#silent lullabies

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 8

Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Y/n and Azriel finally talk about everything

Authors Note: Guys I know it's been months and I'm honestly so sorry😭. Your girl has been fighting for her life!!. I've really been thinking of ways to end this story perfectly and I just got the motivation literally yesterday. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and thank you for all the love on this story (not me getting emotional lol)

P.S: There's one more chapter and that's gonna be Feyre's birth and just a cute family bonding moment.

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Azriel stilled at the sound of his name—your voice soft and familiar, and somehow still heavenly after everything.

He had avoided you for days, carrying his guilt like a second skin. But now you were here. Saying his name.

He turned slowly, and the sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

The way your eyes caught the moonlight, the way your scent hit him all at once, it was too much. He couldn’t breathe.

You stepped into the room, arms crossed over your chest as you tugged your robe tighter, as if the fabric could hold you together. His shadows darted toward you immediately, frantic and protective, twining around your arms and brushing against your skin as if checking for wounds.

A small smile tugged at your lips. You’d missed them. Missed him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, your voice gentle, breaking the thick silence between you.

He shook his head, and you nodded like you already knew. Because you did. You knew Azriel better than you knew yourself sometimes. You understood why he’d kept his distance, why he was punishing himself the way he always did..quietly, alone.

It didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. But you understood.

So instead of yelling at him like you wanted to do, you simply walked forward, closing the space between you, and wrapped your arms around his neck.  It was like seeing him had melted you to your very core. Because you were just two people who tried very hard not to mess things up.

Your voice cracked as you felt his hand slide to your wrist, fingers pressing gently over your pulse like he needed to reassure himself you were here, alive, and this wasn’t some cruel illusion.

“I said things I didn’t mean that night,” you whispered, voice shaking.

His thumb traced small circles against your pulse, his shadows brushing against your arms. “Nothing that wasn’t true,” he murmured.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head, tears brimming. “None of it was true. I was angry, Az. I wanted to hurt you because I felt so betrayed, because it felt like no one was on my side, like everyone was just expecting me to wake up from grieving and move on.”

You felt your chest tighten, memories of that dark, endless ache creeping back, and Azriel saw it,  the way you were slipping back into the past, into the guilt and loneliness you had carried alone for so long.

He lifted your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. So much was said in the silence, in the way you both looked at each other as if you were seeing one another clearly for the first time in so long.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted, his voice rough, “but I was afraid. Afraid you’d look at me with that hatred again, and I couldn’t stand it. So I watched over you while you slept, because at least then I could convince myself I could be near you without you hating me.”

Your lips trembled, tears spilling freely now. “Az…”

“I know there were so many ways I failed you,” he continued, and you shook your head to protest, but he kept going, his eyes holding yours like they were the only anchor he had. “Yes. I wasn’t the best mate. I didn’t protect you. I didn’t protect our family. And I will live with that for the rest of my life.”

He sucked in a breath, and you could see it in his eyes, like he was opening his soul for you to see, letting you look into the very heart of him as his shadows curled around you protectively.

“But I promise you,” he said softly, reverently, “I will never let you down again, for as long as we both shall live.”

You didn’t respond right away, so you just leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, closing your eyes as your tears touched his cheeks, mixing with his own. His shadows curled tighter around you, protective, comforting, like they knew you needed it.

Neither of you spoke. You just stayed there, breathing each other in, letting the silence say everything your words couldn’t. The world felt impossibly quiet, as if it was holding its breath for the two of you.

He pulled you softly onto his lap, your forehead still resting against his. His grip on you was reverent, terrified, desperate. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven. Yours matched it perfectly.

And then you remembered what you needed to tell him.

“Az…” you whispered, breath shaky. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You slipped off his lap and stood, pacing, robe swaying around you. Your hands trembled. Your chest tightened. How could you even say this aloud?

“Y/N?” Azriel stood slowly, concern darkening his features. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth. No sound came out. And then finally—

“Caelan,” you choked, the name breaking you in half.

Azriel froze.

His entire body went rigid.

Slowly—terrified—he sat down, staring at you. “What?”

Your voice trembled. “I saw him, Az. Our son. I saw Caelan.”

Azriel shook his head once, then again, harder. “That’s not possible, Y/N… I..I can’t—how?”

And you told him.

Everything.

Meeting the Mother. The afterlife. The garden. The children. The little boy with golden eyes. Caelan’s hands in yours. His voice. His warmth. His message. His love.

By the time you finished, Azriel was no longer sitting.

He was on his knees.

And then you heard the sound that shattered every piece of you.

He wept.

Not quietly. Not in silence.

He broke.

Sobs tore from him as he braced his hands on the floor, shoulders shaking, shadows flickering wildly as if they were mourning too. It was raw. It was brutal. It was Azriel, finally letting himself feel everything he’d buried so deep it had poisoned him.

“Az…” Your voice cracked as you knelt in front of him.

You reached for him, and he collapsed into you, his head pressing into your chest as you wrapped your arms around him. His shadows wrapped around you both, curling protectively, trembling from the force of his grief.

You held him. You held him as he cried for the child he never got to meet. For the pain he’d carried alone. You held him as he broke.

And you didn’t let go.

**************************************************

Time didn’t fix everything. Everyone knew that, but it softened the edges.

A month had passed since you woke, since you told Azriel about Caelan, since you both shattered and held each other through it. Healing wasn’t linear. Some days were gentle. Some days were brutal. But neither of you faced them alone anymore.

You and Azriel had started seeing Madja together, at her insistence. She was calm, grounding, sharp in the ways you needed, soft in the ways Azriel needed. She didn’t let either of you avoid the hard things.

Some days he woke up shaking, haunted by everything he had failed to protect. You held him.

Some days you couldn’t breathe, memories of the bridge or the grief or the afterlife crushing you. He held you.

You were healing. Not perfectly. Not quickly. But honestly.

And that mattered.

In the same month, Feyre’s belly had rounded beautifully, almost ready. The whole House was buzzing with anticipation, preparing for the newest High Lady’s child. Hope was returning to Velaris, little by little.

But there was still one thing left undone.

One thing Madja said you couldn’t avoid forever.

She brought it up at your last session, her voice gentle but unyielding.

“It is time you visited the house,” she’d said. “The one from before the attack.”

You and Azriel had gone still.

You hadn’t set foot there since that night—the night everything changed. The night Caelan was lost. The night your life split into a before and after.

Azriel’s jaw had clenched. Your fingers had curled into your knees. The room had gone unbearably quiet.

Madja didn’t push, didn’t force. She simply looked at both of you with eyes full of knowing.

“What you avoid,” she murmured, “will continue to hurt you. What you face together may finally begin to scar over.”

And maybe she was right.

So here you were standing with Azriel in front of the small river house you once shared. The one with the balcony Azriel liked to brood on, the kitchen where you burned bread exactly fourteen times, the bedroom where you whispered names for the baby you thought you’d have.

The place where life had once felt whole.

Azriel stood stiff beside you, wings tucked tight, shadows coiled low and quiet. You could feel the dread radiating from him, but you could also feel his hand reaching for yours, hesitant but certain.

You took it. His fingers closed around yours immediately, grip firm, like he needed the anchor.

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

Together, you stepped toward the door.

And with a shaky breath, Azriel turned the handle.

You and Azriel stepped inside, the familiar creak of the old floorboards underfoot stirring something deep within you. The scent of aged wood and faint sunlight through dusty windows made your chest ache with memories.

The kitchen came first, the heart of the home. Every evening, you had made dinner here, filling the space with the smell of bread, spices, and love. Your hands traced the worn countertop, fingertips brushing over grooves where years of laughter, arguments, and quiet moments had settled into the surface. 

Azriel lingered downstairs, his gaze scanning the walls and floor as if seeing ghosts in every corner. You climbed the stairs slowly, each step weighted with grief and longing.

At the end of the hallway, you found the door, the one you had painted together, the one that had been meant for Caelan. The blue walls still gleamed faintly, almost as if waiting. You pressed a hand against the smooth surface, recalling the afternoons you had spent, paint-streaked and laughing, your hand on your growing belly while Azriel carefully chose each shade.

Tears pricked your eyes, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks. Your steps faltered, then carried you closer to the cot in the center of the room. The little blanket lay folded neatly inside, soft and bright, untouched by time. You picked it up, holding it to your chest as if the small piece of fabric could carry the warmth and love you had for the child you had never held.

Azriel’s footsteps were soft but deliberate as he climbed the stairs, following the faint sound of your sobs. He paused at the doorway, his chest tightening at the sight of you on your knees, clutching the little blanket to your chest, tears streaming freely down your face.

Without a word, he crossed the room and knelt in front of you. His arms wrapped around your trembling form, turning you gently to face him. Your hands fisted against his shirt as you cried, the raw grief spilling out in waves he couldn’t soothe, couldn’t take away, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I’m here,” he murmured, voice rough, lips brushing your temple as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. His fingers tangled in your hair, smoothing it back as though he could somehow protect you from the pain that had seeped into every corner of your being.

“It hurts,” you whispered brokenly, and he nodded, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I know,” he said softly before pulling back slightly, his eyes scanning the nursery–the soft blue walls, the tiny cot, the little blanket in your hands. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Do you remember,” he said, a faint glimmer of mischief in his voice, “when we painted these walls and you got that blue streak across your cheek because you tried to sneak a brush while I wasn’t looking?”

Your lips twitched, the corners lifting into a small, fragile smile despite the tears, a brief flicker of light in the ache that weighed on you.

Azriel’s own chest eased slightly at the sight. He pressed his forehead to yours again, soft and reverent. “See?” he whispered, brushing your tears away. “Even if everything hurts, there are moments like this. Moments we can still hold onto.”

You rested your head against his chest, letting his warmth and presence carry you, even if just for a little while, knowing that while the pain would never fully vanish, you didn’t have to face it alone.

When you and Azriel finally stepped through the townhouse doors, the sky already deep violet, your fingers were still laced with his. Your eyes felt swollen, your throat raw, but your heart… lighter. 

Dinner was being set—Elain humming softly in the kitchen, Feyre and Nesta arguing over place settings, Cassian sneaking pastries when he thought no one was watching. Amren and Mor drinking wine. 

You and Azriel slipped upstairs to wash up, exchanging quiet smiles and soft touches. But when you pulled on a fresh shirt, something in your chest felt tight again. You needed air, so you stepped into the garden.

The night was cool and calm, the scent of jasmine curling around you. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you stared up at the stars, letting the quiet settle your breathing. The memories from the house still whispered at the edges of your thoughts, but they didn’t suffocate you now.

You didn’t even notice the bench shift until someone sat beside you.

You turned and found Rhys.

He gave you a small, soft smile. You returned it, then looked back at the sky. The silence between you was easy, comforting, like he’d come here not to talk but simply to sit with you.

After a long moment, he spoke, “I’m proud of you,” he said. His voice wasn’t full of High Lord formality. It was just Rhys. Your friend. Your brother in every way that mattered.

“For going back there today,” he continued. “For letting yourself feel it instead of running from it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes blinking up at the stars. “It hurt,” you admitted. “A lot.”

“I know.” His voice wavered, “But healing usually does.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the stars until they blurred. His presence was strangely comforting—nonintrusive, safe.

Then he looked at you, and his voice lowered. “There is something I need to say… something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

You turned to him, meeting his violet eyes in the moonlight.

He gave you a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For all the ways we failed you. I should’ve seen how much you were hurting. I should’ve done more.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers curling and uncurling like he didn’t know what to do with them. “When Velaris was attacked… I failed a lot of people. But you—” His voice cracked, so faintly you almost missed it. “I failed you in a way that has eaten at me every day since.”

Your chest tightened.

“You lost everything in a single moment,” he said, eyes finally rising to meet yours. “Your child. Your home. Your sense of safety. And instead of holding you together, instead of protecting you the way a High Lord should protect his family—” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “I let you fall apart alone.”

You swallowed hard, throat thick.

Rhys looked away again, exhaling shakily. “He came to me once—months after the attack, because he didn’t know how to help you. And I told him to give you space. But what you needed wasn’t space.” His voice broke slightly. “You needed someone to grab your hand and remind you you weren’t alone in the dark anymore.”

You blinked, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Rhys saw it, but he didn’t touch you. He didn’t crowd you. He simply sat with you, eyes gentle and honest in a way most people never saw from him.

“I should’ve done better by you,” he said. “Not as a High Lord. As family.”

He looked up at the stars, voice quieter than the breeze. “And when Azriel told me you two were going to Madja together… I realized you were trying again. Fighting again. And I cannot tell you how relieved I was to see it.”

You let out a trembling breath.

Rhys offered the faintest smile. “ I need you to know that I see you. I see how hard you’re trying. And I’m… I’m grateful you’re still here.”

Another tear. You didn’t wipe it.

Rhys turned his head toward you, “You and Azriel… you’re finding your way back to each other. And that’s something worth protecting. Something worth fighting for.”.

For a long moment, you just stared at Rhys—at this male who carried the weight of an entire city on his shoulders, yet somehow still found room to carry guilt for things that had never been his fault to bear.

Your chest tightened, then you reached out and took his hand.

You gave it a small squeeze, your way of saying I hear you. I see you. I’m not angry anymore.And then, before he could speak, you leaned over and hugged him.

Rhys froze for half a heartbeat, clearly not expecting it, then exhaled shakily and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in gently like you were something precious he’d almost lost.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your hair. “For giving me a chance to say it.”

You pulled back, wiping at your face with a small laugh. “Please don’t make me cry again,” you sniffed. “I’ve met my emotional quota for the next… I don’t know, decade.”

Rhys huffed a laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders and with that, the two of you headed back inside.

When you stepped into the dining room, warmth washed over you immediately—voices, soft chatter, the clatter of dishes. Home.

Azriel looked up the moment he sensed you, shadows curling around the back of your chair before your body even touched it. You slid in beside him, and he rested a hand on your knee under the table, grounding, gentle, warm.

You looked around the table… at Feyre, glowing and exhausted; at Cassian shoveling food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks; at Mor trying to smack his hand away; at Nesta and Amren rolling their eyes; at Elaine smiling quietly; at Rhys watching Feyre.

Your family.

And in the middle of that warmth, something in your chest shifted. Your heart, the one that had felt broken, hollow, frozen for so long began to beat again.

You inhaled sharply, eyes burning, and Azriel looked at you, brow furrowing in concern.

You just shook your head gently, giving him a soft smile.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, you meant it.

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Part 5

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n is confronted by her family, forcing her to face the pain she has been drowning in.

Warning: angst, emotional turmoil!!!

Authors note: This was a really hard and emotional chapter for me to write but I hope you all like it, and I promise things are going to start looking better a bit :) Also I should be uploading more since spring break starts soon. Yay!!

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Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag as you stood frozen in the doorway.

No one spoke at first. They just watched you, their gazes heavy with concern, pity, frustration. Your stomach twisted. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want their worried eyes and hushed tones, didn’t want them all looking at you like you were something fragile, something broken.

Rhysand was the first to break the silence. “Sit down.” His voice was gentle, but it was still a command.

You scoffed, shifting your weight. “I don’t have time for whatever this is.”

“Please Y/n” Feyre shifted in her seat, her hands folded over her growing bump. She looked like she wanted to reach for you, to soften this somehow. 

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you took a slow breath, steadying yourself.

“Seriously?” you muttered, scanning their faces—Feyre, Cassian, Elain, Mor , Rhys, Amren, even Nesta. They all looked at you like you were some animal that was out of control.

It made your skin crawl.

“We’re worried about you,” Mor said gently. “You’ve been pulling away from us, shutting us out.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “So what? You all decided to corner me about it?”

Cassian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not trying to gang up on you.”

You glanced at Nesta, the only one who was watching you with understanding. She knew how it felt, feeling cornered by people you considered family.

Your throat tightened, and the words came out harsh. “I don’t need this.” You turned on your heel, the desire to escape the room overwhelming. You just wanted to forget about tonight, to hide away in the quiet and push everything down.

But then Rhys spoke, his voice low and steady. “We know about the drinking.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a slap. Your back stiffened, your heart pounding. Still facing away, you clenched your jaw, unwilling to show how much his words cut.

“We’re sorry for not noticing it sooner,” Rhys added, guilt lacing his tone.

You turned slowly, and your eyes locked onto Azriel’s. The hurt in your chest flared, deep and raw. “You told them?” The words came out before you could stop them, dripping with the sting of betrayal.

Azriel’s gaze flickered with regret, but he didn’t answer right away, leaving the weight of the question hanging between you.

His silence spoke louder than anything he could have said. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t look away. It was like he was waiting for you to understand, even though you weren’t sure if you could.

“I had to,” Azriel finally murmured, his voice rough, almost apologetic. “I couldn’t watch you spiral anymore.”

The hurt in your chest deepened, and you felt something sharp tighten around your heart. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand why he did it—it was the fact that it felt like another invasion, another betrayal. It felt like your brokenness was something to be shared without your permission.

"You had to?" you echoed, your voice trembling slightly. "So what now, Azriel? You get to decide when enough is enough? You get to decide what’s best for me?" You laughed, but it was bitter. "You really thought telling them about my drinking was the answer?"

“Y/n, that’s—" Azriel started, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“No,” you cut him off, your voice growing steadier, though the pain in your chest still made it hard to breathe. “You don’t get to speak for me. I didn’t ask for your help, Azriel. I didn’t ask for anyone’s help." The words tumbled out faster now, the frustration and anger finally bubbling to the surface. 

"You all just expect me to snap out of grieving my child? Just like that?" You met their eyes, your expression raw and vulnerable, the pain evident in the depths of your gaze. "I held his lifeless body in my arms, and my whole world shattered right then and there."

Another broken laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head. "Have any of you ever thought that maybe I want to feel this? That maybe this pain is something I need to carry, for now, at least? I don’t need your opinions on how to heal." Your voice cracked, but you stood your ground, unflinching. "None of you were there. You weren’t there to soothe me after nightmares, or to hold me when I cried... I was."

The words hung heavy in the air, the rawness of your vulnerability evident in every syllable. You hadn’t said this much, hadn’t let anyone in, not since that day. It was like a dam had broken, but you couldn’t take it back now. The pain, the anger, the fear—everything poured out in one rushed confession.

Amren's eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. "Maybe you're holding onto this grief because it's easier than facing the reality that you've lost control," she said, her voice sharp, almost detached. "Sometimes, wallowing in pain can feel like the only thing left, but that's not healing. That's just letting the darkness win."

The words cut through the room, like a blade, leaving an almost physical tension in the air

"I don’t care,” you snapped, already walking toward them, but then you saw Rhys step in front of Feyre, as if he were shielding her. You stopped dead in your tracks, disbelief crashing over you. Did he really think you would hurt her? The thought stung more than you cared to admit, and suddenly, all your anger felt like it had a target.

You scoffed, shaking your head, the bitterness bleeding into your words. “You know what I think? I think you’ve all been looking for an excuse to get me out. To push me aside.”

Nothing you were saying made sense, but it didn’t matter. You couldn’t think straight—your emotions were a storm that didn’t give you the luxury of clarity. “Feyre’s pregnant, right? So you don’t want me around, sulking and bringing down the mood. Is that it?” Your teeth ground together so hard you thought they might shatter.

Feyre’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. You saw the tears welling in her gaze before she could blink them away. Even Rhys, usually so composed, faltered, his jaw tightening.

You exhaled sharply, as if trying to expel the weight crushing your chest. “I’ll be out of your hair then. I’ll start staying with Clotho.” The words spilled out before you even thought them through. You hadn’t asked Clotho yet, but it didn’t matter. You couldn’t stay here.

“Like hell you are,” Azriel’s voice cut through the air, tight with disbelief and something dangerously close to desperation. His wings flared slightly as he stepped toward you, but Feyre caught his arm, shaking her head. Silently pleading with him not to make this worse.

You looked at Azriel, your voice seething with pain “You know,” you started, voice eerily calm, “if someone had told me my mate would go behind my back—would collaborate with others to talk about me like some problem to be solved—I would’ve laughed.” 

You let the words sink in, let them settle like poison in the air. “I thought you of all people would understand. But you failed me.”

Azriel looked like you had struck him. But it wasn’t enough. Not for the pain clawing at your ribs, the agony of betrayal that suffocated you.

So you twisted the knife.

“Just like you did back then.” Your voice was cold, unforgiving. “And it cost us our child.”

The silence between you was suffocating, and you could feel your heart breaking all over again as you whispered, "You should have just let me die that day on the windowsill. All your problems would have disappeared."

Azriel sucked in a sharp breath, his face paling, his shadows recoiling from him like they, too, felt the weight of your words.

You could barely stand to look at their faces anymore—the faces of the people who should have been your refuge, but now felt like the ones causing you the most pain. 

Without another word, without looking back, you turned on your heel and stormed out the door, every fiber of your being screamed to run.

And this time, no one stopped you.

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Azriel watched you storm out, his heart hammering in his chest, a weight settling over him that he couldn’t shake. He stood frozen for a moment, his gaze still locked on the door you had just slammed shut behind you. The rawness in your voice, the betrayal in your words—it felt like a punch to his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He had failed you. 

“Let her go,” Feyre’s voice was soft, yet firm, as she held him back, her hand gripping his arm tightly.

Azriel shook his head, frustration boiling over. “I can’t just let her leave like this, Feyre. I can’t—”

“I know,” Feyre said quietly, her voice full of understanding, but there was a finality to it. “But she needs space. She needs to be alone right now. If you go after her, you’ll only make it worse.”

Azriel stood still, his fists clenched, eyes burning with unspent anger and regret. His mind raced, replaying every word you’d said, the sharpness of them cutting deeper with each passing second. Just like you did back then, which cost us our child.

The words echoed in his head, drowning out everything else. He had never thought he would hear those words from you, never thought that he–would cause you to feel that way. And yet here he was, paralyzed by the enormity of it. He had destroyed the one thing that mattered most. 

He finally let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. But he couldn’t help the tears threatening to sting his eyes. Not in front of them. He wouldn’t let them see him break.

Rhys watched him carefully, his expression softened with concern, but Azriel couldn’t look at him. The weight of his own failure was too much to bear.

It was Nesta who, though silent, seemed to speak volumes. Her face was set in a grim line, her eyes flicking briefly between him and the door where you had just left. She didn’t say a word, but Azriel could feel the unspoken truth in her gaze. She was disappointed—disappointed in them, in the way they had handled the situation. The way they had cornered you, made you feel like there was no escape, no place for your grief.

Nesta had been there. She had lived through this exact kind of heartache, through this kind of pain. She didn’t need to say it out loud for Azriel to understand that she knew exactly what you were going through—and she knew what you needed. Space. Time. Patience. The one thing they hadn’t given you.

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, his chest tight as the realization hit him harder than any blow. His thoughts were a whirlwind of chaos, drowning in guilt, in shame. He had been so focused on fixing things, on helping you, that he forgot to actually see you, forgot to let you heal in your own time. He had thought he was doing the right thing by stepping in, but all he had done was push you further away.

*****************************************************

The weight of everything felt unbearable. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay in that place—trapped by your own mind, suffocating under the pressure on your chest. It was hard to breathe, and every inhale felt like a struggle. Self-loathing consumed you, gnawing at you relentlessly. 

You thought of Azriel, his face flashing in your mind when you had hurled those cruel words at him. Words you didn’t mean, but in the chaos of your own hurt, you had lashed out, throwing his one insecurity back at him, hoping it would hurt him as much as you were hurting. And it did. You could see it in his eyes, the weight of regret that still lingered from that day.

You couldn’t believe you’d done that. You had always known how deeply Azriel cared, and yet you had used his vulnerability as a weapon. A part of you knew the damage was done, and it made the guilt gnaw even harder at your insides.

You run your hand through your hair, absentmindedly walking with no destination, your legs carrying you without thinking. When you finally blinked and looked up, you found yourself standing outside of Rita’s. You hadn’t been here in a while, but the urge to drown your pain in alcohol was overpowering now, and before you could reconsider, you stepped inside. The heavy air of sweat and booze hit your senses, but you pushed it aside.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You started drinking quickly, each glass blurring your thoughts even more. You weren’t a good mate. You weren’t a good friend. And deep down, you thought you wouldn’t have been a good mother either. That thought, that self-condemnation, made you indulge more. The person you were—the one who had been strong, who had cared for others—felt like a distant memory. She would have slapped some sense into you, but she was gone. You were left in the aftermath of your own choices, a hollow version of yourself.

Stumbling out of the bar, the cool night air hit you, but it couldn’t clear the fog in your mind. You had no plan, no direction, but your feet carried you anyway. Without realizing it, you found yourself standing at the Sidra Bridge, as you often did when your mind needed escape. The river’s gentle rush below called to you in a way you couldn’t ignore.

The world around you felt distant, fuzzy. You sat at the ledge, the steady flow of the river like a soothing lullaby. And for a brief moment, the thought of surrendering to its cold embrace seemed comforting, like an end to the pain that had suffocated you for so long.

"What did I do to deserve this?" you yelled into the night, the words torn from your chest. "Why me? Why was my baby taken from me?" The words came out broken, raw, and desperate, the weight of your grief too much to bear. You hadn’t allowed yourself to break like this in a long time, but now you could feel it unraveling.

"I can’t take this anymore," you whispered, your voice barely audible, choked by the sobs that shook your body. You clutched your chest, trying to quell the aching void inside, but nothing could soothe it. The night air seemed to mock you, wrapping around you with its icy touch, offering no comfort.

You felt so stupid, so lost. You tried to turn around, intending to step away from the ledge, but your body was uncooperative. You stumbled, losing your balance, and before you could catch yourself, you fell backward, plummeting toward the river below.

The world around you faded, the cold water enveloping you with each passing second. Memories of your life flashed before your eyes, and you screamed Azriel’s name, as if somehow, he might hear you. But deep down, you knew no one would come.

 You were too far gone, too lost in your own despair to fight against the water’s pull. The cold was unforgiving as it enveloped you more, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a strange sense of surrender. No one would save you, and part of you didn’t want to be saved. The pain, the guilt, the regret—they had all become too much to bear.

As your body sank deeper into the cold river, your thoughts turned to Azriel, the one person who had always been there for you. You imagined the devastation he would feel when he found out you were gone, and a pang of regret twists in your chest.

But then, amidst the chaos of your emotions, the image of your son flickered in your mind. The idea of finally being reunited with him, of holding him again, offered a bittersweet solace. The river, the cold, it whispered promises of peace, of a reunion that could ease the unbearable ache in your heart.

In your final moments, you opened the bond between you and Azriel, pouring all your feelings into it—comfort, love, regret for the way things had ended. You poured your heart into the bond, letting him feel the depth of your affection for him, your sorrow for what had been. And then, with what little strength remained, you severed the connection, cutting the ties between your souls.

You sent a final wish into the universe—one last hope for Azriel. A wish that he would find joy, love, and peace, a life free from the torment and sadness that had consumed both of you and one where he didn’t have a mate who was nothing more than an emotional wreck.

And then there was nothing.

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: There's an attack on Velaris and you and Azriel are struggling to reconnect after sudden events that leave the both of you broken beyond repair.

Warnings: miscarriage, angst, drinking and suicidal thoughts!!

Word count:  1.3K

Note: I've been debating posting this but I hope you all like it.

Azriel X f!reader Summary: Y/n grapples with overwhelming grief and emotional turmoil. TW!!: miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, emotional tur

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You’re at home when you feel a sudden shake in the Earth. You're at home alone because your mate had some work to do and even though he had trouble leaving you this late into your pregnancy, you had assured him that you were going to be okay. How cruel faith was. You  run to the nearest window and see people scrambling to get to safety. Velaris was under attack.

Your door busts open and you pick up Truthteller ready to defend yourself. “Y/n?” Azriel shouts frantically. “Azriel?” you call out panicked from your room. He rushes into the bedroom and the first thing you notice is the blood on his hand and he looked like he was about to throw up. 

“Are you alright?” He asks immediately, looking you up and down looking for injuries. You nod, placing both hands on his cheeks. “Are you?” Your gaze flickers back to the blood staining his hands.

 “I'm fine love, it's not mine” he reassures you. “Is everyone okay?” you ask worried about the others and azriel lets out a tired sigh, his fingers stroking your stomach. He didn't want to add to your already rising anxiety. “Everyones fine, we just need to get to the house of wind, Rhys and Cassian are on the front lines right now but it's going to be okay”.

You sigh and look at him “how are we gonna get there az, i can't fly or winnow when i'm pregnant” azriel rubs a hand over his face. He had completely forgotten that you can't winnow and he didn't want to risk that. “We’ll just have to run or something, i'll try to keep up” you add, attempting a weak smile, though the thought of running when you could barely make it through the house without losing your breath felt impossible.

He wanted to protest because the thought of putting you in discomfort was gnawing at him. “Az we need to go now” you say looking outside and seeing more people screaming and running. He grabs your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “No matter what you stay behind me and if there's any sign of trouble I want you to run okay?” he says and you open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

As you both make your way out, Azriels grip on your hand is tight as he leads you through the streets keeping you close to him. He had his other hand guiding your eyes away from the dead bodies that littered the ground. Azriel’s presence is the only thing keeping you grounded, his calm strength a fragile thread in the chaos.

You turn into a street and five men start approaching you. “If it isn't the shadowsinger and his little mate” the one leading sneers and the others chuckle darkly, their eyes glinting with malice. Azriel immediately pulls you closer to his side, his wings flaring slightly as his body shields you protectively. His posture is tense, his shadows coiled, but he knows he can’t act rashly, not with your life and the baby’s on the line.

 “Remember what i said, if this goes south, i want you to run. immediately” he orders, his voice low enough for only you to hear. You glance up at him, your heart hammering in your chest. His jaw is set, his hazel eyes sharp and focused, but beneath the steely exterior, you can sense his worry.

The lapdogs charge for azriel and you do everything you can to not freak out. Azriel moves with lethal grace, his shadows moving frantically. They seem to move in sync with his every move, attacking with a precision only Azriel is capable of. A few shadows detach, staying close to you, their presence a small comfort in the chaos. But even with his unmatched skill, the men are surprisingly skilled too, their movements sharp and coordinated. This was not an easy fight.

You feel someone's hand clamp on your mouth suddenly as you get dragged away. The last thing you hear is azriel screaming your name. You bite down hard on your captor’s hand. He roars in pain, releasing you just enough for you to twist out of his grasp, stumbling forward, barely catching yourself. 

You start running when you're dragged back by your hair “Let me go” you struggle against him and you feel a cold blade press against your throat making you freeze.

He leans in close, his voice low and cold “Not so tough now, are you?” his breath hot against your ear. “What do you want?” you spit, your voice steady despite the blade biting into your skin

His smirk widens “Oh aren't you tough” he mocks the dagger pressing harder against your skin. “What do you think I want, little girl?” you hiss “I am no girl” and you watch in disgust as he laughs “No, you're not, you're a pregnant girl, which makes you more valuable to me” your heart drops and the urge to protect burns so deep in your body. Not just yourself, but the life growing inside you.

He has no time to react as you take Truthteller and stab it in his neck with all the strength you can muster. He gasps and struggles for air, he tries to say something, but instead coughs up a lungful of blood before falling to the ground .His cries of pain turn into gurgled whimpers, and then silence. The only sound left is your labored breathing as you kneel over his lifeless body.

You fall to the ground exhausted as you stare at the blood all over you. Your entire body shakes as adrenaline courses through your veins. You begin to feel weak and lightheaded

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel runs through the bodies he had just discarded, his eyes desperately searching for any sign of you. His heart pounding in his chest as he calls out your name, his voice getting more frantic. He should have been with you, he should have been there for you. If anything happened to you, he was never going to forgive himself–

He finally sees you. You were kneeling on the ground, your hands on your stomach, and your face was hauntingly pale. He rushes over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you. His eyes taking in your exhausted form and the exhaustion on your face.

You look up at azriel and the relief you felt was overwhelming. He wraps you in his arms. His face buried in your hair, his body shaking with a mixture of fear and relief. And then he began to cry. “I was so scared” his grip on you was tightening as he held you.

He took a shaky breath, “I should've been here” he whispered. “I should have been here to protect you”.  You gently place your hands on his cheeks, lifting his face to meet your gaze. “ it wasn't your fault”, you say softly, your voice firm “And besides, it looks like i did pretty  good on my own” you tease looking at the dead body beside you. 

He chuckles softly, “yeah you did good love”. He looks down at you again looking for injuries. Az are you and y/n okay? We just got rid of the attackers, where are you? Rhys voice booms in his ear. Yh we’re fine, on our way.

 Azriel stands up “Rhys is waiting for us, you ready?” he asks as he helps you stand up, but before you can answer, a sharp pain radiates through your stomach, stealing your breath. You clutch at Azriel’s arm, your face twisting in pain. “Something’s wrong” you say to azriel and his eyes widen as your hand flies to your stomach. “Y/n? what's wrong” his voice laces with worry. 

 Instinctively, your hands go to your stomach, and when you pull them back, your heart stops. Blood

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 6

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: The aftermath of the night on the bridge.

Warning: emotional turmoil!!, angst

Authors Note: I'm trying to be more consistent guys I promise!! also I had severe writer's block

***************************************************

Azriel had been pacing the room, waiting for you to return. The rest sat in tense silence, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on their shoulders. There was no way any of them could sleep—not until you were back.

He hated this. Hated sitting here, waiting, when every instinct in him screamed that something was wrong.

Azriel didn’t care about space anymore. He needed to find you.

Just as he stood, his entire body seized. A sharp, searing pain slammed into his chest, stealing his breath. His knees buckled as a ragged gasp tore from his throat.

Then it hit him.

A surge of emotions crashed through the bond—overwhelming, suffocating. And then, pain. Pain so raw, so brutal, it had him collapsing to the floor.

The bond was severing.

“Az!” Cassian shouted, rushing to his side, Rhys close behind.

Azriel clutched his chest, his breathing ragged. “Something’s wrong,” he choked out. His vision blurred as realization cut through him like a blade to the heart.

The pain could only mean one thing.

You had severed the bond.

Even through your fights, your grief, you had never done this before. You had blocked him out, but the bond had always been intact, a lifeline—no matter how fragile. But now… now there was nothing. Just a hollow emptiness where you should have been.

Azriel stumbled towards the door, his entire body trembling. “I have to find her,” he rasped.

Rhys, Cassian, and Mor were already on his heels as he staggered out into the night. His breathing came fast and uneven, the agony of the broken bond coursing through him like fire in his veins. His shadows had already spread out, desperate to find you, and when they did, when they grew frantic near the bridge—his heart nearly stopped.

No. You wouldn’t.

But as he neared the bridge, his worst fear became reality.

“Y/N?” Azriel’s voice cracked as he spotted one of your shoes on the ledge.

Cassian shot into the sky, already heading toward the healer’s, needing no further instruction. Time was slipping through their fingers like sand, and every second mattered.

Azriel didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He dove into the freezing water, the impact shocking, but nothing compared to the icy terror gripping his soul. He fought against the current, his wings useless in the water as he searched, his lungs burning.

Then, he saw you.

Sinking.

Drifting further from him.

A broken, strangled sound tore from his throat, lost to the water as panic surged through him. He forced his body to move faster, his every muscle screaming as he pushed himself forward. The distance between you felt endless, unbearable, but he pushed through it, he had to.

With one final, desperate push, he reached you, his arm locking around your waist, pulling you against him. You were too still, too cold. Azriel’s breath came in ragged bursts as he kicked upward with everything he had, the weight of both of you dragging him down, but he forced himself to keep going. 

His muscles screamed in protest as he swam toward the riverbank, his arms trembling from the effort of keeping you above water. Each stroke felt heavier, his body threatening to give out, but he didn’t stop. 

Finally, his feet found solid ground.

He stumbled onto the shore, collapsing to his knees as he pulled you onto the damp earth. His hands trembled as he brushed wet strands of hair from your face, his vision blurring.

.He laid you down on the damp grass, his hands already moving, pressing against your chest.

“Is she breathing?” Mor’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with fear.

Azriel didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. His hands pushed down again, steady, desperate. “Come back to me, Y/N.”

He tilted your head back, sealing his mouth over yours, breathing air into your lungs.

No response.

His hands trembled as he resumed compressions. “You can’t just leave me like this!” His voice cracked, raw and choked with emotion. He forced another breath into you, pressing against your heart over and over.

Tears blurred his vision, spilling down his face as he whispered, “There’s so much I didn’t get to tell you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice broke completely as a sob tore through him. “Please don’t do this.”

Mor was crying, hands over her mouth as she shook beside Rhys.

Rhys took a hesitant step forward, his own grief barely contained as he placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Az…” His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper.

Azriel shook him off, desperation clawing at his insides. “No.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked. “She wouldn’t leave me.”

He pressed down on your chest again. Again. Again. His hands shook, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Azriel’s hands were trembling as he pressed against your chest again, harder this time, his voice nothing more than a wrecked plea. “Come back to me.” His vision was blurred with tears, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. “Please.”

Another breath. Another push.

Then—

A sharp, ragged cough.

Your body convulsed slightly as water spilled from your lips, sputtering past parted lips in a wet, choking gasp.

Azriel froze, his breath catching mid-sob.

Then, again. A weak, fluttering beat beneath his palm.

“She’s breathing,” he choked out, his entire body going still as he leaned down, pressing his ear to your chest. It was faint, fragile, but it was there. “She’s breathing.”

Relief slammed into him so hard he nearly collapsed. Mor let out a broken sob, her hands clutching her chest, while Rhys exhaled sharply, already reaching out with his power to let the others at the house know.

“We need to get her to the house—now.”

Rhys held onto Azriel and Mor as they winnowed straight into the house.

“Is she okay?” Feyre’s voice was the first thing they heard, urgent and trembling. But the moment her eyes landed on you, limp and unmoving in Azriel’s arms, her hand flew over her mouth, her head shaking in silent devastation.

“Her heartbeat is faint,” Azriel muttered, barely able to form the words. His grip on you tightened as he turned to Cassian. “Where’s Madja?” His voice was raw with desperation.

“In the family room,” Cassian said, but Azriel didn’t even wait for him to finish before he was moving, the others right on his heels.

The moment they entered, Madja was already prepared, her tools laid out, her sharp eyes assessing the situation in an instant. “Put her down,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Azriel reluctantly laid you on the bed, his fingers lingering for just a second before Madja was by your side. Her hands moved quickly, assessing, diagnosing.

“She’s too cold,” Madja announced. “I need hot towels, now.”

The others rushed to follow her command, disappearing to fetch whatever was needed. But Azriel didn’t move. He couldn’t. He just stood there, staring at you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest heaving with the weight of it all.

“This is my fault,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes never left your face, his heart pounding with every agonizing second that passed.

Madja paused, her sharp gaze flicking to him. “There is no room for self-pity right now, young man,” she said firmly. “She doesn’t need that. Not right now.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion. He nodded, but the guilt still sat heavy in his chest, crushing, unrelenting.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as Madja worked swiftly, her hands moving with purpose and precision. She worked tirelessly to stabilize your body, bringing warmth back into your cold skin, forcing your body to respond. Slowly but surely, your heartbeat began to pick up, faint but steady. It was the only sign of hope they had.

Azriel watched, unwilling to look away, his heart still lodged in his throat, his every instinct screaming for you to wake up. He hadn’t known how badly he needed you to breathe, to open your eyes, until the moments had dragged on in painful silence.

“Her body is stabilizing,” Madja finally said, her voice hoarse from the strain of her work. “Her heartbeat is stronger now, her body is responding, but...” She trailed off, looking at Azriel, knowing exactly what that ‘but’ meant.

“But her mind isn’t,” Azriel finished for her, his voice low and raw. He stepped closer to you, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as if he could will you to wake up. His heart ached as he watched your face—still too pale, too distant. 

It seemed as though you were fighting with yourself,your body clinging to life, but your mind slipping away, not quite ready to fully come back. 

Madja stepped aside, letting Azriel kneel beside you, her voice soft but firm. “She’s not fully conscious yet. It’s a matter of her will now—whether she wants to wake up or not.”

Azriel’s eyes burned, his hand now gripping yours, hoping that in some small way, you could feel the strength he was pouring into you, the desperate plea without words. “Please, don't leave me” he whispered, his voice cracking. 

He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but his voice trembled with the weight of everything that had led up to this moment. “I should have been better. I should have protected you, but I... I was too late.”

Azriel leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath shaky. “Come back to me.”

***************************************************

Azriel had spent the entire week sitting across from you, his eyes never leaving your still form. It had been nearly two weeks, and you still hadn't woken up, and every moment without you felt like a cruel, unrelenting weight on his chest. He couldn't understand it, how the love of his life, the one person who made him feel whole, could be lying in front of him, barely breathing, and he could do nothing to pull you back from whatever darkness held you.

Every day, he would talk to you, his voice hoarse and ragged, begging you to wake up. He’d share everything, telling you about the days without you, about how much he missed you, how every inch of his soul ached for you. But no matter how much he begged, no matter how many times he told you he loved you, nothing seemed to reach you.

Some days, when the grief became too much to bear, Azriel would break down, tears slipping silently down his face, his body trembling with the weight of his own helplessness. He hated seeing you like this. He hated that he couldn’t make it right, couldn’t undo whatever had led to this moment. It hurt him too much, knowing you were there and he was still here—alive, breathing, and yet so desperately empty without you.

He missed everything about you. Your laugh, the way it could light up the room, the way it could pull him out of his darkness, make him forget everything just for a moment. He missed your scent---how it wrapped around him, how it lingered even when you weren’t near. The warmth of your presence, the lightness you brought to him every day, the way your eyes would always soften when you looked at him.

Azriel couldn’t remember what it felt like to not need you. Every inch of him longed for you. The nights without you felt endless, like he was drowning in the silence of your absence. He couldn’t bear the idea that this might be his reality, that he might never hear your voice again or feel your touch. It was a reality he refused to accept, no matter how long it took.

But even in the dark hours, when despair almost swallowed him whole, Azriel clung to one hope: that you were still there, somewhere in the vast, empty space between your body and your mind. That one day, you would hear him and wake up, and the bond between you both would be whole again.

**************************************************

Madja had come by daily to check on you, and each visit seemed to bring more weight onto Azriel’s already-burdened soul. The days dragged on without any significant changes, nothing that would offer him even the smallest glimpse of hope. The uncertainty of your condition was a slow, agonizing torture for him. He was becoming a shell of the person he once was, living only for the moments when he could sit by your side and pray that you might wake up. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Now, he sat in a chair beside your bed, his hand never leaving yours, the only connection he had left to you. His body felt hollow, his heart echoing with the emptiness that had taken root in his chest.

The door opened, but Azriel didn’t acknowledge it. Feyre stepped in, she was farther along in her pregnancy now, her belly noticeably rounder, but the weight of her joy seemed muted against the overwhelming sorrow that consumed the room.

Feyre walked silently over to the chair beside Azriel, her gaze briefly flicking to his drawn face before landing on you. Her expression tightened in quiet anguish, and she settled into the chair across from Azriel, her eyes never leaving you.

They sat in silence. No words were spoken. There was nothing either of them could say that would change the reality they were facing. The pain was too deep, too consuming. 

Feyre had been coming here regularly, sitting beside Azriel without saying much, and that was how they both preferred it. The silence felt almost sacred because it was a silence born of shared understanding, of an unspoken bond forged through grief. Neither of them needed to explain themselves. They knew what the other was feeling.

Feyre’s hands gently folded in her lap, but her eyes were distant, unfocused as they lingered on you. Her thoughts were heavy. She was acutely aware of how everything had unfolded. How, in the chaos of her own life, she had failed to notice your pain, the weight you had carried and the battles you had fought alone. And now, seeing you like this, seeing Azriel like this, she couldn’t ignore the sharp pang of guilt that gnawed at her every time she thought of it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care. But she had been blind to the extent of your suffering. She had been so caught up in her own struggles, her own joys, that she hadn’t been there for you the way she should have been. She couldn’t even tell Azriel that she was sorry. She wasn’t sure if words would be enough anyway.

The quiet between them was broken only by the soft sounds of your breath, still faint, still fragile.

Feyre reached out, her hand resting gently on Azriel’s, offering silent comfort. The gesture spoke volumes in the stillness of the room. She didn’t need to say anything. Neither of them did. 

After a long pause, Feyre finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile and breaking. “I should have been there for you… for her.” The words felt foreign in her mouth, heavy with the regret that had been eating away at her for days now. “She was so strong,” Feyre whispered, tears glistening in her eyes as they slid down her cheeks. “But I didn’t see how much she was carrying. I didn’t see how hard it was for her to keep going.””

Azriel’s eyes flickered to her for a brief moment, the words that had been sitting on his tongue falling away. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. He understood her pain, he knew the guilt she carried but he was too deep in his own. There were no words to offer that would ease it, no comfort he could give. All he could do was remain silent, his hand still firmly wrapped around yours.

Just as he was about to speak, he felt it—a soft twitch in your hand.

His breath caught, his body going still as he stared at your fingers, still wrapped loosely around his. He felt the smallest flicker of hope in his chest, a wave of disbelief and longing all at once. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze, his focus entirely on you. Was it real?

He held his breath, watching intently as your hand twitched again, and then—

Your eyes fluttered open, faintly at first, barely more than a whisper of movement.

"Az..." Your voice was so soft, so fragile, like a memory carried on the wind.

Azriel’s heart slammed into his chest. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His entire body went rigid as the shock of your words and the sight of your eyes flickering open overwhelmed him. His pulse roared in his ears, the rest of the world vanishing in the wake of your awakening.

You—you were awake.

“Feyre,” Azriel breathed, his voice raw and filled with urgency. His grip on your hand tightened, a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. “Get Madja. Now.”

**************************************************

You weren’t supposed to be here. No..there was no way you were still alive after what had happened.

Your surroundings were bathed in an endless, ethereal white glow, soft and warm, yet eerily unfamiliar. The last thing you remembered was the crushing weight of darkness pulling you under, the world slipping from your grasp as Azriel’s voice called your name.

And yet… you woke up here.

The overwhelming serenity of the place settled into your bones, a deep, unnatural calm that made you uneasy. It felt too peaceful. Too final.

"Hello?" Your voice was barely above a whisper as you took in the figures moving around you, people who seemed content, at ease. They smiled and laughed, their presence light, almost weightless. But something was wrong. You called out again, louder this time, but it was as if they didn’t hear you.

A shiver crawled down your spine.

“Y/n.”

The voice was soft, melodic, and when you turned toward it, your breath caught.

A woman stood before you—the most stunning woman you had ever seen. Her beauty was almost unnatural, otherworldly, as if she had been sculpted by the gods themselves. Everything about her, from the way she held herself to the effortless grace in her movements made you feel small, insignificant. Wary.

She approached, her golden eyes warm but unreadable.

"Where am I?" you asked, your voice barely steady as you glanced around, searching for answers, for anything familiar.

The woman smiled, and something about the way she did made your stomach twist. It was kind, but there was an understanding in her expression that unsettled you. Like she knew what you were feeling before you did.

"You are in the Afterworld, my dear."

No, that couldn’t be right. If this was the afterworld… if you were here…

Your breath hitched, panic tightening in your chest. That means Azriel…

Your mind raced, piecing together what little memory you had left before everything went dark. Azriel had been calling for you. He had been there. You had tried to reach him, to respond, but the darkness had swallowed you whole before you could.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, stepping back instinctively. “No, I have to get back.” Your voice was more frantic now, desperation creeping into every syllable. “I promised him, Azriel, he-he’s waiting for me. I have to go back.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, watching you with something like understanding. She didn’t argue. She didn’t tell you it was impossible. She simply extended her hand toward you.

“Y/n,” she said softly, beckoning you forward. “There’s something I need to show you.”

You hesitated, wariness prickling at the edges of your mind. Who was she? Could you trust her?

But something about her presence was… steadying.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out and took her hand.

The world around you shifted in an instant. One moment, you were surrounded by an endless expanse of white; the next, you were standing in the middle of a vast, sun-dappled garden.

Lush greenery stretched in every direction, filled with towering trees and vibrant flowers in full bloom. The air smelled of fresh earth and something sweet, something warm and familiar.

Laughter rang through the space, high-pitched, bright, innocent.

You turned, your breath catching as you took in the sight before you.

Children.

Dozens of them, running through the fields, their giggles and delighted shrieks echoing through the air. Some chased each other in games of tag, others sat in circles, weaving flower crowns with nimble fingers. There were children of all ages, of all features and sizes, their faces alight with unfiltered joy.

Your brows furrowed as confusion settled over you.

“Why are we here?” you asked, glancing at the woman beside you.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she led you forward, past the children playing, past the ones sitting beneath the trees, until your steps slowed—until your gaze landed on him.

A young boy stood apart from the others, his small fingers skimming over the petals of a pale blue flower. His dark, tousled hair shifted as he moved, the familiar inky shade catching the sunlight.

Your heart stopped.

Slowly, almost as if he felt your presence, the boy turned.

And you nearly collapsed at the sight of those eyes.

Hazel.

Azriel’s eyes.

Your breath shuddered, the realization slamming into you with the force of a wave. 

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

The boy blinked up at you, his head tilting ever so slightly in quiet curiosity. His fingers clutched the flower he had been holding, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He was just watching you.

The woman at your side finally spoke, her voice laced with something deep, something knowing.

“He has been waiting for you.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

You didn’t need to ask. Didn’t need her to clarify.

You already knew.

This was your son.

Tears burned your eyes, your body trembling as you took an unsteady step forward.

The boy didn’t move. He just watched you, those hazel eyes filled with something unreadable, yet achingly innocent.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you slowly knelt before him, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like an unbearable tide. Seeing him now, seeing what could have been, what should have been, shattered something deep inside you.

He was everything you had never gotten the chance to hold. The life that had been stolen before it could even begin. And yet, here he stood. Whole. Real. Alive in a way you never thought possible.

A sob tore from your throat as you reached out, your hands shaking. The moment your fingers brushed against his small shoulders, something inside you shattered. Without hesitation, you pulled him into your arms, clutching him as if he might disappear.

The boy didn’t resist.

He melted into you, his tiny arms wrapping tightly around your neck, as though he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. As though he had missed you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice broken, shaking. Tears streamed down your face, soaking into his soft curls as you held him tighter. “I’m so, so sorry.”

For not knowing him.

For not protecting him.

For never getting the chance to love him the way you should have.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, locked in an embrace that transcended time, grief, and fate itself. 

You swallowed hard, blinking through your tears as you slowly pulled back just enough to look at him. “What’s your name?” you whispered, brushing his dark curls away from his face.

The boy tilted his head slightly, as if considering his answer. “I don’t have one,” he finally said.

Your breath hitched. No name. No identity. Because he had never been given the chance.

You bit your lip, struggling to keep yourself together. “Can I—” Your voice wavered. “Can I give you one?”

His eyes lit up with something you couldn’t quite name, something soft and hopeful. He nodded.

You swallowed, thinking, but the answer came to you as naturally as breathing. A name that carried meaning. A name that felt right. A name you and Azriel had once spoken about, dreamed about, if you were ever blessed with a son.

“Caelan,” you whispered.

The boy—Caelan—smiled. A small, soft thing that made your heart clench.

You let out a trembling breath, running your hand gently over his curls. “Caelan,” you repeated, committing it to memory, to your soul.

The woman beside you hummed approvingly. “A beautiful name.”

You looked back at her then, your mind still spinning, still struggling to comprehend what was happening. “Why is he here?” you asked, your voice raw. “Why—why am I seeing him?”

The woman’s expression was kind, yet unreadable. “Because you needed to,” she said simply. “Because he needed to.”

Your throat tightened. You turned back to Caelan, your fingers ghosting over his cheek. He leaned into your touch. “I—” Your voice caught. “I should have—”

Caelan shook his head before you could finish, his small hands reaching up to hold yours. “Don’t cry, Mama.”

A broken sound caught in your throat at the name—Mama. He had called you Mama.

Your hands trembled as you cupped his face, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, breathing him in. “I didn’t get to meet you,” you choked out, voice thick with sorrow. “I didn’t get to hold you.”

Caelan’s little brows furrowed as he reached for your hands, squeezing them. “But I knew you,” he whispered, tilting his head as he studied you. “I’ve always known you.”

Your breath hitched, your entire world tilting at his words.

He reached out then, pressing his small palm over your heart. “I was here,” he said simply. “I was always here.”

A sob broke from your lips as you pulled him back into your arms, holding him tightly, desperately. You had always felt the absence of something, an emptiness you had never been able to explain. And now, hearing those words from him, it all made sense.

You had never been alone in your grief.

You had carried him with you, always.

The stunning woman who had brought you here stood silently nearby, watching the exchange with something like sorrow and understanding in her gaze.

After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice gentle. “It is rare for souls to meet like this,” she said. “But your bond… it is strong. Stronger than most.”

You held Caelan close, your mind whirling with emotions too big to contain. “Is he… is he happy here?” Your voice wavered. “Has he been alone?”

The woman smiled softly, shaking her head. “No, my dear. He has never been alone. And yes, he is happy.” She looked down at Caelan with a fondness that made your heart ache. “But he has always watched over you. And his father.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Azriel.

The thought of him, of his pain, his grief, nearly brought you to your knees.

Caelan seemed to sense your shift in emotions. He pulled back slightly, his small hands finding yours again. “You have to go back,” he said, his voice serious in a way that no child’s voice should be.

Panic flared in your chest as you shook your head. “No, I can’t leave you. Not again.”

Caelan squeezed your hands, his golden eyes filled with something impossibly wise. “But I was never really gone,” he whispered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you looked at him, at this beautiful, impossible boy who had been taken from you too soon.

“Will I ever see you again?” you asked, voice barely holding together.

Caelan lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You will,” he said softly. “But not right now.”

And then, before you could say anything else, before you could hold onto him for just a little longer—

The world around you began to fade.

“No, wait—” You reached for him, desperation clawing at you.

Caelan didn’t look afraid. He didn’t cry. He just smiled at you, that soft, knowing smile.

The last thing you heard was the sound of his voice, ringing in your heart like a promise.

“I love you, Mama.”

You watched as he slowly faded away, his form dissolving into the distance, leaving you with nothing but the emptiness of his absence. You were left in a place you couldn't name, alone with the woman who had brought you here.

“Who are you?” You finally asked, the question hanging heavy in the stillness of the space. Your time here felt as if it was running out, slipping through your fingers like sand.

The woman smiled, and then something incredible happened. She began to glow, her form radiating a brilliant, unearthly light. She doubled in size, her presence growing even more powerful, and if you had thought she was beautiful before, now she was indescribable—an ethereal being that seemed to transcend every word you knew.

The very air around her hummed with an ancient energy, one that made your heart race and your soul tremble in recognition.

“You called out to me, the night on the bridge,” the woman said, her voice soft yet filled with a weight that made the ground beneath your feet feel like it was trembling.

By the Cauldron…

You pieced it together in an instant, the truth crashing down on you like a wave. Your breath caught in your throat as the realization settled within you, heavy and undeniable.

You were standing before the Mother herself.

Her presence was overwhelming. Sacred. You had always heard the stories, the legends. The Mother, the source of all creation, the one who shaped life and death. But standing before her, feeling the weight of her power, her eternal wisdom—it was impossible to comprehend.

“I… I didn’t call for you,” you whispered, still stunned, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of what was happening.

The Mother’s smile deepened, a warmth in her gaze. “You did, my child. In the depths of your grief, you called out for guidance, for strength. You may not have realized it then, but your heart reached for me.”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, but only one question emerged from your lips. “What happens now?”

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer to you, her presence filling the space around you with a peaceful, all-encompassing energy. “What happens now is entirely up to you,” she said gently. “You have the power to choose your path. To heal, to return, or to remain here.”

Tears stung your eyes as you thought of Azriel, of everything you had left behind. But you also thought of Caelan, the boy you had never been able to hold, the child who had shown you so much love in such a short time.

The Mother’s voice echoed in your mind, “No matter what you decide, you are never truly alone.”

You swallowed, your heart torn between the world you had known and the one that now lay before you. "I want to be with Azriel," you said quietly. 

The Mother nodded, her eyes full of understanding. "Then return to him, child. Your bond has been restored. It is strong, and it will guide you both through the pain. But remember, your strength is in your love for him, for Caelan, and for yourself."

The light around her began to fade, and she took a step back, her form blurring as if made of light itself. “Go now,” she whispered softly, “and know that I am with you always.”

With one final look at the Mother, you felt yourself being pulled back, her warmth lingering in your soul as the world around you blurred. The serene light, the comforting presence, all began to fade, and with it, you felt yourself slipping, fading from the afterworld, back into the realm you had left behind.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as you were suddenly aware of your body again—the weight of it, the ache, the pulse of life flowing through you. You felt everything, your chest rising and falling, your fingers twitching at your sides. The world around you was blurry, disorienting, but you could feel the faintest hint of warmth, the unmistakable touch of someone’s hand holding yours.

Your eyes flutter open, the blinding light forcing you to blink as the world slowly comes into focus. The room was unfamiliar, hazy except for him.

Azriel.

His face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, and in that moment, all you could do was breathe, your heart thundering in your chest as you tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

"Az," you whisper, his name fragile on your lips, as if testing the feel of it, as if speaking it for the very first time.

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, and the shock in his eyes melted into a raw, overwhelming relief. He froze, unable to speak at first, and then the words spilled from him in a rushed, desperate whisper. “Feyre,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Get Madja. Now.”

And in that instant, you knew—without question, without doubt.

You were home

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 7

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n takes one step in healing.

Authors Note: (I know that I've been gone and I'm so sorry guys😭 I've been in a little funk lately and I found it hard to write but I'm hoping now that I'm on summer break I'll have more time). Also things are going to start taking a better turn now. Not entirely but we're making progress. YAYY!!

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It had been nearly a week since you’d woken up, and you hadn’t left the room once. The only person you’d allowed in was Madja.

You weren’t ready–not yet. The weight of everything you had been through clung to you like a second skin, impossible to shed. You had almost died, and even now, you weren’t sure how to face the people who had waited, prayed, and grieved for you.

So you begged Madja for more time. Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the hollow look in your eyes, but she agreed. And for that, you were grateful.

Everyone else had accepted the distance—except Azriel.

He was angry. Hurt. Not at you, but at the entire situation, at the helplessness that had nearly torn him apart. He had almost lost you and he couldn’t even hold you, couldn’t look into your eyes and know you were still there. Still his. And though he understood why you needed space, a part of him couldn’t shake the fear that you were still angry. That maybe you still felt betrayed. So he let you go, because loving you meant giving you what you needed, even if it broke him.

Madja had been your constant, checking in on your body, and more gently, your mind. Somewhere along the way, a quiet bond had formed between you and the healer.

“What are you thinking about?”

Her voice pulled you from your thoughts, startling you slightly.

“Hm?” you glanced down at her as she carefully cleaned the cuts on your knees.

“You’re deep in thought,” she repeated, her tone soft, but observant. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You didn’t even know where to begin. There was too much—too many layers to unravel. You couldn’t tell her everything. Not yet. You needed Azriel to be the first. Even though you still didn’t know how to tell him.

“Everything,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a breath. “I just…”

You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How to explain the ache in your chest, the weight in your heart, the storm in your mind.

Madja didn’t push. She simply looked up at you, her hands stilling for a moment as she gave you space to find the words. Her presence was grounding, like a quiet harbor in the middle of your storm.

“I just…” you started again, voice soft and trembling. “I don’t know how to go back. How to face them. How to face him.”

She resumed tending to your knees, slow and gentle. “You don’t have to have all the answers today.”

You looked away, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “But I should. They’ve all been waiting. Azriel has been waiting. I owe him an explanation… I owe everyone something. And I—” you exhaled sharply, swallowing down the emotion, “I don’t even know where to start.”

Madja paused again, and when she looked up, her expression was kind, but there was strength in it, too. “You don’t owe anyone more than what you’re ready to give. Healing doesn’t come on command, and neither does clarity. Azriel will wait. He already has waited, hasn’t he?”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

“Then let him,” she said softly. “Let the people who love you meet you where you are. And when you're ready—truly ready—you’ll know what to say. And how to say it.”

Your chest tightened. “What if… what if he’s changed his mind? What if I waited too long?”

Madja let out a quiet, almost amused breath. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you..even when you were not awake to see it. That kind of love doesn’t fade in a week. It doesn’t vanish in silence.”

You blinked, letting that sink in, letting her words smooth over the jagged edge of your fear.

“I miss him,” you whispered, voice cracking. “So much it hurts.”

Madja smiled gently and reached for your hand. “Then let that be your first truth.”

Those words stayed with you. They were what finally pushed you to face your family after nights spent reliving every possible worst-case scenario. A few days later, when you told Madja you were ready, her face lit up with pride. She squeezed your hand and said softly, “I’m proud of you, my dear.”

And then the door opened.

One by one, they stepped in—Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Mor, and Amren. But not Azriel.

Your eyes scanned behind them instinctively, your breath catching,waiting, hoping—but he wasn’t there. A quiet ache bloomed in your chest, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t focus on that now.

For a long moment, silence hung thick in the air. Everyone stood still, unsure, uncertain. The memory of your last interaction, words flung in anger and pain, then your near-death lingered between you all like smoke that refused to clear.

Your throat tightened. You opened your mouth to speak— But Nesta was already moving.

She didn’t say anything. She just walked forward and pulled you into a fierce, grounding hug. It was everything. No words, no explanations, just arms wrapped around you with the kind of love that needed no translation. The tears came then, stinging your eyes, slipping silently down your cheeks.

Elain followed, her smile soft and understanding as she wrapped you in warmth. She didn’t speak either, but her embrace was steady and reassuring, as if telling you: you’re still ours, no matter what.

Cassian was next. His hug was strong but gentle, careful not to overwhelm you. “Don’t you ever scare us like that again,” he whispered into your hair, his voice rough with emotion.

You hugged him tighter in response, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. Mor came right after, eyes already wet with tears. She cupped your face and kissed your forehead before wrapping her arms around you. You felt her body tremble with unspoken regrets as she whispered them into your ear. You just held her, wordlessly forgiving her because you understood..none of you had been okay.

Then came Amren.

She stood in front of you, silent. You blinked at her in surprise, unsure if she’d say anything at all. But then without a word, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. Brief but sincere. You caught Cassian’s raised brow and the small shrug he gave. You let out a shaky laugh and hugged her back. This—this was more than enough from Amren. Her walls didn’t fall easily, and this gesture said everything.

Rhys was the last to come forward. His hug was tight, almost suffocating—as if he could hold you tightly enough to make the pain vanish. You felt the storm of guilt and relief in him, and it broke your heart.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

You shook your head and whispered, so only he could hear, “It’s not your fault.”

He pulled back, his jaw clenched, and nodded once, but you knew it would take time for him to believe that.

“Az?” you asked quietly.

Rhys hesitated, then shook his head. A silent answer.

Your heart sank, but you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the disappointment from showing. He wasn’t ready. You had to respect that.

And then, only one remained.

Feyre.

She stood off to the side, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress, her eyes downcast. The soft glow of pregnancy surrounded her—her bump had grown, and she was radiant—but you could see the hesitancy in her stance.

Feyre..your best friend. Your sister. And yet, ever since she got pregnant, a quiet wall had risen between you. You hadn’t known how to be happy for her when you were grieving something you never got to hold. When her world was filling with life and yours had emptied.

You hadn’t been there for her. Not in the ways she needed. And she hadn’t pushed—but the space had grown between you anyway.

“Feyre…” you started, unsure of what would follow.

But she looked up at you, eyes glassy, lip trembling and without a word, she all but ran into your arms.

You held her tightly, the kind of embrace that made time stop. Tears slipped quietly down both your cheeks, soaking into each other’s shoulders. The silence was thick, but it said everything—pain, guilt, love. The others, sensing the intimacy of the moment, quietly stepped out of the room. No words. No glances. Just a soft hush of understanding as the door clicked shut behind them.

“I’m sorry,” you both whispered at once, voices cracking under the weight of it all. A small, tearful laugh escaped you, a fragile thing, but it softened the edges.

You pulled back just enough to look at her.

“I shouldn’t have made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about your pregnancy,” you said, voice trembling. “You shouldn’t have had to dim your joy because I was hurting.”

Feyre immediately shook her head, gripping your hands tightly. “No—no, Y/N. You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I should’ve been a better friend. I should’ve talked to you first before announcing it in front of everyone. I just... I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to look at you and tell you this thing was happening to me, while I could see you breaking a little more each day.”

Her eyes were filled with tears, with guilt, with a pain that mirrored your own. “I didn’t know how to exist beside your grief. And I’m sorry. I should’ve tried harder—for you, for Azriel. We all should’ve.”

She wiped at her cheeks, but the tears kept falling. “I wanted to share the joy of this pregnancy with you,” she whispered. “But I hurt you instead.”

“Hey,” you whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek with your thumb. “Even in those moments where I was hurting… not once did I ever want you to be unhappy, Feyre. We made a promise to always be there for each other. Maybe we lost that for a while—but I’m still here. And I want you to know how happy I am for you. Truly.”

Feyre’s lips parted in a soft sob, her expression lighting up as though she had been waiting for those words, aching for them.

“I want you to know…” your voice trembled, breaking at the end, “you’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

She broke then, tears flowing freely as she pulled you into another hug—this one different. lighter.

After Feyre left, you stayed in your bed, your thoughts a quiet storm.

There was a strange sense of calm now, a fragile peace settling in the cracks. You’d taken the first step with your family. That had to count for something. But in the quiet moments, especially when it was just you and the silence, your mind wandered. You hadn’t let yourself dwell too deeply on your time in the afterlife, you were afraid of what might unravel if you did. But there was a sliver of comfort nestled in your chest, a belief that your son..your beautiful boy..was proud of you. Proud of the strength it took to stay. To try.

You missed him more than words could ever touch. And you missed Azriel, too.

Some days had passed. Little by little, you’d started making progress. You began healing sessions with Madja, and though you weren’t always in the mood to talk, you showed up. That counted, too. You focused as best as you could, despite the gnawing ache left by Azriel’s absence. He still hadn’t come to see you, and it was beginning to grate at the edges of your resolve.

You were angry—hurt in ways you didn’t know how to name, and you knew it showed, especially when the others came to visit. You didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Y/N?” Madja’s voice gently pulled you back from your spiraling thoughts.

You blinked, looking over at her.

“I was asking how your relationship with your family is nowadays.”

You wanted to brush it off with a joke or some vague reply, but you reminded yourself why you were here. This was the space to speak truth. To feel and let it be felt.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” you said with a small shrug.

Madja didn’t push—she waited

“I’m trying,” you added, fingers fidgeting in your lap. “And I can see that they’re trying, too. I appreciate that. I really do.”

Madja nodded slowly, her expression warm, patient.

“But?” she asked gently.

You looked at her, startled. “But what?”

“There’s a ‘but’ in your voice,” she said simply, “even if you don’t hear it yet.”

You paused. Let yourself sit in the question. And slowly, the words began to form—heavy, aching, real.

“A part of me still aches for the version I was before. And… I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and bare. You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it didn’t stop the tremble in your voice.

“I feel like it would be easier to just… let go. Let life pass me by. But I know now that I don’t want that. I want to fight, Madja. I want to try. It’s just so damn hard.”

Your voice cracked, and tears burned behind your eyes.

“Especially with Azriel ignoring me like I mean nothing to him.”

There it was—the truth. The pain that had been festering in the quiet corners of your heart.

“How does that make you feel?” 

You paused. Let yourself sit in the question. 

“I’m angry,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. 

You looked down at your hands, trying to steady the tremble in them. “And I get it. I shut everyone out. But… It's different with him. It hurts more. I know I hurt him. I said things before everything happened that I can’t take back. But he hurt me, too.”

Madja stayed quiet for a long moment, then leaned forward just slightly. 

Then she leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but firm. “You’re grieving two things at once, Y/N. The life you lost and the love you feel slipping through your fingers. That’s not easy. That’s not something anyone can move through quickly.”

You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt, jaw clenched as you fought to keep it together.

“But grief,” she continued, “isn’t a straight path. And healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning how to live with the pieces—without letting them cut you every time you breathe.”

You nodded slowly, her words settling like stones in your chest—painful, but grounding.

“And Azriel?” she asked, voice gentler still. “Do you think he’s avoiding you because he doesn’t care?”

“No,” you said without hesitation. “That’s not it. I know he cares. But I don’t know if he forgives me… or if he thinks I haven’t forgiven him.”

Madja gave a quiet hum, the kind that said she’d been waiting for that.

“Y/N… you nearly died. You were broken in every way a person can be. And Azriel, who loves you, had to watch it happen. Had to live with the fear that he’d lost you for good. That’s not something a person walks away from untouched.”

She gave you space to sit with that before continuing.

“Maybe,” she said, “just maybe… he’s afraid. Afraid that facing you means facing the guilt he carries. That maybe you still can’t stand to look at him. And this distance? This silence? It might be his way of protecting you. Or protecting himself.”

Your throat tightened. You blinked fast, trying not to cry again.

Madja reached for your hand.

“I’m not excusing the silence. You deserve better than that. But sometimes, people who love deeply… they run when the weight of that love starts to feel like it’s doing more harm than good.”

You stayed quiet, mind reeling. You’d been so sure he was punishing you. Or that he’d given up. But what if he was just… scared? Like you had been?

“What do I do?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Madja gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ve already taken the first steps with everyone else. Maybe it’s time to take one with him, too. Even if it’s just a letter. A word. A start.”

Late at night, sleep refused to come. You lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, your mind swirling with memories and doubts. The room was quiet, too quiet, until you noticed tiny shadows flickering just beyond your door, shadows you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Curiosity tugged at you, stronger than the heaviness pressing on your chest. Slowly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, muscles stiff from rest. The shadows moved gently, as if inviting you, beckoning.

Without quite knowing why, you followed them. Quiet footsteps trailing behind the little flickering shapes as they drifted down the hallway, past the familiar creaks of the old house. They slipped past the stairs and floated up the steps with an almost playful grace.

Your heart quickened when you reached the training ring. The shadows paused, then disappeared completely, as if their purpose was fulfilled.

There, in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows, stood Azriel. He moved with fierce intensity, every strike and block precise but filled with a restless energy. To an outsider, it looked like training, hard and focused. But you knew better.

You knew this was his way of battling the insomnia that haunted him, the way he tried to burn off the weight of his own fears and guilt.

You watched him for a long moment, your stomach tightening. The ache in your chest deepened, the quiet longing sharper than ever.

Then, remembering Madja’s words, you took a slow, steady breath and stepped forward into the ring, letting your presence break the silence.

“Azriel.”

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 4.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Azriel and Y/n take a step closer to each other but is that enough

Warnings: angst, emotional turmoil!!

Authors note: Finally back!!! I've been dealing with major writers block and just trying to survive in school lol. Also this chapter is a bit short but the next one is going to be longer.

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The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Everyone went still, and then the murmur of congratulations began, but you were still frozen. They had all been smiling, but their eyes flickered nervously toward you, unsure of how to react, how to celebrate when they knew the state of your heart, when they knew you were not quite there with them.

You tried to smile, tried to be happy for her, and you whispered, “I’m happy for you, Fey,” but the words felt like they got stuck in your throat. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for her—of course, you were but something sharp and painful cut through you. You hated that you felt sad. You hated that the joy you wanted to share with her felt tainted by the emptiness inside you.

Feyre’s voice softened, and she started, “I wish-” but she didn’t finish.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice tight, almost broken. You stood up quickly, needing to put some distance between you and the table, between you and the growing ache in your chest. You reached out, pulling her into a hug. “You’ll make an excellent mother,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. Feyre hugged you back tightly, her arms warm and reassuring, but all you could feel was the distance between you and everything that used to be.

You pulled back from the hug, forcing a smile even though it felt like a mask slipping over your face. “Excuse me, I’ll be going to bed,” you said quietly, the words barely more than a whisper. You couldn’t stay there, couldn’t sit at the table and pretend everything was okay when it felt like your walls were cracking under the pressure.

You turned quickly, walking toward your room, but as you passed through the hall, you heard the sound of their laughter, their congratulations, the excited murmurs of joy filling the air. And you stopped for a moment, your hand on the doorframe, your chest tight. You wanted to be happy for her. You wanted to celebrate with them. But why did it feel like everything inside of you was crumbling, like you were too far gone to share in that happiness? 

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Azriel had seen how broken you were when Feyre announced her pregnancy. He had felt it through the bond you had forgotten to close off this evening. Every raw emotion crashed into him, the sharp sting of sorrow, the aching hollowness that you tried to bury beneath a forced smile. It settled inside him like a weight, pressing against his ribs, making it hard to breathe.

His eyes followed you as you walked away, his shadows shifting restlessly, aching to follow you, to wrap around you and shield you from this moment. But he stayed seated, forcing himself to believe that maybe—just maybe, you wanted space. That you needed to process this on your own.

But anger burned low and simmered beneath his skin. They knew. Rhys and Feyre knew how fragile you still were, how much you had lost, how much you still carried. And yet they had sprung this on you tonight, in front of everyone, as if it wouldn’t crack something inside you. Azriel was happy for them truly, he was, but did it have to be now?

"Excuse me," he said, standing abruptly.

Rhys reached out, stopping him before he could leave. “Az,” he murmured, regret lining his voice.

Feyre’s face was tight with guilt as she glanced toward the door you had disappeared through. "I didn’t think she was going to come down tonight," she admitted. "I had planned to announce it, but… I should have waited."

Azriel clenched his jaw, his wings tensing as he exhaled sharply. He wanted to be understanding, he knew Feyre hadn’t meant to hurt you, but that didn’t change the fact that she had. That Rhys had.

"You should have waited," he said, his voice low, controlled, but edged with something sharp. "She’s barely keeping herself together as it is."

Feyre’s expression crumbled, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I know," she whispered. "I just—I thought maybe it would bring her some happiness."

Azriel scoffed softly, shaking his head. "You thought wrong."

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Az—"

But Azriel was already turning away. "I’m checking on her," he said, leaving no room for argument.

Just before he stepped out of the room, he paused, glancing back at them. His gaze softened, sincerity threading through his words. "Congratulations, brother. Truly, I mean it." And then he walked out.

The hall was quiet, save for the distant murmurs of celebration behind him. But his focus was already elsewhere. His shadows stretched ahead, slipping under doors and down corridors, searching for you, drawn to your pain as much as he was.

And when he reached your door, hesitating only for a second before knocking softly. No answer

Azriel knocked again, harder this time, his patience fraying. Still no answer. A sinking feeling clawed at his chest, and before he could second-guess himself, he pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

Panic shot through him like ice. His shadows darted ahead, swirling through the space, searching, desperate. The room was eerily still, untouched, but then—then, his eyes caught the faintest flicker of movement. A sliver of light from the slightly ajar bathroom door.

Azriel crossed the room in a heartbeat, the door creaking as he pushed it open.

His breath caught.

Glass shimmered across the tiled floor, jagged pieces reflecting the dim light. And there, in the too-cold water of the bathtub, you sat curled into yourself, your arms wrapped tight around your body.

His heart pounded against his ribs. The sight of you, so small, so utterly broken—knocked the breath from his lungs and almost brought him to his knees.

"Love," his voice cracked, raw with emotion as he moved closer, careful of the glass beneath his boots. You didn’t respond. You only stared blankly ahead, as if you weren’t even fully here, as if you had been dragged somewhere unreachable.

Azriel crouched beside the tub, his hands hovering above the water, unsure if you’d let him touch you. "You're freezing," he whispered, his voice thick with something dangerously close to desperation.

Still, you didn’t move.

Azriel doesn’t hesitate. He pulls off his boots, stepping into the tub without a second thought, the cold water soaking through his clothes as he settles across from you. He doesn’t care. Not about the chill, not about the discomfort—only about you.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches, thick with things unsaid, until his voice finally breaks through.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his hands finding your arms, rubbing slow, steady circles in a desperate attempt to warm you. His touch is gentle, grounding. “Please.”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to where the water ripples between you. “I didn’t—” Your voice falters, but you force yourself to continue. “I am happy for Feyre. If that’s why you’re here.” You lift your eyes to meet his, searching, hoping he understands. “I just… I just couldn't be in there.”

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting his head, trying to catch your gaze. “I’m here for you. And you never have to explain what you feel to me, not now, not ever.” His voice is firm, unwavering. “I’m always on your side, no matter what.”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay.

Azriel watches you for a beat before exhaling through his nose, as if making a decision. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching for a towel. He wraps it around your trembling body, his movements careful, deliberate. The warmth seeps into your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in his touch, the steady way he holds you as he helps you up.

He doesn’t say a word as he dries you off, dresses you in one of your softer nightgowns, then guides you to the bed. Only after cleaning up the shattered glass does he return, standing beside you, his eyes still searching, still worried.

He’s about to say something when you shake your head, cutting him off.

"I'll be fine, Az," you say, forcing a small, fragile smile. You don’t want him to stay. You don’t want him to see how bad your nights have become.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His gaze lingers on you, as if debating whether or not to push.

"Don't do that," Azriel says, his jaw clenching. "Don't push me away."

He wanted—needed—to be here with you. He knew the mental toll tonight had taken on you.

You stay quiet. "I just can't do this right now," you exhale, the lie slipping easily from your lips. "I just need to be by myself."

Azriel steps forward, kneeling in front of you. You try your hardest to look anywhere but at him, to escape the vulnerability in his eyes, because you know one look is all it would take for you to give in.

His fingers brush against your cheek, tilting your face towards him, his touch impossibly gentle..

"I'm scared." His voice wavers.

Your breath catches. "What?"

Azriel takes a shuddering breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

"I'm scared that if I walk out that door, something's going to happen." His voice is barely above a whisper now, raw with emotion. "And I—" He exhales shakily. "I just can't leave you."

You look into his eyes, and for a moment, it feels like the world is standing still. There’s so much pain in his gaze, so much fear—for you, for what might happen if he leaves. The vulnerability that’s always been hidden beneath his tough exterior is laid bare, and you realize that this isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about him, too.

You feel the weight of everything pressing on your chest, the guilt, the sadness, the exhaustion and yet, there’s something else, something unexpected: relief. He’s here. He wants to be here.

You blink, swallowing the knot in your throat.

"Az... I..." The words feel so small, so insignificant in the face of what you both are going through. But you know you can’t push him away anymore.

The silence between you stretches, and then, before you can stop yourself, you reach out, pulling him closer. His breath hitches as he leans into you, the tension in his body melting the second your arms encircle him.

For a moment, he’s still, unsure. Then he lets out a long, quiet sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath for hours.

"Please," he whispers against your hair, his voice broken. "Just tonight. Let me be here."

And you do. You let go of the part of you that wanted to push him away, the part that convinced you you didn’t deserve this. You let him hold you, feel his warmth, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

Because, at the end of the day, you both needed this. You needed him, just as much as he needed you.

**************************************************

Azriel didn’t sleep the entire night. He held you through every shuddering breath, every restless toss and turn, as if letting go would mean losing you completely. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hold you, to remind himself that you were still here. That he could still do something.

Now, with the first light creeping through the curtains, he watches your brow furrow in sleep. Without thinking, he leans down and presses a soft kiss against your forehead, smoothing away the tension, just like you always did for him.

A small part of him wants to stay like this, wants to pretend that last night meant things were getting better. But he knows better.

So he moves carefully, slipping out of bed, intending to make you breakfast because deep down, he had a sickening feeling you hadn’t been eating.

But the moment he stands, something brushes against his leg.

Azriel stills, frowning as he kneels, reaching under the bed. His fingers close around something cold, and when he pulls it into the morning light, his stomach turns.

A bottle.

His pulse pounds in his ears as he glances back under the bed. More of them. Hidden away.

A sharp breath hisses through his teeth. He doesn’t even realize he’s gripping the bottle too tightly until his knuckles ache.

Behind him, you stir.

A groan leaves your lips as you wake, head throbbing, the remnants of nightmares clinging to you like a second skin. You blink blearily, still expecting to be alone, only to find Azriel sitting rigidly at the edge of the bed, his back turned to you, shoulders tense.

Something was wrong.

“Az?” Your voice is still rough with sleep, but there’s something else now, an undercurrent of dread curling through your ribs.

He doesn’t answer right away.

When he finally turns to face you, his jaw is clenched so tight it looked painful. He held your gaze for a long, unreadable moment before he spoke.

“I think you need to talk to Madja.”

Your stomach drops.

“What?” you force out,

Azriel exhales sharply, the sound barely controlled. “I’m worried about you.”

You shake your head immediately. “Az, I’m fine.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything, it hardens. “You think drinking yourself to oblivion every night is fine?”

The room tilts slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw the bottles,” he says quietly, but there’s an edge to his voice now, something restrained, like a thread pulled too tight. “Under your bed.”

Your breath stutters, and something like shame claws at your throat. But you shove it down, sitting up straighter. “It’s not—It’s not like that.”

Azriel looks at you, his hazel eyes dark and unwavering. “Then what is it like?”

You hate that he’s seeing this. Hate that he’s looking at you like that-like he’s trying to put together the pieces of something broken.

“I don’t need to talk to Madja,” you say, your voice sharper now, defensive. “I’ve been doing fine.”

“No,” Azriel says, shaking his head. “You haven’t.”

 “You don’t get to decide that.” You grit your teeth

“I’m not deciding anything,” he says, the frustration bleeding into his voice. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you drowning.”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I don’t need your help.”

Azriel exhales, slow and measured, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “That’s bullshit.”

You glare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Why are you even here, Az? What, you want to play hero? Fix me?”

His jaw tightens. “I want you to stop pretending you’re okay when you’re not.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“No,” he says, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You didn’t.” He looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression flickers, something raw, something almost pleading. “But I can’t just sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

Something in your chest twists violently.

“Then don’t,” you say, your voice cold. “I’ve been fine without you for a while now.”

The words are out before you can stop them, sharp and cold and final.

Azriel stills. His fingers flex at his sides, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak for a long moment. And then, finally, he exhales through his nose and pushes to his feet.

A muscle jumps in his jaw as he looks down at you, his face unreadable. “Fine.” It shouldn’t sting, but it does.

He steps back, shadows curling at his heels as he heads for the door. But just before he reaches it, he pauses. Doesn’t look back.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, voice quiet but firm. “About always being here for you. We made a vow to each other and I intend on keeping it”

And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. And you’re left alone.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

You stare at the door, heart still pounding, fingers curled into the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring you.

He’s gone.

You should feel relieved. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To keep him at a distance, to stop him from seeing the parts of you that were fraying at the edges. To protect him from the mess you’ve become.

But all you feel is hollow.

Your eyes flicker to the bottle still clutched in your hand. You don’t even remember grabbing it, but there it is—cool and solid against your palm, the last thing tethering you to reality.

You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply, willing the tremor in your hands to stop.

Azriel saw. He knew. And now, there was no taking it back. You should’ve known better than to think you could hide this from him.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at the wall, your mind racing in circles. Minutes? Hours? The light outside shifts, and eventually, you drag yourself out of bed, feeling like you’re moving through water.

You pace the room once. Twice. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too full.

You needed air.

Your feet carry you towards the balcony before you can think twice about it, and before you know it, you’re outside, the cool morning air biting at your skin. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the chill, but it does nothing for the ache inside your ribs.

Azriel’s scent lingers in your room. The ghost of him still clings to the space he left behind.

And gods, you wanted to chase after him.

You wanted to run to him, tell him you didn’t mean it, that you didn't want him to go.

But you don’t.

Instead, you sink down onto the floor, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes as the weight of everything crashes over you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but eventually, exhaustion wins.

And when you finally drag yourself back inside, the only thing left is the gnawing, empty quiet.

*************************************************

Azriel didn’t know his heart could break more than it already had, until today.

Your words echoed in his mind, each one a confirmation of how much he had failed you. The weight of it was unbearable, suffocating. By the time he made it back to his room, his stomach twisted violently, and the first thing he did was stumble into the bathroom and throw up.

The realization hit him like a blade to the gut, you had drowned your sorrows in bottles instead of him. And the bitterness that followed was something he couldn’t shake.

Azriel gripped the edges of the sink, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself. His reflection stared back at him, hollow-eyed, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Shadows curled around his shoulders, restless, feeding off the storm raging inside him.

You had chosen the bottle over him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply through his nose. It shouldn’t matter..it wasn’t about him. This was about you, about the pain you carried, the weight you refused to share. And yet, the thought of you suffering alone, of you pushing him away when all he wanted was to help, made something inside him splinter.

He had known you were hurting, but seeing it up close, seeing the bottles stashed beneath your bed, the way you flinched at his concern made it real in a way he wasn’t prepared for. And it killed him.

His hands trembled as he turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, hoping it would wash away the sick feeling in his gut. But it didn’t. Nothing would.

Because no matter how much he wanted to be the one to help you, you didn’t want his help.

And that hurt more than anything.

***************************************************

You weren't speaking to anyone in the house. The silence had become suffocating, a constant companion that pressed against you, reminding you of everything you couldn’t escape. Most days, you found yourself hiding away with Clotho, retreating to the library as a sanctuary from the chaos swirling inside your mind.

Feyre’s bump was unmistakable now, a joyful sign of life that only amplified the ache you carried. She’d tried to reach out, tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be around her. You couldn’t bear to cast a shadow over her happiness, and if you did, you knew how it would end: with you comforting her, reassuring her that none of this was her fault. That she had nothing to feel guilty for.

Cassian had made attempts, trying to coax even the faintest smile from you with his jokes. But Nesta saw it, the hollow look in your eyes, the way your lips never quite formed a smile. No matter how hard you tried, the façade wouldn’t stick. You couldn’t pretend anymore.

And Azriel… you and him were locked in your usual dance of silence, each passing day feeling heavier than the last. The weight of what had been left unsaid between you was unbearable, and the thought of trying to fix it seemed almost impossible.

You hadn’t touched a drink since that last argument, your longest streak in a while. You couldn’t even bring yourself to admit it to him, not after how things had ended. Not when you weren’t even sure if anything could ever be the same again.

They had all noticed how much worse you were getting. Yet, no one knew how to fix it

The house was eerily quiet when you returned from another long day with Clotho. Too quiet.

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as you stepped inside.

Then you saw them...sitting in the living room, waiting for you. Concern was written all over their faces. Your eyes landed on Azriel, standing in the far corner, his jaw clenched tight, shadows curling at his feet.

And the absurdity of it all wasn’t lost on you. An intervention. They were staging a damn intervention.

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Masterlist

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: There's an attack on Velaris and you and Azriel are struggling to reconnect after sudden events that leave the both of you broken beyond repair.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 3.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n and Azriel's relationship is filled with tension and unspoken feelings, leaving both of them struggling to confront the distance growing between them.

TW!!: emotional turmoil, angst, drinking!!

Sorry that this took long, school has been beating my a**.

Authors Note: It's gonna go downhill from here and she's going to be really struggling like emotionally and physically before she starts healing. I hope you guys enjoy!!

************************************************************

Mor and Feyre had spent the past few days gently coaxing you out of bed, urging you to get some fresh air, to take even the smallest step forward. Today, for the first time, you gave in. Not for them, but because you could admit, if only to yourself, that the walls of your room had begun to close in on you, making you feel suffocated.

The crisp air greets you as you step into the garden, filling your lungs with something that almost feels like relief. Almost. The sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground, but the warmth barely touches you.

Mor and Feyre walk beside you, their voices light and hopeful as they try to pull you into conversation.They talk about everything and nothing, weaving words in the air between you, trying to anchor you back to the present. But it was like listening through water.. muffled and  distant. You nod at the right moments, but you don’t really hear them. Your mind drifts, weightless and detached.

“Have either of you seen Azriel?”

The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you’d spoken them, your voice breaking the rhythm of their conversation. It was the first thing you’d said to them all day, and it caught them off guard. Their exchange of glances was subtle, but not subtle enough.

Feyre was the first to respond. “He’s attending to some court matters right now,” she said carefully, her tone soft but uncertain. “But he’ll be back soon.”

The hesitation in her voice wasn’t lost on you. The words hung in the air, heavy and unsatisfying. They didn’t sound like the truth. Not entirely. And the bitterness it left in your mouth was indescribable.

Your chest tightened, frustration mingling with the ache already there. “I’ll be going back to my room,” you said abruptly, your voice strained. The pity in their glances, the gentle coddling,it was unbearable. Every attempt they made to help only seemed to remind you of how broken you felt.

You make your way inside, the walls of the house pressing in on you as the weight in your chest grows heavier. You don’t think, you just move, your feet carrying you toward Rhys’s extensive wine collection. You knew this was the last thing you needed, but at this moment, reason didn’t matter. You needed an escape, even if only for a little while.

The room is silent, the dim glow of candlelight casting long shadows against the walls. The air is thick with the scent of aged oak and spiced wine as you step closer to the towering shelf where the bottles are kept. Your fingers tremble as you reach out, the cool glass smooth beneath your touch. The bottle is heavy in your grasp, and as you tilt it slightly, the quiet slosh of liquid inside fills the space, sending a shiver down your spine.

A lump rises in your throat. The sound should bring you comfort, should promise relief. But instead, it fills you with dread.

Still, you don’t put it back. You can’t.

You carry the bottle to your room, each step heavy as if the weight of the moment is pressing down on your chest. Once inside, you sit down against your bed, the cool bottle in your hand a fleeting comfort. The first sip is sharp, bitter, but you don’t care. It’s something, a fleeting numbness to give your mind a break.

Time seems to slip away from you as you drink, each sip taking you further from the reality of your grief and you find yourself lying on the floor, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The same ceiling that had been your quiet companion over the last few days, offering no answers, only silence. 

The pain doesn’t go away, but it dulls, just enough to allow you a breath, a fleeting moment of rest. You know, deep down, that Azriel would be heartbroken if he found you like this. He would want to fix it, to ease your sorrow, but you couldn’t bear to face him like this. Not when you felt so broken.

But tonight, thankfully, he didn't come. The silence of the room, the emptiness of the space, is almost a relief in some strange way. You’re alone with your grief, your sadness, the hollow ache in your chest.

And so you let the tears come, hot and raw, pouring down your face as you grieve. Grief for the son you lost, for the future that would never be. 

*******************************************************

Azriel had been racking his mind for days, throwing himself into work to avoid the crushing weight of his failure. If he couldn't ease your pain, if he couldn't reach you, then at the very least, he could do this. He could hunt down the ones responsible and make them suffer. He owed you that much.

His spies had been working relentlessly under his command, tracking down every lead, every whisper in the shadows. He hadn't given himself a moment of rest, hadn’t stopped for even a second, not until he was sure that everyone involved in the attack would feel the same agony that had rooted itself deep in his chest. His training had become more brutal, more punishing so much that even Cassian and Rhys had started to worry. But none of that mattered. Pain was a welcome distraction.

He sat in his office now, his fingers pressed against his temples, exhaustion threatening to consume him. His shadows swirled around him, whispering fragments of information. The others lingered outside your door, unwilling to leave you alone for even a moment. They had been watching over you constantly, silent guardians in the absence of the one who should have been at your side.

A knock at the door broke through his thoughts. Rhys and Cassian stepped inside, their expressions grim.

“We found some of them,” Rhys said, his voice measured but tight with unspoken fury. He, too, had been searching. He knew Azriel needed this, and he had sworn to do whatever it took to help his brother find justice or at the very least, vengeance.

Azriel lifted his gaze, the dark circles under his eyes making the icy intensity of them even more striking. “How many?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

“We got two,” Rhys admitted. “But they refuse to give up their leader.”

Azriel stood, his grip tightening around Truth-Teller, the blade he had taken from you in fear that you might turn it on yourself. His shadows pulsed around him, eager for violence.

“Leave them to me,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He strode toward the door, but Cassian stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“What do you plan to do, Az?” Cassian asked, his tone cautious but firm.

Azriel’s patience was thin. His nerves were frayed, his restraint all but gone. He met Cassian’s gaze with a cold, unyielding stare. “Whatever it takes.”

Before either of them could stop him, Azriel winnowed straight to the dungeon

The moment he entered, the stench of sweat, blood, and despair clung to him like a second skin. The air was thick with fear, the kind that seeped into the bones and settled there. It was familiar. He welcomed it.

Azriel stepped into the first cell, silent as death itself. The prisoner hadn't noticed him yet, too lost in his own misery to sense the shadows curling around the room, dimming the already faint torchlight.

The man was slumped against the wall, shackles biting into his wrists, his breathing ragged. He hadn’t noticed Azriel yet, not until the door creaked shut behind him. The sound made the man jolt, his head snapping up, his eyes darting frantically around the cell.

Azriel didn’t speak at first. He simply stood in the darkness, letting the silence stretch, letting the man feel the weight of his presence. Fear was a weapon, and Azriel wielded it with deadly precision.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward, into the dim light. His face was expressionless, his Siphons glowing faintly, his wings casting monstrous shadows against the walls.

Slowly, Azriel emerged from the shadows, Truth-Teller glinting in his hand.

The man looked up, and froze.

Azriel tilted his head, his voice quiet, almost gentle.

“Shall we begin?”

********************************************************

You wake up to the dim morning light filtering through the curtains, your head pounding slightly from last night’s activity. Blinking, you shift under the covers and freeze when you see Azriel sitting in the chair across from your bed.

Your heart stutters, a wave of relief washing over you before something sharper cuts through it..uncertainty. You’re thankful you had the sense to shove the empty bottle under your bed before falling asleep. He hadn’t been visiting as much lately, and now that he was here, you couldn’t help the selfish thought that slithered into your mind. Had he found someone else to be there for him? Someone who could give him what you couldn’t?

The idea alone makes your stomach twist, your heart drop.

You stare at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, his face unreadable, his hazel eyes dark with something you can’t quite place.

Your gaze drifts over him, his unkempt hair, the deep shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. He looked exhausted. You swallow past the lump in your throat, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “You look like hell.”

Azriel huffs a breath, something like a laugh, but not quite. “So do you.”

A shadow of a smile ghosts your face. Azriel watches you, his gaze unwavering, searching. He always had this way of looking at you, like he saw too much, like he could peel back every layer until there was nothing left to hide. It used to bring you comfort. Now, it only makes you feel exposed.

You force yourself to hold his stare. “Where were you?”

He hesitates. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

“Court handlings,” he finally says, voice careful, measured.

A lie.

You know it immediately, the way his eyes flicker, the way his fingers tighten slightly against his thigh. The realization sends a sharp sting through your chest.

Why was he lying?

Your mind spirals before you can stop it. Had he truly  found someone else? 

You nod slowly, forcing yourself to swallow the bitterness rising in your throat. “Right.”

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Then you turn away, shifting beneath the covers. “I’m going back to bed.”

Something flashes across his face, hurt, maybe, or frustration. He doesn’t answer.

Azriel steps forward, but you pull back, suddenly exhausted. “Just go,” you murmur, rubbing a hand over your face. “If you won’t tell me the truth, then just… go.”

For a moment, you think he might fight it. That he might stay. But then his shadows shift, and without another word, he’s gone.

And for the first time since Azriel walked into your room, you wish he hadn’t come at all.

********************************************************

You step into the library and finally exhale, the weight on your chest easing just enough to let you breathe. This place had always been your refuge, long before Azriel..before everything. Here, the silence wasn’t suffocating; it was soothing. The books, the worn scent of parchment and ink, the soft glow of the faelights, it all wrapped around you like an old friend, welcoming you home.

It was the first time you had ventured out in a while, and yet, you hadn’t been able to ask Azriel or anyone else for help. You couldn’t bear the pity in their eyes, the lingering stares, the questions no one dared to ask but that burned in the air between you. 

The tension with Azriel had become unbearable. He was always away on missions, always finding something to occupy himself while you remained here stuck, drowning in grief that everyone else seemed to have moved past. The only thing that stayed, the only thing that didn’t judge you, were the bottles hidden beneath your bed.

"Get it together," you whisper to yourself, trying to push away the lump that was threatening to rise in your throat. But it was hard, everything felt so raw.

You make your way to the front desk, and the moment Clotho sees you, she moves with quiet urgency, wrapping her arms around you in a hug. That meant she had heard.

You freeze for just a second before slowly relaxing into the embrace. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at your lips. Clotho,like every priestess in this library was wary of physical touch. They had all endured horrors that made something as simple as a hug feel foreign, even unsafe. And yet, Clotho had always welcomed you, always made you feel like you belonged.

She had been the first to open her arms to you when your family had let you go.

You let yourself sink into the warmth of it, the quiet comfort. Just for a moment.

"I'm fine," you murmur as you pull back, but Clotho only gives you a stern look, the kind that says you don’t have to lie to her, that she knows the truth even if you don’t say it.

She cups your cheeks gently, her touch light but grounding, then presses a soft kiss to your forehead, just like she always did when you were younger. The simple gesture undoes something inside you, and you swallow hard against the sting behind your eyes.

Clotho doesn’t let go of you just yet. Instead, she gently takes your hand and guides you toward a stack of books waiting to be shelved. There’s no explanation, no request, just quiet understanding.

This is what you used to do when you were younger. Back then, when your mind felt too heavy, when the weight of the world pressed down on your chest, Clotho would set you to work organizing the shelves. It helped then. She must have known it would help now, too.

You take the books without a word and begin placing them where they belong, running your fingers over the spines, breathing in the scent of parchment and ink. Slowly, steadily, your thoughts stop spiraling. Your mind quiets. The task grounding you in a way nothing else has in weeks.

By the time you place the last book on the shelf, you realize how much time has passed. The library’s fae lights are dimmer now, the soft glow of evening settling in. It’s dinnertime,so with a soft goodbye, you promise Clotho that you’ll return soon. She doesn’t press, only pats your hand before you step out of the library and into the cool evening time.

The walk to the House of Wind is longer than you remember. Or maybe it just feels that way because of the overwhelming pressure you felt.

When you step inside, the warmth of the house greets you, along with the scent of freshly cooked food. And the first person you see is Elain.

You and Elain had never really been close. It wasn’t animosity, it was more of an unspoken unease. Her ability, the things she knew without ever saying, made you feel exposed in a way you weren’t ready to confront.

She’s standing near the staircase, her soft, golden-brown hair catching the light from the chandeliers.She smiles warmly when she spots you, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “You’re just in time for dinner,” she says, her voice gentle.

You try to return her smile, though it feels strained. “I’m just going to change,” you murmur, not quite meeting her gaze.

You make your way to your room and slowly change into something more comfortable.This would be the first time in weeks that you were eating with everyone instead of taking your meals in solitude. The thought makes your stomach twist with unease, but you remind yourself that this was a step, one you had to take if you ever wanted to feel like yourself again.

As you slip into your clothes, your gaze catches on the mirror. For a moment, you hesitate, but then you force yourself to look.

The reflection staring back at you feels like a stranger. Your eyes, once bright and full of life, now seemed hollow, empty. Dark circles cling stubbornly beneath them, the proof of many sleepless nights. Your skin looked pale, your shoulders slouched under the weight of invisible burdens.

Your hand moves instinctively to your stomach, and the moment your fingers graze it, you flinch. The touch sends a wave of emotions crashing over you..grief, shame, self-consciousness all swirling into a tight knot in your chest.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the wave of emotions back down before they can consume you. Not now. Not tonight.

Instead, you take a slow, deliberate breath and drop your hand, straightening your posture. You smooth out the fabric of your shirt, forcing yourself to focus on the present, on the simple act of walking out that door and sitting at the table with the others.

You make your way into the dining room, and immediately, the quiet buzz of conversation dies down. The inner circle is seated around the table—Feyre, Rhys,Nesta, Mor, Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Varian and Azriel, his presence heavy in the air. They all seem surprised to see you, but your eyes stay locked on Azriel. He hadn’t come to see you, hadn’t spoken to you since… since everything started falling apart. And that silence between you was suffocating. It felt like the room was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, waiting for you to move, to say something.

Feyre’s voice breaks the tension. “Y/n?” It’s soft, but you can hear the underlying nerves. Her gaze flickered between you and Azriel, but no one knew how to approach the subject. The weight of their concern pressed on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, to even look at him.

You sit down, your heart heavy in your chest. You’re seated in front of Azriel, but your eyes are firmly fixed on the table, unwilling to meet his gaze. Cassian nudges you lightly with a grin, trying to ease the tension, and you offer him a small, strained smile. It’s the best you can do. You hate how distant you’ve become, how cold you feel even with them all around. You just don’t know how to fix it, how to get past this wall that’s built itself between you and everyone else.

The food appears on the table, but you can barely bring yourself to care. The hunger in your stomach is drowned out, and you struggle to find any appeal in the meal before you. You can feel the ache in your bones, the emptiness pulling you under, and the thought of drinking, of losing yourself in something that would numb the pain, rises to the surface. It’s getting harder to fight it. You don’t want to fall back into old habits, but everything feels so overwhelming.

“I have an announcement to make,” Feyre suddenly stands, her voice trembling with excitement and a hint of nervousness. You glance at Rhys, his face full of pride and warmth, and you know this is something they’ve been waiting for, something important. You brace yourself, though, not knowing what kind of announcement could break the tension in the air.

“I’m pregnant.”