d forgiven him for so much, had let things go because he was your friend. But you were tired of letting it go. He had the perfect opportunity to apologize, to properly acknowledge how he’d hurt you, and he hadn’t taken it.
“Embarrassed by what? Accusing his friend of something so absurd?”
Cassian tilted his head in subtle agreement, like he too thought the word absurd was right for the situation. “I think Az doesn’t want to be seen as...whatever he thinks people see him as. Like he’s incompetent in love. Or that he can’t handle his shit.” He rolled his shoulders, sighing. “He’s defensive. When he’s cornered, he reacts badly. It’s not about you, Y/n. You know that, right?”
You knew that. Of course you did. But it didn’t feel like a proper explanation this time. It didn’t feel like enough.
“But it feels like it is about me. He listened to her. He took her word, over mine." Your fists clenched involuntarily. "And the way he acted—like I wasn’t worth considering, like my opinion doesn’t matter. I’ve known him for centuries. She—" You paused, taking a breath, "She’s barely been in his life. And he immediately assumes that my care for him is because I just want something from him. That it’s some selfish, self-serving thing. His whole job is to see through lies, Cass. He didn’t even second-guess her.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t actually see it like that. He probably just reacted out of instinct. It’s Azriel, Y/n, he’s complicated. "
“Shit, Cass, way to play sides.”
Cassian sighed, stepping closer. “I’m not playing sides. I’m trying to help. Az makes stupid decisions. Half the time, I don’t think he even understands why. I don’t want you driving yourself crazy trying to figure it out. It’s not worth it.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” you snapped. “Just wait it out? Move on? That’s not happening.”
The words came out sharper than you intended, and guilt pricked at the edges of your conscience. This wasn’t Cassian’s fault—he didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to care. But lately, your anger over everything—over Az—felt like a thorn lodged so deeply under your skin that the irritation seeped into everything. You were struggling to control it.
It was a small blessing there weren’t any court matters to handle for the time being. Rhys was likely still preoccupied with Keir’s incessant whining about your last outburst.
Still, it felt like acid rising in your throat, a bitter burn you couldn’t swallow down, even as Cassian opened his mouth to respond. The words were spilling out of you before he could say anything.
“I’m not even mad about this one fight anymore,” you started, the grip on your sword slipping as your fingers unfurled. The blade clattered to the ground, the sound loud enough to make Cassian flinch. “It’s everything. All of it. He never apologizes for anything—have you noticed that? Like, ever. And I’ve let it slide because that’s just Azriel, right? Quiet, brooding Azriel, who’s somehow above—”
Cassian raised a palm out. “Alright, alright, stop,” he said. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy. It’s not worth it.”
You exhaled sharply, realizing you were halfway to a full-blown rant.
He stepped closer, giving you a knowing look. “Listen, you can’t force him to apologize properly. You just...can’t. You have to let him come to it on his own.”
Your teeth clenched. “I shouldn’t have to.”
Cassian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I agree. Believe me, I agree. But until he figures his shit out, maybe we focus on what you can change.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. What else is bothering you?”
You let out a humorless laugh. “It would be easier to list what isn’t bothering me right now.”
Cassian tilted his head again, considering. “Does it bother you that Selene sees you as competition?”
You blew a strand of hair out of your face. Did it bother you?
Azriel had believed her instantly—disregarded you with a swiftness that stung. He’d accused you of selfishness, of something you’d never been with him. But Selene’s opinion of you, the thoughts she’d planted in his mind, those bothered you too. You hadn’t realized it until now.
She didn’t know you.
And yet, her words had curled under your skin, sitting heavy and raw, making you ache in a quiet, tired way. Worse, they’d made you overthink every interaction with Azriel since. You’d spent so much of your life trying to be the diplomat, choosing empathy even when it sucked—when it drained you. You wanted to like Selene—gods, you wanted to like the people Azriel cared for, even when it felt impossible. But she hadn’t even given you the time of day.
“I don’t like that I’ve been vilified somehow,” you admitted with a frown. “I don’t want to feel like I’m fighting for his attention or validation. It’s not like that.”
Cassian gave a small, knowing smile. “I know it’s not.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not.”
He paused, clearly mulling something over, then asked, “Do you want to hear what I think?”
You gave him a wary look. “I feel like you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Correct,” he said, grinning. Then he sobered. “Az aside...I think Selene’s reaction makes sense.”
You blinked at him, incredulous. Was he serious right now? A sharp heat rose in your chest. “Okay, well, that’s clearly choosing sides—”
“Hear me out,” Cassian said quickly. “I mean, look at you, Y/n. I’d be jealous of you too if I were her. You’re beautiful, smart, someone Azriel deeply cares for. Hell, I’d probably be a mess.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line. “So, because I’m so wonderful, I’m responsible for her insecurities?” you asked dryly, arching a brow.
Cassian shook his head. “No. What I’m saying is that this might be the one aspect of the situation you can change. The one thing you have control over. Maybe talking to her would help. Clear the air.”
You mulled over his suggestion. Maybe he had a point. Maybe talking to Selene would help. Not just to ease the tension, but to give Azriel room to come to you—to clear the air between you both. If you did this—if you took the first step—maybe he’d finally take you seriously. Apologize for dismissing you so easily, so carelessly. You could find a way to move on, comfortably, with Selene in his life. Right?
It wasn’t like the situation could get any worse.
"Okay," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "Yeah. Maybe I’ll talk to her."
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Cassian was waiting for Azriel as he stepped out of the townhome, his massive frame leaning against the railing. One glance at the general was enough to confirm it: Cassian wasn’t there to exchange pleasantries. No—Cassian stood with his arms crossed, his wings partially flared, exuding the barely-contained anger Azriel recognized all too well.
“We need to talk,” Cassian said.
Azriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He tightened his fists, shadows curling around them instinctively, obscuring his hands from view. Not now. Not tonight. He had no energy for this—not for Cassian’s righteousness or whatever lecture he’d come prepared to deliver.
“I’m not in the mood, Cass,” he said flatly, brushing past him.
“Too bad.” Cassian stepped into his path, blocking him with ease. “I didn’t endure an hour of Mor yelling at me for you to decide you can’t have a conversation.”
Azriel paused, his brow furrowing. “Why was Mor yelling at you?”
Cassian crossed his arms. “Because of you.”
“Great,” Az muttered. “What have I done now?”
“I gave Y/n some advice that, in hindsight, wasn’t great. Mor made the situation a lot clearer for me. Now I’m here to make sure you clean up your mess before anyone else slips.”
The mention of your name made Azriel’s chest ache in a way that felt too raw. He’d told himself he wouldn’t think about you tonight—not your voice, not your expression when he’d spoken to you this morning. But here was Cassian, dragging it all to the surface like a wound being forced open.
“I don’t think this is any of your concern,” Azriel said coldly, stepping around Cassian in a last-ditch effort to leave.
Cassian didn’t budge, spinning on his heel and following. “It is my concern because you’re my friend. And Y/n is my friend.”
Azriel could feel his shadows tighten their hold, whispering, urging him to end this. He wasn’t sure if they meant the conversation with Cassian or the situation entirely. Azriel could only control one of those.
“Cass, leave it alone,” he said, his voice low, barely masking the warning there.
“No,” Cassian responded immediately. “You did something shitty and you need to own up to it, Az.”
Azriel’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes friends fight,” he ground out. “Sometimes we get on each other’s nerves, like you’re getting on mine now. It’ll settle.”
“This isn’t going to ‘settle.’” Cassian’s voice rose. “You didn’t just get on her nerves—you offended her.”
The words hit harder than Azriel had anticipated.
“Because the idea of having feelings for me is so offensive? Am I that repulsive?”
The words slipped out before he could stop them, the question jagged, biting. He hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t sure where it had come from.
Cassian blinked, his anger giving way to confusion for a moment before his brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t twist this into something it isn’t.”
Azriel’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of heat creeping up his neck. His outburst had come from nowhere, and now, Cassian’s eyes were full of confusion and something else—something close to pity. Azriel felt small under it, a flush of embarrassment prickling down his body. He wanted to look away, to escape.
He needed to leave.
Think later. Process later. Just get out of here.
Azriel squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet Cassian’s gaze with as much indifference as he could muster. “Are you done now? Selene is waiting for me.”
Cassian stepped closer, his wings flaring in frustration. “Selene can deal with a few lost minutes of Azriel time. We’re talking.”
He moved to step past Cassian, but the larger male blocked him again.
“Is this some weird self-pity thing?” Cassian demanded, his tone growing sharper. “Thinking you’re not worth being forgiven so you don’t even try?”
Those words hit a nerve.
Azriel’s anger sparked instantly, snapping through his ribs like a whip. He couldn’t decide if it was directed at Cassian or himself. But Cassian didn’t understand. None of them did.
“Cass, just let it go.”
“No,” Cassian shot back. “You always do this. You make decisions that are selfish. You push people away because you think it’s easier, and it’s not. It’s bullshit.”
It wasn’t easier—it was never easier. But what was Azriel supposed to say? That it was better than risking more damage? That every decision he made, no matter how distant or cold, was the only way he knew how to protect the people he cared about?
“Cassian—”
The slap came out of nowhere.
Azriel’s head snapped to the side, his shadows scattering in shock before reforming around him. Slowly, he turned back to Cassian, his eyes blazing.
“What the hell was that?”
“Sorry,” Cassian said flatly. “Must’ve been the wind.”
Azriel’s lip curled. He opened his mouth to respond, but a second slap landed, harder this time.
“Would you stop that?” Azriel growled, his wings flaring slightly, the shadows around him vibrating with his tone. “Don’t touch me.”
Cassian stepped closer. “Why?” he asked, mockingly. “This is what you deserve, right? If you’re so terrible.”
The third slap was the breaking point.
Azriel’s fist flew, connecting with Cassian’s jaw in a blur of movement. The force sent Cassian stumbling back a step, but he recovered quickly, his retaliation swift—a sharp uppercut to Azriel’s ribs.
They fought like brothers—wild, messy. Not about technique, but about something else. Azriel wasn’t sure why Cassian needed this release, but he could feel it—the desperate need behind every punch. And Azriel… Azriel didn’t realize it at first, but he needed it too.
He was an Illyrian, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise. Fighting cleared his mind. Whatever Cassian was trying to achieve, whatever he needed to prove, it was working.
Azriel barely registered the sting of each hit. The ache in his ribs, the burn in his muscles—it all blurred into the same tight, unrelenting pressure in his chest. Like there was no room left for air, for thought, for the gnawing guilt that had dug its claws into him and refused to let go. Cassian tackled him to the ground, pinning him, both of them struggling for breath.
“This is stupid!”
“I agree,” Azriel spat, shoving him off. “Get off me.”
“No, you!” Cassian said, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re stupid.”
Azriel sat up slowly, chest heaving as his shadows curled protectively around him.
Cassian shook his head, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re better than this, Az. So be better and properly fuckin’ apologize. If not for you, for me—so my mate will stop glaring at me every time I say your name.”
Azriel’s gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of Cassian’s words sinking into him like a slow burn. His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. Offered nothing.
Cassian didn’t stop. “Gods know Y/n has done enough for you. Put up with enough. We’ve all done shitty things. But you know what? You take the hit, you own it, and you try to be better. You can’t lead with self-loathing forever.”
Azriel sat there longer than necessary, long after Cassian had walked away. People passed by—some casting glances his way, most not bothering to look at all—but he didn’t move. Didn’t feel the flicker of shame he might’ve once felt at sitting there, bloodied and bruised, shadows curling restlessly around him.
The sting in his cheekbone from Cassian’s knuckles pulsed dully, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the gnawing thoughts taking root.
Maybe it wasn’t the fear of you rejecting his apology that held him back. Maybe it was the fear that you wouldn’t.
That you’d accept it.
That somehow, he’d manage to make it up to you. That things would settle for a while, until he inevitably did something worse. Something irreparable.
He was terrified of succeeding—of pulling you back in, of you continuing to see something in him that he wasn’t. That you’d keep believing in this illusion, this version of him he’d somehow convinced you existed.
For centuries, it felt like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable—waiting for you to see him as he truly was. And if he made this right, if you forgave him, it would only give him more time to fail you again.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You were walking without a proper destination in mind.
You’d never been to it, but Azriel had once mentioned that Selene worked at a flower shop near the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He’d first run into her on one of his free days, when he’d stopped by a few of his favorite parts in the city.
This area made sense. It was near his usual route, tucked away in a cozy corner of the city. As the scent of flowers suddenly enveloped you, you heard Selene’s unmistakable voice. Relief surged through you; you’d found the right place.
You thought back to your conversation with Cassian. You knew you weren’t in the wrong, that this current visit wasn’t expected of you. But it was something you could control. You’d wanted to get to know Selene better anyway. You prepared yourself, putting on a smile and stepping towards the door, but then—
“I mean, is he really worth all that effort?”
This was a voice you didn’t recognize. It curled around you, something about it making your stomach clench.
A small sigh. “Azriel?”
This time, the voice belonged to Selene. You froze, rooted to the spot. Any inclination to quit eavesdropping washed away at the sound of his name. You felt a tightness in your chest—an almost primal urge to run in there, to stop the conversation before it even began.
“Yeah,” the second voice pressed, “He’s a freak, Sel. Hot, sure, but a total freak. And so intense all the time.”
For a moment, there was silence. And then, Selene’s voice, almost reluctant, like she was holding back. “Well—”
Her friend interrupted. “And those shadows? Don’t they freak you out?”
A sound of disgust, maybe a shiver, followed her words. Something cold rushed through you, crawling beneath your skin, and for a moment, you didn’t know whether you wanted to shout or run. Or maybe both. Anger churned in your gut, and the calm, composed facade you’d been carefully maintaining on the walk here began to crack, slipping away piece by piece.
“Hey, knock it off,” Selene replied, her voice soft. “He surprises you. He’s sweet. He makes me happy.”
Her friend snorted. “Has it been an ego boost for you, then?”
“I mean, yeah,” Selene admitted quietly. “But that’s not all of it. Things with him actually aren’t… great right now. He canceled on me again tonight. I think it’s because he had some kind of fight with Y/n.”
The mention of your name stole the breath from your chest, and your body constricted almost involuntarily.
Her friend’s voice was full of disbelief as she asked, “He actually told you?”
“No,” Selene said softly, “I—I heard them. I feel really bad, but…”
The next sound was unmistakable—the sharp intake of breath from her friend, a squeal of sorts.
“Did you actually use the listening charm I gave you? You little min—”
Something snapped in you as the words registered. A listening charm. A strange, gross invasion of privacy. And to think you had felt bad standing here, eavesdropping on their conversation in a public store, of all places. You’d been this close to giving her the benefit of the doubt.
You stormed into the shop, the door slamming behind you, and both voices froze. You barely registered Selene’s friend’s wide-eyed realization, the quiet “Oh shit” leaving her lips as she turned toward Selene.
Your focus was on Selene—on her and no one else. She stood there, an image of calm beauty that twisted something deep inside you—a type of beauty that felt somehow wrong, as if it were too polished, too perfect, for the situation. Her dark hair framed her face, her delicate features still and pale as she stared at you. The color drained from her face the moment your gaze locked with hers.
“Do you want to explain what I just heard?” you asked, your voice tight, sharp, biting. “Or should I just tell you what I’ve gathered?”
Silence.
Her friend opened her mouth to protest, “I don’t think you have any right coming in here and—”
“I think this is a conversation for me and Selene,” you said coldly, not bothering to spare her a glance.
Selene blinked a few times before she turned her head and offered her friend a small, almost reluctant nod.
“You should go,” she told her quietly. “And put the closed sign on the door, please.”
Her friend hesitated, but with a final glance in your direction, she walked out, the soft click of the door behind her leaving the two of you alone. You didn’t miss the way she’d muttered under her breath as she left, a quiet but very clear “Bitch.”
“Y/n,” Selene said after another moment of silence, her voice tentative, like she was trying to find the right words. “I didn’t know that you were here.”
“Clearly.”
Selene’s movements were stiff, awkward as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands now that she was trapped in this uncomfortable moment. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t think that matters anymore,” you replied. “I asked you a question. I’d like to know what I just overheard.”
Selene’s ears flushed pink, a deep red that spread across her neck, as she took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
You could feel your patience unraveling. Of course she didn’t know what to say. She’d been caught in the act. There was no excuse for this.
“You listened to us,” you snapped, the words bitter in your mouth. “You spied on Azriel. Do you just want to skip ahead to how you justify it?”
Her face paled, and for a moment, she looked younger—small, almost fragile. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Oh please.” The frustration boiled over, flooding your veins with anger you hadn’t realized was possible. Anything you’d felt before this moment paled in comparison. You shouldn’t have asked her to explain. You already knew whatever she said would only make things worse, would only add fuel to the fire that was your growing irritation.
This is stupid. This is ridiculous. How did you get roped into this?
“I know it was wrong!” she said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I know, okay? I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let Runa convince me it was a good idea. But I didn’t know what else to do.”
That had to be the worst excuse you’d ever heard. It wasn’t just the stupidity of it that pissed you off—it was the weakness of it, the desperation in her voice that made you want to scream. Azriel must be blind. Had he really been so wrapped up in whatever bubble he’d built around her that he couldn’t see the cracks? Was he so fucking love-blind that this—this—was what he was left with?
“What else to do? About what? Surely any other solution would have been better.”
She let out a deep sigh and her shoulders sagged with the motion. “I really like him, Y/n.”
You snorted, a sound of genuine amusement—more out of sheer disbelief than anything else. You couldn’t help it. “Alright,” you said, dismissing her with a wave of your hand, not buying it for a second. “Don’t start.”
“I do,” Selene said, her voice more insistent now. “I think I might even love him. But it’s hard.”
You shot her an unimpressed look.
Her voice was louder, more frantic, as she continued. “Azriel doesn’t talk about anything—anything real.”
You didn’t bother hiding the scoff. “Bullshit. Az talks. You just have to be patient. Communicate like a normal fucking partner.”
Her frustration flashed across her face, the defensive crossing of her arms only making her look more like a child. “Do you think I didn’t try that? He doesn’t tell me anything. Not really. He keeps everything locked up so tight—he barely even looks at me sometimes. What was I supposed to do?”
“Maybe not violate his privacy?”
“You don’t get it.” Her hands trembled as she gestured at you. “He doesn’t talk to me like he talks to you. Do you know what it’s like to be the one he’s supposed to care about but feel like you’re always on the outside? Like there’s this wall between us that I can’t get through, but somehow you can?”
You should’ve walked away then. The urge to just let her talk herself into a hole was strong. But you didn’t.
“You’ve been dating him for a few months,” you said, crossing your arms, your stance slightly defensive. “We’ve been friends for centuries. You can’t expect him to open up to you completely overnight.”
“That’s not the point!” she snapped, her voice rising, a crack of desperation leaking through. For a fleeting second, you almost felt bad for her. A tug of sympathy.
“Then what the hell is the point?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just looking for someone to blame. And for some reason, that someone is me. Are you seriously trying to imply I'm somehow responsible for you spying on him?”
Selene flinched, but she didn’t back down. You had to give her credit for that. “No. I—I don’t know,” she mumbled, her hand tugging at her hair in jerky movements, like she was trying to yank the thoughts from her mind. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t think—I just… I didn’t want to lose him. I thought if I could figure out what was going on, maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could stop feeling like…”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m always on the outside. Like I’m never going to be enough.”
A part of you wanted to snap back at her, to remind her that this wasn’t a justification, that none of this made it okay. But something about her voice—broken, raw, like a crack that had been growing for too long—slowed your response. Your anger faltered.
“I know it’s insane,” she added, “I know it was wrong, and I feel awful about it. But I didn’t know what else to do. It feels like i’m competing with someone who’s known him longer, who gets to see parts of him I never will. How am I supposed to make space for myself?”
“Still not a good enough excuse,” you bit out. “You can’t just violate his privacy because you’re insecure.”
Selene took a deep breath and met your gaze. There was no fight in them anymore. “Please, just go. Run off and tell Azriel everything. I know you’re probably excited to.”
Her words stung more than they should have.
“Why do you say it like that?” you asked, “Like I’m thrilled to ruin your relationship?”
Selene’s eyes flickered with something sharp. “Aren’t you?”
For a second, you almost wished you could be. Almost.
“No,” you said firmly. “I would never do that to Azriel. I’m not your competition. I’m his friend. I came here to give you the benefit of the doubt because I wanted you two to be happy. But this? This is…” You trailed off, unable to even finish the thought, because it was too much—everything about it felt wrong.
“Crazy?” Selene finished bitterly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know how it looks. But like I said, you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to care about someone so much that you start losing sight of yourself. I think about him, about how much I care about him, and all my instincts go out the window. ”
Selene had always existed a certain way in your mind.
Azriel had seemed lighter when he first mentioned her, a softness in his voice that you hadn’t heard in years. And you’d been happy for him—thrilled, even, at the idea of someone bringing him a bit of joy. You’d wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, wanted to believe that she could be good for him. You were excited to meet her.
But then Az started to change.
The more he changed, the more Selene shifted in your mind, too. She became untouchable, an image conjured more from your worry than from anything real. You imagined her as someone clingy, someone who demanded all of his attention and made him forget the people who loved him first. Someone full of herself, reveling in the power she had over him.
And then you’d met her.
She wasn’t what you’d expected—though not in the way that might have changed your mind. She wasn’t warm or open, wasn’t eager to charm or connect with Azriel’s family. Instead, she’d clung to him like a second skin, her hands always on his arm, her smile reserved only for him. And maybe it was unfair, but you hadn’t liked the way she’d looked at you, hadn’t liked the guarded, wary edge to her voice when she spoke.
You’d trusted your gut, let it guide you through the uncertainty. And when things fell apart—when the argument between you and Az finally erupted—Selene’s image had shifted again.
She became a villain in your mind, a figure painted in sharp, unforgiving lines. It was easier that way. Easier to picture her whispering in Azriel’s ear, twisting his thoughts, pulling him further away from you. You’d built her into someone cruel, someone who reveled in the divide she’d caused.
But now, standing before her, you saw something else entirely.
Selene didn’t look cruel. She didn’t look smug or victorious. If anything, she looked fragile. There was an unease in her posture, a vulnerability in the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. The guardedness was still there, but it felt more like armor than arrogance.
And for the first time, you questioned how much of the image you’d built of her was real—and how much of it was your own fear, your own concern for Azriel, projected onto her.
“Why did you tell Azriel that I had feelings for him?”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you weren’t sure where they came from—but somehow, they lifted a deep weight off your chest.
Her brows furrowed, genuine confusion crossing her face. "What?"
“Why did you tell him that you thought I had feelings for him?”
“I wanted to see what he’d do,” she admitted.
Disbelief tightened in your chest. “So you lied to him for fun?”
She shook her head. “No I didn’t.”
“Yes,” you said, the word bitten out, “You told him I had feelings for him.”
“Because you do,” she answered, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, like she understood your feelings better than you did. And for a second—a stupid, fleeting second—you almost believed her.
Selene’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know what a female in love with him looks like,” she said quietly, her voice soft in a way it wasn’t before. “I see it every day when I look in the mirror.”
Something inside you twisted painfully, a knot of emotions you couldn’t untangle fast enough. You focused on the irritation.
“Am I wrong?” she continued. “Is he the best part of your day? Do you look forward to talking to him? Can you tell him things you’d never tell anyone else? Do you save bits of good food just so he can try it?”
Your throat felt tight, the words stuck somewhere between anger and disbelief. How had this conversation managed to spin so completely?
The breath you took felt jagged, like your lungs couldn’t quite expand all the way. “That’s not true,” you said. “Azriel and I… We’re friends. That’s all. We’ve been friends for centuries. That’s just—what happens when you’ve known someone that long.”
For a moment, you thought she might apologize, or at least reconsider. Her expression faltered, but instead, she just stared at you.
“Do you really believe that?”
When you didn’t reply, Selene blinked, cleared her throat, and turned away from you, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “This is so pathetic,” she muttered, her voice tinged with bitter amusement. “I’m standing here, basically pushing you to him.”
A sigh slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You hesitated, torn between frustration and a strange sympathy. Against every instinct telling you to be petty, a part of you felt bad for her. She cared about Azriel. Deeply. You were certain of it— unsure of how you knew, but you were certain nonetheless. There was no malice in her voice, just insecurity and raw, unspoken fear.
You hated that you could sense it, but you couldn't ignore it either. You could almost hear Amren in your ear, urging you to walk away, and Mor's voice reminding you that Selene didn’t deserve your kindness. But somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to leave. If Azriel saw something worth loving in Selene, maybe you did too.
“Okay, well, don’t do that,” you muttered, taking a step closer. The urge to comfort her was almost overwhelming—to show her that maybe she could learn and grow from this. “You need to talk to Az, Selene. Just sit down, be open—”
“Stop. Don’t be nice to me,” she snapped, spinning to face you. Her voice was sharp.
She moved as if to push you away, but hadn’t realized how close you’d stepped. The edge of her bracelet caught your cheek, and the sharp sting of metal cut straight through it.
Selene froze, her eyes widening as she took in the line of blood blooming on your cheek. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her hands hovering uselessly. “I—I didn’t mean—”
You stepped back further, your hand still on your cheek, blood warm against your fingertips.
This seemed about right, you thought bitterly to yourself. This is what happens when you try to be the bigger person. You were gonna kill Cassian. You were going to wring his godsdamned neck.
Selene’s voice became a rush of apologies, each one more frantic than the last, but your attention was already slipping away. Your gaze fell to the bracelet on her wrist. The metal gleamed, twisting slightly with every motion of her hand. You recognized it instantly.
Azriel had a similar one in his room. On his dresser.
“Is that how you did it?” you asked, pointing to her wrist.
Selene’s face drained of color, guilt flooding her expression. She nodded slowly, her hands shaking as she removed the bracelet and held it out to you, eyes wide and full of regret.
You took it from her fingers and, just for a moment, you almost let yourself fall back into the anger, the hurt. But you didn’t. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself before shaking your head.
“I’m sorry,” Selene whispered, voice breaking. “I really am. I was— I was just desperate. And Runa kept pushing, and—”
You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, locking eyes with her. Her voice faded, but it didn’t matter anymore. “You’re not terrible, Selene. But you have terrible friends.”
You turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over your shoulder. “I suggest you find new ones.”
You tried to steady yourself as you stepped into the bustling streets of Velaris. The bracelet in your hand was cold against your palm, and the sting of the cut on your cheek throbbed with each beat of your pulse. Everything inside you felt scrambled—emotions tangled, confusion still clouding your mind.
The shuffle of footsteps broke through your fog. You looked up, just in time to hear a sharp voice.
“Ouch, that looks like it stung.” A small chuckle. “Although I’m sure you’re excited to have a reason for the Shadowsinger to tend to you.”
You scanned her. “Runa, right?”
She smirked, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that's me.”
Without hesitation, you found yourself saying, “You gave your friend some hurtful advice.”
Runa shrugged nonchalantly, almost amused. “Oops.”
You held your tongue for a moment, your irritation intensifying the longer you looked at her. Unlike Selene, who had managed to evoke some sympathy, Runa didn’t even come close. She shifted, as if waiting for you to bite.
The silence stretched before she finally broke it with a snide laugh. “Honestly, Selene’s better off without that freak of a boyfriend. She doesn’t need to be wrapped up with shitty court politicians.”
Something in you snapped. Maybe it was the words, maybe it was the whirlwind of emotions from the last half hour, but your patience with her was gone. You inhaled sharply, trying to steady your temper, and placed the bracelet in your pocket.
“Do you know who I am?”
Runa raised an eyebrow, the slightest trace of mockery in her smile. “Uh, yeah. You're an emissary or something, right?” She waved her hand dismissively, as if it didn’t matter.
You closed the distance between you in a few long strides. “Good,” you said, letting the word settle in the air. “I want you to remember that when you report.”
Runa looked confused, her smug attitude faltering. “Report what?”
You smiled. And then you punched her in the face.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
authors note: fun fact, this was the 6th draft of this!! and this felt like the way to go with the story....gives me some options to exploree. its also so long bc i wanted to keep all the fun scenes together tehehe sorry yall i got carried away
but selene....selene...selene... how i thought about her for a bit. i wanted to avoid making selene a caricature of a soulless mean jealous girl, i think it makes it somehow worse and even better to write knowing she was just incredibly insecure and misguided by people she trusted...doesn’t make anythinggg she did okay but
we out here rly testing our reader with a selene like villain rn. tehehe
also....time to imagine rhys holding nyx on his lap as he tells reader that shes in trouble for fighting a citizen in the open mf streets. rhys was so smug and now he’s like damn…wait a min… our public imagine SUCKSS
tw: size kink, bit of dacryphilia, overall this is nastyyy
something about having you under him, squirming and helpless, makes azriel go feral.
it's the way you look so small compared to him, the way you are incapable of doing anything because he's just too strong and you can't fight back even if you want to.
the fact is, that no matter what size you are, he is big. all those hours passed in the illyrian camps training pay off. his hand alone could cover a good part of your back. and his cock... it's a struggle everytime, but oh man if he doesn't take pleasure in seeing you struggling.
the first time you two fucked, he had to strech you out with his fingers first. and when he saw how much you struggled with just one of his fingers, he knew it was going to be a tight fit. your walls barely capable of fitting one single finger, he couldn’t imagine how you could have taken his cock, but you did. you take it like a good girl every time.
"you can take it, baby. yeah..." he groans. "you can fucking take it. just like that..." the room is filled with the thick smell of sex, your little cries overpower the sound of skin against skin. you might almost feel embarrassed by the sounds coming out of your lips, but azriel's cock is fucking you so well it sends your brain to mush. zero thoughts behind your pretty eyes.
and azriel loves fucking you. loves watching as your face scrunches in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his cock stretching you out, breaking you in an half. he mutters praises under his breath, his eyes fixated on your tummy that bulges with every thrust, the line of his cock visible through your skin. "look at us, baby. fuck... look at us." he moans, forcing you to look at where your bodies meet. pretty tears stream down your eyes, overstimulation kicking in. you're so full you can feel him in your stomach.
he watches in wonder, completely intoxicated by you and amazed by how much of him you can take.
azriel is addicted to the power he has over you, too. the way he could throw you around like a toy, holding you in place just how he likes.
"c'mon baby, just a little more..." he whispers, supporting you with those strong arms. your back touches his chest, you can feel the wild rhythm of his heart against your back. your legs tremble, exhausted. "give me one more, just one more... i promise."
every time he says something, even tho your head is disconnected, your body can somehow still register his words, your walls clenching automatically around his girth, making him groan.
his hand presses against your tummy, feeling the bulge makes him twitch inside of you. the pressure causes his cock the hit even deeper, hitting spots that make you see stars. "keep clenching around my cock, sweet girl." you sniff, little incoherent prayers fall from your lips. you don't even know what you're begging for. "gods, gonna ruin you for everyone else. you're fucking mine."
Late night cuddling with az. he is the big spoon and reader the little one. need somthing cute and full of love 🥺
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Word count: 275
Warnings: just so much cute fluff
a/n: Drabble masterlist can be found here. I made her a yapper idk felt right
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"But Cassian told me that doesn't make sense, " you mused, smiling as your mate tucked your head under his chin and pulled you closer. "And I want to agree with him, but I think I can do it, you know?"
"I know," Azriel agreed, his voice rasped with impending sleep.
"So you think I should just go for it?"
Azriel burrowed you somehow even closer. His hands covered the expanse of your ribs, and you felt his breathing start to deepen.
"Would it be safe?" he asked.
You hummed. "I think so. I would just have to stretch a lot. Cassian says I need to work on balancing my mind, or whatever the hell. He is always talking too much."
"He is. Talks too much," Azriel murmured.
"And I can take care of myself. Like, sure, I passed out during training last week because I forgot to eat breakfast, but that doesn't mean he needs to be breathing down my neck."
"'Just cares about you. Like me." Azriel's slurred words were paired with his lips on the crown of your head. Shadows had begun to impede your vision, swirling into deep darkness.
"Well, I just wish he would believe me. And, also, did you know Feyre—"
"Mmm, love you," Azriel whispered. "I can't keep my eyes open anymore, my love."
"Oh. Was I talking too much?"
You glanced over your shoulder and up to find Azriel's face. His brows were pulled together, and his head shook slightly. "Never," he assured you, not even opening his eyes. He pulled you back in, offended by the sliver of space you had created. "Tell me in the morning."
summary: it's your first time having your period after turning into a fae and Azriel comforts you.
warnings: (period) blood
A/N: Just a short little drabble. It's that time of the month and I wish I had an Azriel to cuddle the pain away. But I don't. So I pretend I do. (That sounds really pathetic, forget that I said that)
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Being a high fae had its perks. Near eternal life with Azriel, magical powers beyond human comprehension, the fact that your mate had the biggest wingspan of all illyrians... you particularly thanked the Mother for the last one. What you definitely weren't thankful for after you were made a fae was the cycle.
After a few glasses of wine, Feyre had once taken you aside and told you that things would be different in this body. She hadn't had the grace to mention exactly what would be different besides only having your period twice a year. She'd pay for that once you'd be able to get out of bed again.
Because, for some reason, what she hadn't told you about was the excruciating, mind-numbing pain that was ripping your stomach open from within.
Azriel had left at the crack of dawn, leaving you in bed. You had awoken to a cramp so strong you were sure something was ripping your body open. Getting up was impossible, so you had stayed in bed all day.
"Hi, beautiful". Azriel stepped into your shared bedroom and closed the door. You only managed a groan of acknowledgment. Cramps tore through you and a throbbing headache was forming at your temples. The shadows around him stilled. He came closer, frowning. "Is everything alright?". You nodded, but he didn't seem convinced. With long strides Azriel came up to you, eying you closely. And then he inhaled. "Gods, you're bleeding, Y/N. A lot. What happened?". Azriel's shadows escaped the his control and they swirled all around you in search of a wound. Of course they didn't find one. His gaze turned panicked and he reached out to you.
"It hurts so much", you whimpered.
And the night court's spymaster, fuel for many nightmares, feared warrior and shadowsinger, dropped to his knees at your side of the bed and stared at you in horror. He pulled the blankets off the bed in a haste, his eyes darting over your body. "Where are you hurt?". Azriel's scarred hand came up to your face and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, away from your sweaty forehead. His jaw was clenched, his wings twitching, but his eyes were soft.
"It's nothing really-" As if punishing you for your words, a strong cramp tore through your abdomen like a knife stabbing into you and twisting, tearing out the flesh. Groaning, you curled in on yourself, shaking.
"This is it, I'll take you to a healer". Azriel got up and held a hand to your forehead. It was nice and chilly against your skin and you sighed at his touch. His shadows and your pain alike clouded your view of him, but you could've sworn he was muttering something to his shadows under his breath. You only understood snippets of it. Fever. Hurt. Blood. But where?
"Don't take me to a healer". You forced yourself into a semi-upright position and Azriel immediately tried to push you down into the covers again. "Az, I'm on my period"
"Oh, thank the Mother", you thought he said before dropping his face into his hands. And then: "I thought you were dying".
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "It sure as hell feels like it"
Before you could protest, he quickly unlaced his boots and took off his leathers before pulling back the covers.
"I'm sorry, I bled on the sheet", you weakly excused the red stains.
Azriel didn't even look. "I don't care", he huffed and lay down next to you. Strong arms snaked around your waist and lightly caressed your abdomen.
"My poor darling". Warm lips found your cheek. "Why didn't you call for me?".
"I didn't want to keep you from work"
"That's bullshit". Azriel rubbed your belly. "You're in pain and I wasn't there for you". He frowned into your shoulder.
"But now you're here", you sighed and curled into him.
"How can I help you?", Azriel breathed against your throat, "tell me how to take the pain away". His fingers splayed over your stomach and he pressed a kiss to your temple.
"A bath", you whispered, "warmth used to help before". As a human. You had no idea if it would help now.
"Hm... I think I heard about that", he murmured. "Let's get you to the bathtub". All of a sudden, the warmth of his body against yours disappeared.
"Come back to bed", you whined, "I reconsidered. I only need you". A light chuckle from your mate. Then, without asking, he swept you up into his strong arms. "Later".
Azriel carried you into the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom and carefully sat you down onto the rim of the big bathtub. "Can you undress or do you need help?", he asked while running the water and checking its temperature. Your lower back protested as you stood up and were met with a sharp stab of cramps that had you doubling over. The only thing that kept you from crashing onto the floor was Azriel, whose arm you were clutching for support.
"I can do this. Don't worry, this is hardly the first time I'm bleeding". Concern was etched into his features. Azriel's eyes narrowed as he took in the state you were in.
"It is your first fae period. I heard it doesn't compare at all".
"It's fine, really". He observed your movements as you went to pull off your shirt and slightly relaxed when you didn't almost fall over again.
"I'll be back in a minute". He pressed a kiss to your head and left.
The water was just the right temperature. Its warmth felt heavenly against your abdomen. It didn't quite take away the pain, but made it bearable. You closed your eyes and sighed.
Long fingers threaded through your wet hair. "Is that good?". You hummed in agreement.
"Thank you".
"That's the least I can do". Shampoo pooled on the crown of your head and Azriel's big hands started working it into your scalp. "I'd do anything to make you feel better". He said it so earnestly, but the bond between you glowed like molten gold. You'd never be able to put into words just how much you loved him.
He lightly massaged your head and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. "I love you. So much", you hummed.
Azriel helped you out of the tub soon after and helped you into fresh clothes before carrying you back to bed.
Fresh sheets greeted you, as well as a hot water bottle. "I'm really sorry about the sheets", you stated in embarrassment. Not only had he seen them, lain in them, he had also changed them for you without batting an eye.
"I've fought many battles. A little blood is nothing I'm not used to", he stated matter-of-factly. As if he hadn't even thought about it like that.
You curled up against him again immediately. "Next time, use the bond. I don't want you to be in pain alone"
A week later
"Hey Y/N, better already?". Cassian stood in the hallway of Rhys's townhouse, a glass of wine in hand. You were early for dinner.
"You try losing half your blood in a week. Then we can talk", you spat. Azriel next to you took your hand, grounding you.
"Really, Cass, you don't get a say in this". Mor appeared behind him, smiling softly at you. "I'm glad you're better".
"Would've been easier if I had known what to expect", you responded, but your words had no bite to them. Azriel tugged lightly at your hand and led you into the living room.
"I hope she told you about fae ovulation". You whirled around to Cassian, perplexed.
"What are you talking about? What – what do you mean?". But Cassian only laughed. You turned to Azriel. His neck and ears were turning red and his shadows clung so tightly to him you were sure he wanted to disappear from the face of the earth right there.
"Oh honey, you're in for a ride", Cassian cackled.
✦ SUMMARY: Azriel prided himself on restraint—on silence, shadows, and secrets. But you, with your unshaken confidence and maddening obliviousness, were testing every last thread of his sanity. As chaos ensues, the Shadowsinger realizes one thing: he might be doomed.
✦ WORD COUNT: 1.2K
✦ WARNINGS: crack fic, archeron!sister (briefly mentioned), miscommunication, angsty fluff and humor (maybe??), obliviousness, azriel is stressed and about to have an aneurysm—azriel fanart by harleetattoos
✦ MAY'S RADIO: this was a fun little experiment 😅 azzie boy is a certified swiftie™ 😆 i hope this is somewhere close to what you had in mind, lili bestie! -> based on this post by @lili-of-the-wildfire 🖤
< back to general masterlist
Azriel was losing his damn mind.
He had spent centuries perfecting the art of self-control—of mastering his shadows, his emotions, his very existence. But this? This was unraveling him at the seams.
And he was at his limits.
Not the normal limit, like when Cassian got a little too rowdy or Rhysand smirked a little too much. No. This was a whole new brand of suffering.
Since the moment you were thrown into the Cauldron, he had kept his distance—watching, waiting, giving you space to adjust to your new life, to the Night Court, to him. Knowing how difficult it was for your sisters, knowing that maybe you needed time to grieve what you lost.
But you—you seemed fine.
You smiled, you laughed, you trained with Cassian and traded insults with Rhys, you asked Mor endless questions about the best places to visit in Velaris. You were fine.
Except Azriel knew that wasn’t true.
Because he felt it—the crackling in the air whenever he was near you, the way your emotions bled into his own, even when you weren’t looking at him. The bond—the one you were blissfully ignorant of—was there, thrumming between you.
And it was killing him.
Because you didn’t know.
You were testing him in ways he never thought possible.
Which was why you were currently sitting across from him at the dining table, casually eating a pastry, completely unbothered by the fact that every time you so much as breathed, the bond between you screamed at him.
“I was thinking,” you said, licking a crumb from your finger, completely unaware of the way Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, “maybe I should go to the Winter Court for a while. Just to clear my head, see more of Prythian, you know?”
Azriel’s fork snapped in half.
You blinked at him. “You okay?”
No. No, he was not okay.
“You can’t,” he said, voice tight.
Your brows knitted together. “What do you mean, I can’t?”
“You can’t just—” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just leave. You belong here.”
You scoffed. “I belong nowhere, Azriel. That’s kind of the problem.”
He exhaled sharply. “You belong with me.”
“Excuse me?,” your expression twisted in confusion. “Why are you being so weird about this?”
Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose. He had planned to do this delicately, to ease you into it, to find the right words—
That plan was dead.
“You’re my mate.” he rasped, voice strained.
“…Okay?”
Silence.
Azriel just stared at you. His mind short-circuited so violently that his shadows actually stopped moving.
“…Okay?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than usual.
You shifted on your seat. “Yeah? You seem really stressed about it, though.”
His eye twitched. His shadows twitched. Everything twitched.
Cauldron boil him, you had no idea what it meant.
He inhaled sharply, his wings flaring slightly. “Do you understand what that means?”
You folded your arms. “Is it, like, a fae kink? I mean, I don’t judg–” You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm?”
A FAE K—?
He had seen battle. He had been tortured. He had infiltrated enemy territory and survived things that would make even Cassian cry. But this? This was what was going to kill him.
“I—No,” he choked, rubbing his temples like he could physically press the stress out of his skull. “It’s not a kink. It’s a bond. The mating bond.”.
You hummed, swishing the tea in your cup thoughtfully. “Right. So, like… what does that mean, exactly?”
“You don’t know,” he whispered to himself. “You don’t know. No one told you.” He let out a breath that sounded like a mix between a groan and a whimper. “I’m going to kill Rhys.”
His shadows curled and twisted like they were also on the verge of a complete breakdown. “It means we’re soulmates. Destined. Bound by the Cauldron itself. You’re mine.”
You blinked. “I what?”
“You. Are. My. Mate,” he repeated, slower this time, as if you were a particularly dense trainee.
You tilted your head. “So… like an arranged marriage?”
Azriel made a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob. His hands were shaking.
“No,” he gritted out. “It’s deeper than that.”
You frowned. “Like a super intense best friendship?”
“I—NO.”
You hear someone wheezing, barely holding their laughter in—then, moments later, a crash followed by a yelp.
You turned just in time to see a figure darting away, a blur of wings and siphons.
Cassian.
Azriel’s shadows had found him eavesdropping—and, judging by the way he stumbled, they had made sure he regretted it.
Azriel’s eye twitched. He’d deal with him later.
“Was that…? Is he okay?” you asked, glancing toward the door.
Azriel exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’ll live,” he muttered, clearly deciding that his brother’s suffering was not his current priority.
Instead, he turned back to you, inhaling deeply, speaking very slowly. “The bond ties our souls together. It means you’re meant to be with me. It’s why you feel drawn to me.”
Your face scrunched in thought. “Oh.” A pause. “I do feel really attracted to you.”
Azriel’s heart stopped. His wings tensed.
Finally. Finally, you were understanding—
“I thought it was just, you know… female hysteria.”
Azriel.exe stopped working.
You gestured vaguely. “Like, I figured I just had a stupidly big crush on you. Thought maybe it was the trauma or the near-death experience. But the mating bond? That makes so much sense.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow, I really thought I was just—”
Azriel inhaled sharply. Fine. If words weren’t getting through to you, maybe this would.
He reached deep into himself and gave the bond a firm tug.
You gasped. A shiver shot down your spine, warmth curling in your chest like liquid sunlight. Your breath hitched, and—Cauldron damn him—you gasped, eyes going huge and then giggled.
Azriel felt his soul crack in half.
You blinked at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Wait, what was that?!” Then, catching the look on his face—his pinched expression and the slight tension in his shoulders—, you gasped again, pointing at him accusingly. “Was that you?!”
Before he could respond, you beamed, wiggling excitedly in your seat. “Oh my gods—do that again. That tickled.”
Azriel was going to pass out. Or throw himself off a balcony. Maybe both.
“I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it nearly bruised. “You—You don’t just have a crush on me. That feeling? That’s the bond. The Cauldron literally forged us for each other.”
Your smile faltered and you squinted at him. “Are you sure?”
Azriel’s grip on reality was slipping.
“Yes.”
“…Huh.” You sipped your tea. “Neat.”
Azriel’s vision blurred. He was on the verge of blacking out.
Cassian’s laughter echoed from the hallway.
Azriel snarled. “Go away, Cassian.”
More laughter. Then a whispered, “I cannot wait to tell Rhys.”
Azriel inhaled so sharply his chest ached. He turned back to you, shadows writhing. “You do understand what this means, right?”
You smiled. “Of course I do.”
Azriel exhaled in relief.
Then—
“Anyway, as I was saying—I think I’d still like to visit the Winter Court and maybe then the beaches in Summer.” You smiled dreamily. “I could get a nice tan. A little vitamin D never hurt anyone, right?”
Azriel dropped his head onto the table so hard he thought he might develop a second brain injury to match the first one you’d unknowingly given him.
Summary: After a late night mission, Cassian and Rhysand tease their brother about his girlfriend.
Word count: 897
Warnings: allusions to sexy time :))
A/N: this drabble is based on this request!
Main Masterlist | Azriel Masterlist | AO3
Despite the calm night outside and the logs crackling lazily in the fireplace, the sitting room was thick with tension.
Or, more precisely, one side of the room was.
Cassian lounged in an armchair, wings spread behind him and drooping onto the floor. Rhys was comfortably sitting on the couch, one ankle crossed over a knee and an arm draped across the backrest. With the other hand, he nursed a glass of amber whiskey.
Both Illyrians were looking at Azriel—Cassian with narrowed eyes and Rhysand with an amused smile.
The Shadowsinger occupied the other armchair. Tension rippled off him in waves as he sat upright, back stiff, hazel eyes constantly flicking to the door. Even his shadows had stilled—only a few tendrils remained, hovering near the top of his wings.
“Relax, Az.”
Cassian finally broke the silence, slouching even further into his seat. “The mission went well. We retrieved the relic. It'll be fine.”
Before Azriel could reply, Rhys glanced at his brother with a knowing smile. “It's not about the mission, Cass.”
Azriel met his violet gaze. “And what do you know about it, Rhys?” he asked, perhaps a bit more harshly than intended.
But Rhys only looked more amused. “Oh, I know it well enough.” He took a sip of his drink before turning to Cassian, as if sharing a secret. “He misses his girl.”
Azriel's jaw clenched, but Rhys had already leaned back against the couch, and now Cassian was studying him with the same smirk as his brother.
“It's only been an hour,” he pointed out. “You can't stay away from her for one hour?”
“It's dangerous,” Azriel replied. “We don't know what the relic is. Something might happen.”
Both Illyrians scoffed.
“It's a locket with a message inside,” Cassian retorted. “How dangerous can it be?”
Azriel glowered at him. “A locket infused with dark magic, with a message in a language no one recognizes? Yes, how dangerous can it be?”
Rhys chuckled, then placed the empty glass on the coffee table.
“She knows more than anyone about ancient languages,” he said. “And Amren's with her. She'll be fine.”
Azriel knew that. He did.
He also knew about the protection spells cast over the locket, the parchment, and, just in case, on you and Amren as well. He was well aware of all of it.
But it didn't stop him from worrying. He wanted you by his side. He wanted to hold you in his arms while you nestled into his lap, chatting and laughing with his brothers as he simply admired your profile—the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered against your cheek when you closed your eyes.
He needed to feel you beneath his hands, to breathe in your scent, to tell you he loved you and brush his lips against your neck just to make you shiver in that adorable way you always did.
“Azriel.”
The Shadowsinger looked up at Cassian. From the gleam in his eyes, Azriel could tell his brother was up to something before he even spoke.
“What?”
Cassian grinned. “What exactly were you and Y/N doing when we got dragged out of bed?”
Azriel scowled. “It’s none of your business.”
“I’d say that’s answer enough,” Rhys commented.
With a scoff, Azriel reached for the whiskey bottle and an empty glass. He poured himself a generous amount of amber liquid and downed it in one go as if it were water. Only then did he speak again.
“You two are insufferable,” he grumbled.
His brothers only laughed. They didn’t deny it.
A noise outside the door caught his attention, and Azriel sat up straighter, eyes fixed on the entrance once more, hoping to see you finally walk in.
But you didn’t. Nothing happened. Another door closed somewhere else in the house.
Which, of course, became another source of teasing for Cass and Rhys.
He shot them a look sharp enough to cut, but it didn’t stop them from exchanging a glance and snickering.
“Oh, you’re down bad, brother,” Cassian taunted. “Are you sure you won’t start crying if she doesn’t show up in the next five minutes?”
“One more word, Cassian,” he warned. “Say just one more word and—”
“And what? You’ll make me regret it?” Cassian’s grin only widened. “But what would Y/N do if she knew her boyfriend threatened his own brother?”
Rhys tried to look composed, but the upward tilt of his lips gave him away. “C’mon, Cass, we should leave him alone,” he said. He almost sounded sincere, until he added, “He just doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings. Our boy here hasn’t been in love in three hundred years.”
Azriel rolled his eyes. “I do know how to deal with it,” he muttered. “I just don’t want to lose her, okay? She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Rhysand finally relented. For all his teasing, he understood. He felt the same way about Feyre, and learning they were mates had only deepened their bond and their love.
But Cassian wasn’t done yet.
“Is it really because of that?” he mused. “Or is it because you had to leave before she could finish suck—”
Shadows lunged for him, cutting off the sentence with a surprised yelp. As tendrils of darkness swirled around him, his teasing finally quieted.
