Hello! My name is Ellie. I'm 27 years old and I have a Bachelor of Arts in English with a double minor in creative writing and journalism. I also have a Masters degree in Professional Writing!
Blog for the novel I’m writing: fateandsecrets.tumblr.com
When I’m not working or working on my novel, I’m writing for the Harry Potter fandom, specifically for Draco Malfoy. Here's what I have going so far.
Draco Malfoy
1. Stronger Than Blood (Draco Malfoy x female OC).
(Updated 5/17/22)
Summary: Hufflepuff witch Felicity Zabini struggles to find normalcy as she enters into her 6th year at Hogwarts, reeling from her father’s sudden death and her mother’s quick remarriage into the Zabini family. If only she had known that discovering Draco Malfoy falling apart in the bathroom would spiral into so much more.
Chapter List
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One-shots
The Imperius Curse (Draco Malfoy x Fem! Hufflepuff reader)
You Don’t Understand (Draco Malfoy x Y/N)
Estrangement (Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff reader)
Don’t Look At Me (Draco Malfoy x Y/N)
Jealousy (Draco Malfoy x reader)
Sleepy Sundays (Draco Malfoy x reader)
The Serpent & The Eagle (Draco Malfoy x female Ravenclaw reader)
“No, she never accepted gifts without putting up a fight much to Draco’s chagrin.
But to his everlasting surprise, she did accept to take his name.”
Take My Hand (Wreck My Plans)
another_lonely_writer
~~~
“I tend to avoid sappy public declarations of love, but for you I will endeavor to do so at every opportunity—I love you, and I’ll spend all the rest of my days proving it to you.”
The Troublesome Thing About Time
LadyKenz347
~~~
“He pressed his eyes shut for a long moment, before finally turning towards her. "I want to give you the world, Granger. I want to give you everything but all I have is my heart. And that's already yours."
The Creature You Know
In_Dreams
~~~
“Everything has changed, Draco. This, just now.. everything changed.”
He sighed, and pressed his forehead to hers once more.
“In another lifetime, I would have married you.” He whispered.”
You Will Fall
edengrace
~~~
“If he had fallen from grace, then she was still an angel; high in the sky and untarnished despite the chaos of earth beneath her.
He may have been the one with a celestial name, but she was surely the one that shone above everything else.”
Where Angels Fear to Tread
megsivy
~~~
“I used to think I had no choices, that I was destined to follow in my father’s footsteps. I was barely breathing before you, treading to stay above water. You showed me it was worth it to fight the inevitable.
I know it’s selfish, but the time I had with you, was the happiest I’d ever been.”
No Way Home
Canttouchthis
~~~
“He didn’t deserve such well wishes, but Hermione was everything good in the world and how dare he or anyone else ever try to dim her brightness.”
Dear Hermione
Schmem_14
~~~
“She could already tell being the object of Draco Malfoy’s affection would be a magic entirely of its own.”
Her Admirer
mcplestreet
~~~
screaming, crying, throwing up, rolling around on the floor hysterically I LOVE THEM SO MUCH
Her hand pressed against her stomach, and she gave a low sob. “I don’t want to choose.” Her voice was rasping, and it hurt to speak. “I always have to choose, and I never get to choose you. I’m so tired of not getting to choose you.”
He squeezed her shoulder before his hand slid down to hers, and he began messaging away the rigid knots in it. “You’re not choosing. You promised—anything I wanted, you promised that. Don’t—don’t break yourself trying to save me. I want that more than anything else. Get away from this fucked up world. Let me get you out, Granger. Let me know you’re safe, away from all this. Tell our daughter I saved you both. That—is what I want.”
Manacled
senlinyu
“I suppose no one realises how light one set of manacles is until they have two.”
Manacled
senlinyu
“Of course you’d weaponise your own guilt in order to use mine.” He gave a low bitter laugh. “I’m sure there is something poetic in it all, but right now all I feel is a new set of manacles.”
His hand wavered for a moment before he withdrew it and stepped away from her.
“So forgive me if I dislike looking at you, I’m still adjusting to all the ways the new ones chafe.”
Manacled
senlinyu
***
“She smiled back at him. “There is nothing in the world that Ronald and I wouldn’t do for each other, including letting each other go.”
Draco wondered then if he’d ever cared for anyone that selflessly, if he’d ever be capable of holding someone so gently within his own heart. As he watched her now; smiling at the little otter that ran between her ankles, her hair curling wildly around her soft face, it occurred to him that he already did.”
Time and Place
GingerBaggins
“What I’m trying to say, Hermione, is that I’m in this. Tomorrow matters more than yesterday, and I want to spend all of my tomorrows with you.”
Time and Place
GingerBaggins
***
“Love is not just fate, not just destiny, not just something written in the stars. Love is built. Love is waking up beside you every morning and making the choice—again and again—to be yours. Love is patience when I have none, kindness when I don’t deserve it, forgiveness when I’ve made mistakes.
And love is you. It has always been you.
I have seen a thousand versions of us—young and uncertain, stubborn and afraid, tired and laughing, older and wiser. I have seen us as parents, as partners, as two people who have made something worth holding onto. And after all this time, there is one thing I know without a doubt: There is no version of my life that I want without you in it.”
The Life We Forgot
EJohansenWriter
***
“Even when our minds forget, I think our hearts remember. And I think…perhaps that makes love worth the risk.”
Time Heals All Wounds
Spookyandcooky
“Draco shuddered again, as though her words kickstarted his heart.
But, perhaps it was true. Perhaps his heart had stopped beating long ago.
Summary: Elain catches you asking Azriel if you're destined to be together in every universe.
Warnings: mostly fluff, pining, soulmatism, brief mentions of violence/blood/death, elain as your no.1 shipper, elucien being sweet
Word Count: 3.9k
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
The wood of the doorframe was rough beneath Elain’s fingers as she lingered in the opening.
Elain loved the Day Court—the sun-kissed glow of her skin, the endless warmth that felt like home. But every now and then, it was healing to return to her family, to see them, to know they were okay. Visits to the Night Court with Lucien at her side were rare since they’d started their family, but they always felt meaningful. There was a peace in these nights, a quiet place to rest and breathe. And sometimes, it gave her this: a glimpse of the people she loved, caught in the small, unspoken ways they cared for one another.
The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the celestial device. Feyre had told her about it, but Elain’s mind had forgotten to store away the proper name. She blamed it on her pregnancy brain at the time of the conversation. The device glowed as it slowly spun, scattering faint patterns of light over you and Azriel as you stood together, watching in awe.
It was slightly ironic to Elain that she was able to sneak up and observe such an intimate moment without Azriel, the most-feared Spymaster, noticing. But, in all truth, she wasn’t entirely surprised. You and Azriel had your own world, held moments that seemed like they existed only for you two—even Azriel’s shadows became something else entirely, something distracted and completely enamored with you.
“It’s… beautiful,” you said, the words reverent. “Gods, what a wonder we live in.”
Azriel hummed a sound that sounded a lot like agreement— like complete contentment. Elain recognized it slightly, almost felt compelled to compare it to the cat that Vassa and Jurian had dubbed the true ruler of the mortal lands. She stifled a laugh at the thought.
You pointed at something—a star, perhaps—and said something Elain couldn’t hear, your voice too soft. Azriel tilted his head toward you and his shadows swirled around you both, gentle and calm tendrils wrapping themselves through the edges of your hair strands. Azriel murmured something back, and though Elain couldn’t catch the words, she saw the way they made you smile.
There was no hesitation in his movements as he reached out, scarred fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was light, practiced, and it made him look entirely at home. Of course it did. He’d done it a hundred times before. You didn’t flinch or startle—didn’t even pause. Instead, you tilted into him slightly, the curve of your smile deepening.
Elain’s heart blossomed. She wondered, for a brief, fleeting moment, if anyone had seen such moments with her and Lucien– wondered if her eyes glowed just like yours.
Azriel shifted his gaze to you, and Elain could have sworn she watched his eyes dilate even from feet away. His thumb grazed your temple as he asked, “What are you thinking about?”
You leaned into the brush of his fingers. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Azriel repeated, amused. His thumb drew a lazy circle across your skin. “I can practically see the gears turning in there.”
A laugh. You shrugged, and a glimmer of amusement sparkled in your eyes. “It just makes me wonder.”
“About?”
Elain found herself leaning forward slightly, awaiting your answer as if she had been talking to you herself. You casted a glance back at the device before you.
“What else is out there, you know?” You tilted your head in contemplation, and Azriel pulled you into a soft embrace as you continued, “And that Bryce girl. I mean, if there are other worlds like hers, do you think…”
Azriel wrapped his arms around your center, placing an affectionate kiss to your clothed shoulder. Then, he placed his head into the crook of your neck. “Do I think what, my love?’
You turned your head to meet his eyes. “Do you think we’re together in each of them?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his silence thoughtful rather than hesitant.
And then the room began to shift. Or maybe it was just Elain. She stood up straighter and took a deep breath as the device before you both blurred, its golden light fracturing into something softer, quieter— a divine invitation.
Elain let herself be pulled through.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
The cannon fire echoed like thunder.
One, then another, and another still.
Azriel’s head tilted. “Two,” he murmured. “Close.”
You couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Your mind raced through the possibilities—faces you’d seen only hours ago. A girl in the meadow. That boy with the scar. Maybe someone who’d deserved it. Maybe someone who hadn’t.
“So that makes it five.” You gripped the hilt of your blade tighter, sweat slipping down your palm. “Besides us, there's only five left.”
Azriel was quiet.
“Come on,” he said, already turning. “You need to head east, away from the canons. I’ll lead them away from you.”
You caught his wrist. It was instinct, almost violent, and your nails dug into his skin. “No.”
He stopped. Turned back slowly, and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I’m not leaving you behind. We finish this together. You can’t keep putting yourself—”
“I can,” he cut in, voice cold. “And I will.”
“I won’t let you.”
Something cracked in his expression then. His lips parting like he wanted to argue, like he was ready to fight.
“Let me?” he repeated, his voice low. Dangerous. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“And you don’t get to decide for me.”
There was a silence that filled the space between you. Your hand, still wrapped around his wrist, softened into something almost reminiscent of a lover's hold.
“Don’t make me watch you die,” you said finally. “Don’t do that to me, Azriel.”
His eyes softened just enough to hurt.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive.”
“Why?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “You can win this. You know you can. Why throw away your chances for me?”
His mouth opened, then closed. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like the words were too heavy to say. But when his gaze met yours, there was no hesitation.
“You know why.”
You shook your head. “No—”
“It’s the same reason you killed that girl from six.” His voice was quiet. “For me.”
You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t. His hand, warm and calloused, brushed the back of your fingers.
“So don’t ask me to stop,” he said. “The capitol has taken so much from me. They’ve destroyed everything I cared about. I won’t let them take you. Not while I’m still breathing.”
A loud crack sounded in the distance. The world shifted again, a soft breeze carrying with it a sky speckled with stars.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Cicada songs threaded through the air like an ancient hymn. You sat near the embers of a dying fire, the orange glow licking against the edges of the stone walls surrounding you.
Azriel sat a few paces away, his back resting against one of the columns. His tunic was simple, sandals dusty from the day’s travel, but there was something about the way he held himself that made him seem as much a part of the night as the stars overhead.
“Do you think they truly listen?” you asked him.
Azriel’s gaze flicked to you. “The gods?”
You nodded, not sparing him a glance. Your eyes were glued to the heavens above, to the glistening stars that seemed to be leaning closer, listening.
“They hear everything,” he responded. “The question is whether they care.”
You turned to him then, the corner of your lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “You don’t honor them?”
Azriel’s eyes scanned your face before he responded simply, “I’ve been given no reason to.”
“And you aren’t afraid of angering them?”
“I’m afraid of man more than I am of the gods.”
A flicker passed through your face, something thoughtful, contemplative. “What would you pray for, if you thought they did listen?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. His scarred hands rested on his knees, the firelight painting shadows across them. There was a weight in his silence, a deliberation that pressed against the edges of the night. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before, almost a confession.
“I’d ask them to leave us be. To let us live without their meddling.”
You studied him. The sincerity of his words seemed to tug at something in your chest. “You think they’d grant a prayer like that?”
Azriel’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “No,” he said simply. “But I’d still ask.”
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Stubborn,” you murmured, though your tone was warm.
When he fell silent again, you observed him once more. “What else is on your mind?”
Azriel didn’t answer right away. His gaze turned back to the fire, as if searching for something in its depths. “You could be one.”
You blinked at him, thrown. “One what?”
“A god,” he said, his eyes shifting to meet yours. “A proper one. A kind one.”
Your chest tightened, nerves prickling at the edges of your mind. “Azriel,” you said, your voice low, almost a warning. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” he asked. “If I can see it, do you think they can’t?”
You glanced up at the stars, as if expecting them to strike him down then and there. “Because it’s not for us to claim,” you whispered. “And because it’s not true.”
Azriel leaned in slightly. “It is true,” he said, as though daring you to contradict him. “You stand apart. You always have.”
“Azriel—”
“I mean it,” he said, his voice softening. “If they did listen, if they cared, they’d envy what I see in you.”
You didn’t know how to answer. Azriel reached out then, his scarred hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. You swallowed hard.
“And what of you?” You asked. “If I’m to be a god, would you be one, too?”
He shook his head and a sweet smile made its way onto his face. His brows furrowed softly. Your fingers twitched as if you ached to smooth the crease between them.
“I think I was born to follow you.”
The fire light around you flickered, and the music of the cicadas began to reverberate, stretching and pulling like a ribbon in the wind. Soon, sounds began to fill the air—smooth instruments, slow and electric.
Warping, stretching, bleeding into something else.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You were perched on a velvet stool at the edge of the bar, watching the crush of dancers sway in time to the music. There was a faint scent of cigarette smoke that clung to the air, a smell that somehow mingled perfectly with the sharp tang of liquor and the sweetness of spilled champagne.
Azriel appeared beside you without a word. He wasn’t dressed to stand out— black suit, white shirt, no tie— but somehow, in the haze of golden light and shadow, he drew every glance. You adjusted the strap of your dress, the sequins catching what little light there was, throwing sparks of silver onto the walls.
“You’ve been hiding,” he said.
You turned your head to meet his gaze. There was something steady in it, like he’d been waiting for you to notice him. “I didn’t know I was being looked for.”
Azriel’s lips curved. “You always are.”
Your breath hitched, just enough to be noticeable, but you masked it with a sip of your drink— one with fading bubbles. “And here I thought I was just another face in the crowd.”
“Not to me,” Azriel said simply, as if it were the plainest fact on Earth. His gaze didn’t leave yours. “Never to me.”
The band transitioned into a slower tune, the saxophone drawing out a melody that made your face soften. You looked down to hide your growing smile, cheeks now rosy from Az’s attention.
“You’re not dancing,” he noted, eyes flicking briefly to the crowded floor.
“I don’t know if it's the right night for that.”
“Maybe you just need the right partner.”
The suggestion hung in the air, and when he held out his hand— scarred, steady— you didn’t hesitate to take it. He led you to the dance floor with a gentle hold, drawing you into his arms.
“You didn’t have to come find me,” you murmured, your gaze tracing the lines of his face.
Azriel’s eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a soft smile. “I’ll always find you.”
The music slowed, and the world softened with it.
And then, the light dimmed, fading into the deep, quiet shadows of something colder, untouched, an air heavy with the scent of pine and earth.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Two wolves emerged from the shadows, moving together, their coats brushing in fleeting touches. It was a quiet language— small movements of instinct and closeness. One was a shadow itself, dark fur absorbing the moonlight. The other was lighter, sleek and graceful, its movements quieter but no less assured.
The darker wolf paused, tilting its head toward its companion, a huff of warm breath visible in the chilled air. The lighter one hesitated, then stepped closer, nuzzling its muzzle against the dark wolf’s neck, a gesture of comfort—or reassurance. The dark wolf stilled at the touch, its golden-hazel eyes half-closing as if the simple act of connection mattered more than the world around them.
And then it turned, moving quietly into the heavy, shrouded forest. The lighter wolf turned to follow the dark one, glancing back only once before disappearing into the trees.
A sharp shift—the silence of the forest soon replaced by the soft crunch beneath leather winter boots.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You and Azriel approached the house ahead, its exterior draped in a plethora of colorful Christmas lights. The world was still, save for the muffled laughter drifting from inside, and you pulled your coat tighter against the cold.
“We’re late,” you murmured, quickening your step.
Azriel let out a quiet laugh. “I doubt they mind.”
You shot him a pointed look, but Azriel only chuckled again. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.When you reached the door, your hand had barely touched the handle before Azriel stopped you, his hand brushing yours. You glanced up at him, frowning, only to catch the cheeky grin tugging at his lips as he tilted his chin toward the frame.
There, hanging above the doorway, was a sprig of mistletoe.
“Mistletoe,” you said with a sweet hum. You met Azriel’s eyes.
“Cassian or Nesta?” He asked.
“Definitely Nesta,” you said. “She loves her romance.”
He nodded in agreement. “It is a romantic tradition.”
Azriel stepped closer, lifting a hand to cradle your face as he kissed you—soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. When he pulled back, your cheeks warmed under his gaze, his forehead brushing yours as he whispered, “I love you.”
The words were soft, meant just for you.
“I love you, t—”
The door sprang open and a shrieking voice filled the air with an excited, “Momma!”
You barely had time to turn before your son barreled into your arms, his eyes bright and his arms outstretched. You caught him easily, lifting him with a grin.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey, buddy,” Azriel said, leaning over to ruffle his messy curls. His mini-me only giggled and nuzzled deeper into the crook of your neck. A true momma’s boy. From inside, more laughter echoed, and Cassian appeared around the corner, grinning wide as he carried your daughter—upside down—by her ankles. Her delighted shrieks filled the house.
“Cassian!” you called, trying to suppress a laugh.
“What? She loves it!” Cassian shot back, clearly pleased with himself.
“Put her down,” you said, stepping inside as Azriel snorted behind you.
Cassian finally relented, lowering her to the ground. She didn’t hesitate, darting forward to wrap her arms around Azriel. She barely reached his hip, and he crouched slightly, holding her close like it was second nature.
“Sorry we’re late,” you said, closing the door. You wiped your shoes on the matt below you.
“Don’t worry about it,” Nesta’s voice said, drifting into the room before she rounded the corner from the kitchen. Her hair was in a loose bun, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She stopped at Cassian’s side, offering her husband a small nudge. “Our date nights always run late too.”
Her daughter trailed behind her, blue eyes already half-rolling. "Yeah. We need to talk about punctuality in this family."
She breezed past you and Azriel, offering you both quick hello’s before darting up the stairs.
Nesta rolled her eyes, but the action was affectionate. Comfortable. “Teenagers,” she muttered. Cassian slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “She’s going through a phase.”
“Heard that!” came a sharp voice from upstairs.
You stifled a laugh, glancing at Azriel. His eyes widened slightly, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked, almost reluctant smile—amused, exasperated, and entirely Azriel.
Nesta gestured toward your son, now half-asleep against your shoulder, and your daughter, who was eagerly tugging Azriel toward the living room to show off the fort her and Cassian had made. “Enjoy this,” Nesta said with a smirk. “While it lasts.”
A dreamy smile spread across your face as you watched them. “Oh, Nes,” you said softly. “I plan to enjoy it all.”
The room seemed to shimmer, the sounds of laughter melting into something darker, quieter.
And then, without warning, the world changed.
Cold. Hollow. Dark.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
“God, you look beautiful.”
You turned to Azriel, breathless, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. His golden-hazel eyes burned as they swept over you, lingering on the streaks of blood splattered across your cheek.
“You really think so?” you hummed, stepping closer, boots crunching against the broken glass scattered across the floor. The room reeked of iron and fear, the man slumped against the wall choking on his last breaths.
Azriel tilted his head, his shadows twisting and curling at his feet like they were alive, waiting for a command. “I’d argue you’ve never looked more stunning.”
Your grin grew, something divinely sinful, and you pulled the gun from the back of your waistband. The barrel gleamed in the dim light. “Would you like the honors, my love?”
Azriel’s hand brushed yours as he took the gun— perfectly smooth skin speckled in streaks of red. “Of course.”
The man whimpered as Azriel crouched before him, his shadows licking at the edges of the room, swallowing the light. You didn’t flinch, didn’t look away as Azriel tilted the man’s chin with the barrel, his voice low and almost tender. You seemed proud, even. Powerful.
“You should’ve known better.”
With a single, swift pull of the trigger, it was over. Azriel stood, wiping the gun against his pants before turning back to you.
“The others are all yours,” he murmured, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, smearing blood across your temple.
“And they said romance was dead,” you said, leaning into his touch.
Azriel grinned, and for a moment, the bloodlust that had overtaken the room seemed to fade. He pulled you close, lips crashing onto yours in a brutal, animalistic kiss. When you finally pulled away, breathless and wild, Azriel’s gaze was sharp—hungry. His eyes gleamed with something darker now.
“You’re the only one who ever understands,” he whispered.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
“Elain?”
Elain gasped and snapped back to the present, her body slightly recoiling like a thread once strung tight. She blinked and turned her head, watching the beautiful face of her mate come into focus. His eyes were fixed on her, that familiar gleam in them.
“Hmm?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Where did you just disappear to?”
Lucien’s hand gently swept her curly hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck, and allowed his palm to settle there— fingers brushing lightly against her skin, thumb grazing the underside of her jaw. Elain melted into the touch.
The remnants of her vision— of that twisted, vicious kiss between you and Azriel– still lingered at the edges of her mind, making her uneasy. But it was already fading, like a bad dream melting away in the morning light, as she looked at Lucien. The warmth of his touch steadied her, grounding her back into the reality of this life— something far less terrifying, far more full of light. Elain let her mind wander to the other thing she’d seen, to the cicada songs and the mistletoe.
“Let me tell you later.”
Lucien’s smile softened in that kind way that made Elain’s heart feel full, like it might spill over. “Alright,” he said.
“Oh, Elain, Lucien!”
Your voice broke the quiet, pulling their attention toward you as you approached, Azriel in tow. His shadows moved faster than he did, twisting around you in fluid motions, draping themselves over your limbs like they were part of you instead of the shadowsinger himself.
“Have you been here for long?” You asked as you met them at the doorway. “I’m so sorry we didn’t notice. We were in our own world.”
Azriel greeted her and Lucien with a small smile. But, as usual, his eyes drifted to you immediately, brightening in their glow as he watched you.
“No, no,” Lucien answered, noticing Elain hadn’t responded yet. “We were just making our rounds.”
You beamed. “Well, you should take some time in here. It’s beautiful.”
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” Elain said softly.
You shook your head, glancing at Azriel for a moment before you leaned into him, placing a hand on his chest and giving it a light tap. “We’re actually about to leave. We’ve got reservations for our anniversary.”
“What does today mark?” Lucien asked.
Azriel’s voice was light as he wrapped an arm around you. “430 years.”
“Can you believe he’s put up with me that long?” you said, a teasing smile on your lips.
Lucien laughed. “I’d say its the other way around.”
Azriel laughed, then, too, rolling his eyes in a way that seemed so brotherly that Elain’s smile almost split her cheeks in two.
“You’re meant for one another,” Elain found herself saying. “Happy anniversary.”
Azriel nodded in thanks as you smiled and moved to leave. He patted Lucien’s shoulder as he brushed past, and Elain let her gaze linger on your retreating forms for a moment, catching another small moment as Az cheekily smacked your ass, causing you to let out a small amused shriek and push him away.
For a moment, Elain was almost tempted to ask Lucien the same question you’d asked Azriel: Do you think we’re together in each life? But it was silly– fruitless, really. Because Elain knew, with certainty, that she’d find her loyal, flame-branded mate in every universe. In every form.
She’d seen it herself.
So instead, Elain grabbed his hand, interlaced their fingers, and said, “Let’s admire our world.”
And as always, Lucien followed her without protest.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
authors note:
I had a vision (tehehe) of this one shot and i dont think i did it justice but alas, here she is. also are you truly soulmates if you arent evil sociopathic villains in at least one universe? me thinks no
also fun fact, 5/6 of these au’s are scrapped ideas i’ve had🫣
thank you for reading <3
permanent tag list 🫶🏻 (this so desperately needs to be updated, i fear):
The snowflakes fall softly against y/n's window, it's delicate patterns illuminated by the glow of holiday lights outside. She leaned against the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she smiled at the scene below. Strings of fairy lights wrapped around lampposts and tree branches, casting the city in a dreamlike glow.
She threw on her favorite coat, wrapping a scarf snugly around her neck before stepping out into the chilly night. The air was crisp, biting at her cheeks, but the excitement bubbling in her chest kept her warm. She spotted Megumi waiting at the corner, his black spiky hair dusted with snowflakes, his tall figure standing out against the sparkling backdrop.
"Took you long enough," the corners of his mouth curved into a fond smile.
"You’re late," she teased as she approached him, her breath visible in the frost air.
Megumi glanced at her, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "And you’re lucky I didn’t change my mind about coming out in this cold," he muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.
She giggled, slipping her hand into his, her fingers cold but eager. "Come on," she said, tugging him gently. "The lights won’t wait for us."
Megumi blinked, looking down at her hand in his. For a moment, the cold didn’t seem to matter. "Yeah," he murmured, following her lead. "Let’s go."
"It's freezing," Megumi grumbled, tugging her closer as they began walking down the glowing street. His hand never left hers, even as he stuffed them both into the pocket of his coat.
"You say that every time, but you secretly love this," y/n said, grinning as she caught him stealing glances at the lights above them.
"Maybe," he admitted, his voice soft.
They strolled through the city, the snow crunching under their boots as they took in the dazzling decorations. Storefronts gleamed with festive displays, and the faint sound of holiday music spilled from cafes. The world seemed to slow down, the vibrant colors and soft snowfall creating a dreamlike haze.
"Look at that one," y/n said, pointing to a tree wrapped in lights that shifted colors like a kaleidoscope.
Megumi stopped walking, tugging her back gently so they stood still, the rainbow lights dancing across their faces. His gaze wasn’t on the tree, though—it was on her.
"You look really happy," he murmured.
"I am," she replied, her cheeks warming under his intent gaze. "It’s perfect."
His lips quirked up in a rare, genuine smile as he gave her hand a light squeeze. "Then I guess it was worth coming out, even if I hate the cold."
"You mean pretending to hate the cold," she teased, leaning her head against his shoulder as they continued walking.
"Whatever," he muttered. As the snow continued to fall, y/n felt her heart swell with gratitude for the moment they were in—so simple, so sweet, yet so perfect. The lights above seemed to twinkle just for them, and the warmth of his presence was all she needed to feel at home.
"Thank you for coming out with me," she whispered softly, "Like I’d say no," Megumi replied, his voice soft and loving.
As she turned her gaze upward, marveling at the lights, he glanced at her, the glow of the holiday lights reflecting on her face. A warmth spread through his chest, making the icy air feel far away.
He said nothing, letting the moment linger. In that quiet warmth, the cold didn’t matter. All that mattered was her hand in his and the feeling that everything, for once, was exactly as it should be.
word count: 6k
warnings: swearing, i think that’s it
summary: megumi finds himself eavesdropping a conversation between the rest of his classmates when he hears his name pop up. the way you jump to his defense and have only sweet things to say about him has him second guessing the way he feels about you.
___
it wasn’t in words, and it certainly wasn’t in grand gestures, but it was there — woven into the quiet corners of your shared life, stitched into the routines neither of you ever admitted to.
you and sukuna didn’t do “romantic.” there were no declarations, no flowery exchanges. hell, you’d scoff at the idea if anyone even suggested it.
but the love was there, silent and stubborn, like the both of you.
you noticed it when you went to grab your shampoo one morning, only to find it full again. sukuna’s brand was there too, lined up neatly beside yours on the shower ledge. when you confronted him about it, towel still wrapped around your hair, he grunted without looking up from his phone.
"wasn’t me," he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knew he was lying.
"right," you’d said, narrowing your eyes. "guess the shampoo fairy came by then."
his response was a noncommittal shrug, but his smirk gave him away.
it was the same when you went to make coffee. his mug was already sitting by the machine, his preferred dark roast brewing without a word exchanged. you didn’t think much of it until you caught him doing the same for you — setting out your mug, pouring it just the way you liked, even when you hadn’t asked.
"don’t make it a habit," he grumbled one morning, catching your amused look as he handed you the steaming cup.
"me?" you teased, blowing over the rim of the mug. "you’re the one making coffee every morning, sukuna."
"tch. don’t flatter yourself," he shot back, though his ears reddened faintly.
then there was laundry day, your least favorite day of the week. sukuna always got to the clothes hanger first, hauling the weight of damp fabric without complaint. he didn’t ask you to help, didn’t even look at you while he did it. but every time, without fail, you’d find yourself ironing, smoothing out the wrinkles he’d leave behind as he tossed shirts into the basket.
"if you’re gonna do it, do it right," you’d gripe, gliding the iron over one of his dark button-ups.
he’d glance at you over his shoulder, one brow arched. "then stop fixing it if it’s so bad."
"maybe i will."
but you didn’t, and he knew you wouldn’t.
there was a rhythm to it all, unspoken but understood. sukuna wasn’t one for sentimental displays, and neither were you, but your actions betrayed you both.
when you stocked his favorite snacks in the pantry or folded his socks the way he liked, it was a silent "i love you."
when he hung your coat by the door after you forgot it again or shoved an umbrella into your hand before you left for work, it was the same.
still, the thought of anyone pointing it out was unbearable.
"you two are cute," a friend dared to say once, watching as sukuna passed you the soy sauce before you even asked.
"shut up," you both snapped in unison, faces heating simultaneously as you turned away from each other.
but later that night, when he set his phone down and you leaned your head against his shoulder, neither of you spoke a word.
love didn’t need to be loud. not when it was tucked into every small, stubborn act you did for each other.
you and sukuna weren’t the type to hold hands in public or plaster your relationship across social media. “weird, couple-y shit” was beneath the both of you — at least, that’s what you told yourselves. you didn’t need to broadcast anything when the proof lived in the details, subtle and quiet, but undeniable all the same.
it was in the way you’d casually grab his jacket before heading out, draping it over your shoulders like it belonged to you. and the way he’d let you, even when he’d grumble about it under his breath.
"that’s mine, you know," he’d mutter as you adjusted the sleeves.
"looks better on me," you’d shoot back, smirking.
he’d roll his eyes, but he didn’t argue. instead, the next time you reached for his jacket, he’d already pulled it out for you.
and then there was the jewelry. you’d notice him wearing your ring on his pinky sometimes, spinning it absently while he worked through emails. or your earrings — simple studs he’d shamelessly tuck into his pocket before heading out, claiming he needed “a little flair.”
"didn’t know you were into accessorizing," you teased once, leaning against the doorframe as he adjusted the earring in the mirror.
"you wear my shit all the time," he replied flatly, glancing at you with that deadpan expression he’d mastered. "fair’s fair."
you had no comeback for that, though your smile lingered long after he left.
even when apart, there were echoes of each other in your days.
commuting to work, you’d pop on the playlist he’d made — a perfect blend of your favorite tracks and his, the 99.5% compatibility a badge of reluctant pride. you’d sit on the train, listening to a song he swore you’d love, and hate how much you did.
he wasn’t immune, either. on those rare days he missed you (not that he’d ever admit it), he’d scroll through your spotify history to see what you’d been listening to lately. or he’d catch sight of flowers in a shop window, lingering just a moment too long on the ones he knew were your favorite before moving on.
you both had your quirks when you were alone, too. sometimes, without thinking, your hand would drift to your arm, tracing soft patterns into your skin the way sukuna did. when you realized it, you’d roll your eyes at yourself, muttering under your breath.
"idiot," you’d say, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.
sukuna was no better. he’d catch himself staring out his office window, the song you’d sent him last week playing faintly through his headphones. it annoyed him how much it made him think of you, but he never turned it off.
when the two of you finally came home, words weren’t needed. all of it — the small acts, the quiet thoughts, the unspoken gestures — culminated in that one hug.
his arms would wrap around you, firm and grounding, while yours slipped around his waist. the tension from your day melted instantly, replaced by the warmth of his body pressed against yours. neither of you said anything — there wasn’t anything to say.
it was all understood in the way his hands lingered on your back, or how you buried your face against his chest, inhaling his familiar scent.
"miss me?" you’d ask eventually, the words muffled against his shirt.
"nah," he’d lie, but his hold on you would tighten, giving him away.
and that was enough. no declarations, no theatrics — just the quiet assurance of being known, cared for, and loved.
it was a question you’d gotten more times than you could count.
are you sure you two are dating? they’d ask, with raised brows and skeptical tones, watching as you and sukuna bickered over the smallest things.
the answer wasn’t straightforward, because how do you explain a relationship built on years of chaotic familiarity, on the kind of comfort only two people who’d clashed and tangled relentlessly could find?
you still remembered that first day of college, sitting in class and thinking you’d never met someone more insufferable. sukuna was loud, cocky, and so obnoxiously confident it made your skin crawl. he’d snorted at something you’d said during a group discussion, and you’d fired back with a sarcastic quip, the tension between you sparking like a live wire.
"you think you’re so clever, huh?" he’d sneered, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair.
"clever enough to know you’re full of shit," you’d snapped without missing a beat.
it was war from then on. you couldn’t stand how he seemed to revel in getting under your skin, and he hated how competitive you were, always ready to one-up him in any way possible.
and yet, somehow, you two ended up spending more time together than anyone else.
"just here to keep you humble," he’d say, leaning against the doorway of your dorm, that smug grin never leaving his face.
"please, you’re the one who needs the humbling," you’d reply, throwing a pillow at him before grabbing your keys for yet another midnight drive.
it wasn’t all bad, though. between the insults and the relentless teasing, something softened. there were the early morning drives when neither of you could sleep, windows down as you cruised through empty streets, sharing playlists like it wasn’t a big deal.
or the smoke sessions on campus, crouched behind the library where no one could see, only to promise each other, "never again," when you got caught and barely avoided trouble.
halloween was a different kind of tradition. every year, like clockwork, you’d drag him to the drive-in theater, claiming it was the only acceptable way to celebrate. he’d complain the whole way there, grumbling about how cheesy the movies were, but he never once turned you down.
by the time graduation rolled around, something had shifted. the teasing got softer, the jabs less pointed. still, when he finally snapped at you — yelling at you on the quad about how you were "impossible to deal with" — you’d been too stunned to realize he was confessing in the only way he knew how.
"you make me insane," he’d blurted, running a hand through his hair, exasperated. "i can’t stand you, but — god, i like you, okay? you happy now?"
it had taken you a moment to process his words, mostly because you were yelling back, equally frustrated. "you’re the worst! how do you even think this is a confession?!"
but somehow, in all that chaos, you figured it out.
now, years later, the bickering hadn’t stopped, but it had softened into something comforting. you still got on each other’s nerves, but it was different. familiar. the sound of him complaining about your cooking or you groaning about his laundry habits was just another layer to the life you’d built together.
there were no more impulsive smoke sessions or late-night drives — well, not as often — but there were groceries to split, bills to argue over, and an apartment to share.
"you left your stupid socks on the couch again," you called from the living room, holding up the offending pair.
"and you stole my hoodie again," he shot back, strolling in and snatching the socks from your hand.
you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. this was it — your version of love. messy, chaotic, and wrapped in years of banter and care.
and honestly? you wouldn’t change a thing.
you heard the whispers sometimes, muffled through the walls or passed between neighbors as you walked by.
“failed relationship.”
the words always carried a judgmental edge, laced with the kind of smug certainty that only came from people who had no idea what they were talking about. you’d scoff and roll your eyes, but the audacity of it stuck with you. all because you and sukuna weren’t the quiet, overly sweet, hand-holding kind? pathetic.
what did they know?
they hadn’t seen the nights when sukuna held you close while you bawled into his chest, a miserable mess of cramps and hormones. they didn’t know how he tried — really tried — to be supportive, offering hot packs and snacks, his voice gruff but oddly gentle.
"here," he’d say, shoving chocolate into your hand like it was some kind of peace offering.
but then, because he couldn’t help himself, he’d ruin it.
"are you seriously crying over a commercial?" he’d ask, incredulous, pointing at the tv.
and just like that, the tears doubled. "you’re the worst!" you’d sob, throwing a pillow at him.
he’d groan, clearly out of his depth, but he never let you go. instead, he’d mutter something about how “women are terrifying” while holding you tighter, stroking your hair even as you blubbered into his shirt.
the neighbors weren’t there to see him the morning after you’d had one too many at a party. you barely remembered stumbling into the apartment, but sukuna had already set up everything you’d need: water, painkillers, even that greasy breakfast sandwich you craved when hungover.
"drink this," he’d bark, shoving a glass of water into your hands while you groaned pathetically on the couch.
"you’re too loouuud," you’d whine, shielding your eyes from the light.
"and you’re a lightweight," he’d fire back, but his hands were already pulling a blanket over you. "don’t do it again."
the thing was, he didn’t have to do any of it. but he did. without complaint.
well, not much of one, anyway.
and what about how he was your parents’ favorite? your mom still gushed about how thoughtful he was, always showing up with her favorite flowers, and your dad kept every sports magazine sukuna brought him, flipping through them like they were rare treasures.
"he’s such a nice boy," your mom would say, sighing dreamily.
you’d gag every time. "nice is a stretch, ma."
but deep down, you got it. sukuna had this way of worming his way into people’s lives, even if he’d grumble the whole time about how annoying it was. it wasn’t sweet in the traditional sense, but it was undeniably him.
and no, you didn’t owe anyone an explanation for your relationship. it wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. love wasn’t always quiet or polite, and yours had sharp edges and biting remarks, but it was yours.
“you think we’re a failed relationship?” you’d said to him once, smirking as you leaned against the kitchen counter.
he glanced up from the fridge, holding a beer. “what idiot said that?”
“mrs. tanaka next door. apparently, yelling means we’re doomed.”
he snorted, taking a swig. “old hag wouldn’t know love if it bit her.”
“so biting is love, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.
“depends,” he said, stepping closer, a sharp grin spreading across his face. “you complaining?”
you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “you're a weirdo.”
and maybe he was, but he was also yours — your college sweetheart, your partner, the guy who sometimes bit you because he thought it was funny. and honestly? you wouldn’t have it any other way.
sukuna heard it all the time — questions dripping with disbelief, laced with a kind of awe that annoyed the hell out of him. his coworkers couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around it, and his friends from college still brought it up every chance they got.
"seriously, man," one of them had said during a reunion, leaning across the table. "how the hell did you end up with her?"
and sukuna, being the smug bastard he was, never missed the chance to milk it.
"what can i say?" he’d say, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed with that stupid grin. "she couldn’t resist me. practically yelled it out in the quad, begging me to date her."
"that is not what happened," you’d hiss later when he relayed the same story to you.
"oh, but it’s so much better my way," he’d reply, dodging the cushion you chucked at his head.
but if sukuna ever sat down and told them the truth — not the exaggerated bullshit, but the real story — they probably wouldn’t believe him anyway.
because how could he explain the chaos of falling for someone as maddening and stubborn as you, and how he wouldn’t trade it for anything?
he liked how you had this streak of righteousness that made you storm up to people in public settings.
like that one time at a café, when a customer had been rude to the barista. sukuna had barely registered the situation before you were there, fire in your eyes and voice sharp as a blade.
"there’s no reason to be nasty," you’d said, crossing your arms in that way that made even him take a step back.
the rude customer had left with their tail between their legs, and sukuna couldn’t help the little smirk tugging at his lips.
"you’re scary when you’re like that, you know?" he’d said later, earning a glare that only made him like you more.
he liked how animals gravitated toward you like you were some kind of magnet. stray dogs would wag their tails, cats would nuzzle up to you, and there was even that one time with the trash raccoon.
"sukuna," you’d said that night, voice hushed but frantic, "look at him. he’s adorable."
"that’s a wild raccoon," he’d replied, deadpan.
but he still stayed outside with you until it wandered off, grumbling the whole time about how “only you” could make friends with literal wildlife.
he liked the way you’d dismiss other men with just a glare — sharp and unforgiving, the kind that sent a clear message. it wasn’t about jealousy; it was about how you made it crystal clear that you had standards, and none of them were worth your time.
and then there were the little things.
the way you’d offer your seat to someone who needed it, even after a long day at work.
or the way you’d make silly faces at kids across the room, their giggles a bright, unexpected melody in otherwise mundane settings.
he saw it all, even if he never said it out loud. sukuna wasn’t the type for big, flowery confessions. hell, he wasn’t even the type for small ones.
but sometimes, when he looked at you across the apartment — the same apartment you’d gotten for him as a gift — he felt it in his chest, a warmth he didn’t quite know how to put into words.
would he ever tell you? no chance in hell. he wasn’t about to ruin his reputation.
but sometimes, knowing was enough.
my pookie ( @curtins ) saw it first <3 this concept's been in my mind for a while and i finally got to write it. i'll be doing more oneshot drabbles like these, but you can leave few ideas or questions in my inbox if you'd like!!! thanks for reading
produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡
Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: Angst, brief mention of an abortion
a/n: guess what everyone here’s another chapter ahhh!!! Love you 🫶
Read part one | part two | part three | part four | part five (part five bonus) |
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
Your breath left you, lungs emptying of every comfort until they felt tight and constrained. You might have made a sound—might have gaped as Azriel’s eyes darted across every square inch of your face to gauge a reaction.
Mate.
Had he said—
“What?” you finally choked out.
Azriel shook his head with a pained furrow of his brow. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.” His hands steadied as they cradled your cheeks—stability in a time of utter confusion. “But I had to, y/n. You… I needed you to understand why I care so much. Why I want you to let me care. Why you…”
His words trailed off.
Something compelled you to reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrists. You stared into his eyes with nothing to offer him but the uncertainty and poorly disguised hope edging considerably closer to the surface.
“Why I what, Azriel?”
Azriel licked his lips before he spoke, mouth dry at the prospect of the conversation. “Why you can tell me. Everything. You can trust me with everything there is to know about you and Melanie. I wouldn’t—I would protect the both of you. Over anything.”
You felt a piece of you deflate. Azriel’s fingers slightly spasmed against your skin as your shoulders slumped.
“You can’t promise me that, Azriel,” you sullenly replied. “You work for the High Lord. You can’t promise me you would keep things from him for my benefit. I can’t trust that—”
“Y/n, you are my mate,” Azriel emphasized, eyes wide and pleading. “I know you can’t feel it yet within you but it has been carved into my chest from the moment we locked eyes. The way the bond pulls each time I see you—the way it screams at me to keep you safe. I can’t…”
His words broke off as he spoke them—cracked and fractured and desperate.
Azriel cleared his throat and started over.
“There are two things you should know. First, the High Lord and Lady—Rhysand and Feyre—they would never do anything to put you in danger.” You opened your mouth to argue, but Azriel gently spoke over the rebuttal. “They would never. They do not even know you but you are my mate. As an extension, you are their family. Whatever it is you are running from, they would go to lengths to run with you.”
“You can’t promise—”
“I can. And I am. Because the second thing you should know is that I have waited for my mate for centuries. I have dreamed of you and wanted you and I don’t know if that scares you but I hope it can be some consolation.”
The kitchen lulled into a silence punctuated by your heaving breaths, the unsteady sound countering Azriel’s flickering wings as he stood before you. You had no words for him, nothing to rectify the worried way he captured your gaze with his own.
Your instinct fought against everything he said.
To put all of your trust into Azriel—all of it. To make him an integral part of Melanie’s life, of yours.
Could you? Was being his mate enough? You didn’t feel the pull yet, the indescribable ache that caused the desperation on Azriel’s face.
“—and,” Azriel’s voice was low but startling as his eyes shifted to land on the wall behind your head. “It’s not just the bond. It’s you. I care about you, y/n. I care about Mel. I can’t go back to acting so casual about that. I want to be all in with two of you. My life has… it’s changed. It’s different now, because of you.”
He found your eyes again.
Something shifted in your chest, but it didn’t snap.
You wanted him to be all in, but something still needed to be aligned.
You had heard stories about mates in the past—about mates that had children before the bond had made itself known. The stories did not end well and they certainly did not match the pleading way Azriel held you or the hopeful pool of hazel that his eyes had dipped into.
“What about Melanie?” you whispered, squeezing his wrist with your fingers because although he had included her in all of his pinings, you needed to hear him say it.
Azriel adjusted his stance and blinked at you as if you were speaking another language. “What about Melanie, angel?”
His soft-spoken endearment was like a punch to the gut. “W-Would you love her the same? Even though she isn’t yours? I’ve heard what can happen with—”
“I don’t care about that—I’ve never cared. I can’t imagine looking at her and not loving her, y/n. She is so much of you.”
A loaded breath left you as you leaned forward and rested your forehead on Azriel’s collar. You were still sick, still exhausted, and this overwhelming display of affection and devotion was filling you more than you thought you could handle. You released your hold on his wrists to bunch your fists into the front of his shirt. Azriel acted instantly, one hand coming to the back of your head while the other rested along your back.
“I want to trust you,” you promised. “I do. It just might take time. I can’t—I don’t think I can tell you yet. I don’t know why, I just—”
“I know, y/n. You don’t have to tell me. Just… just let me in. Let me be here.”
~~
The rest of the day moved slowly.
Azriel stayed.
When Melanie woke up from her nap, a walk was introduced, Azriel proclaiming that the group had spent entirely too much time inside and fresh air was needed to fight the remaining sickness. That suggestion was met with a raised brow from Melanie who argued that sleep was supposed to be what made us better, Mr. Azriel. Why do you keep changing it?
You had watched the interaction with new eyes; the way she squinted up at him with a skeptical gaze and the way he stared down at her with a smile so wide it looked as if it hurt. Did he smile that broadly all the time? You hardly saw him in any public context, so it was difficult to know.
You doubted he did.
He smiled at you the same way when you teased him for Melanie’s benefit.
The walk was soothing and beautiful and Azriel had wrapped two scarves around Melanie’s neck before he let her get out the door. She had huffed and pointed at his own neck, frustrated that he wasn’t wearing a scarf, but his shadows answered for him as they whisked around Melanie’s eyes and turned her around.
As she giggled, Azriel shrugged a jacket over your shoulders.
“It’s not that cold, you know,” you commented later as footsteps echoed along cobblestone. “I don’t know if she needed both scarves.”
“Can’t be too careful. Wouldn’t want her to get more sick.”
“We aren’t that kind of sick, Az.”
“I know.” He tore his gaze from Melanie and directed it towards you. “But I can’t do anything about Autumn fever. I can, however, make sure the two of you don’t catch a cold.”
You pressed your lips inwards and breathed through the fluttering in your chest as he looked upon you. His gaze was unabashedly admiring and you couldn’t remember if he’d looked at you like that before he’d told you you were mates, or if he had been holding himself back before.
“I am from the Autumn Court,” you thought to say, if only to quell some of the strange feeling in your chest. “Although, you already knew that. Your healer kind of gave it away.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you interrupted. You looked out towards Melanie as you skirted along the Sidra, your daughter kneeling by the shore to look in at the fish. “Maybe not all of it at once. But for now, I’m from the Autumn Court. I came to Velaris when I found out I was pregnant.”
You shoved your hands into the pocket of the jacket Azriel had placed on your shoulders. You realized it wasn’t yours when your knuckles swam in the space. And the scent of night-kissed air delicately wafted up.
Azriel said nothing as you collected your thoughts. He simply watched Melanie giggle and dip her fingers in the water.
“Um, I came under duress, obviously. The circumstances of my pregnancy weren’t exactly optimal and there were several people that would have been… more than upset that I was pregnant.”
“What does that mean—upset?”
“Several things. They could have taken Melanie from me, made me end the pregnancy when I didn’t want to, sent me into hiding for shame. I didn’t stick around to find out which horror-fueled thought would come to fruition.”
“Is that who you’re running from?”
You tilted your head to the side as a light breeze swept past your skin. Azriel was already looking at you with an intensity that felt out of place compared to the joyful laughs that flowed from the child by the water. But that was good, you reminded yourself, you were keeping her away from all of these harsh realities for as long as possible.
“Yes.”
“Can I ask—”
“No.” You were quick to cut him off. Your tone wasn’t mean or harsh; it was exhausted. “You can't ask who or why—not yet. I haven’t actually said any of those names aloud since I left. That part might… take me a while.”
“That’s okay,” Azriel softly reassured. He took a half step towards you, hesitated, but then fought against that and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his chest. “I just need to know what I’m up against. If you think they know where you are or if they’re still looking for you.”
Melanie had begun throwing rocks into the Sidra, the sound of the stones plopping into the water mingling with silence and birds chirping.
“I don’t think they know where I am,” you mumbled into his chest. It was so easy to stay there. “But I think they’re still looking. I don’t think they’ll stop.”
You felt Azriel’s lips press against the crown of your head. His chin found a home there as you both shifted to watch Melanie.
“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.”
“Is it? You didn’t exactly sign up for this.”
“I signed up for you. Whatever that entails.”
A calm silence washed over the scene by the Sidra. Azriel brought his other arm around to hold you closer to his chest and you let him, seamlessly sinking into his hold. Melanie was none the wiser to the conversations behind her as she began dropping sticks and leaves into the water.
Azriel kissed your hair once more.
“It could be safer—“ Azriel began, words laced with reproach. “—if some of the Inner Circle were involved.”
You wrenched yourself back as quickly as the words left his mouth. “No,” you shook your head vigorously. It made an ache bloom at the base of your neck. “No, no court involvement. You can’t tell them anything. You can’t, Azriel. I know you said it was safe but you don’t understand. This can’t have anything to do with High Lords or court politics or, or—”
“Okay, okay—hey, I’m sorry. Come here.”
The panic had taken hold of your bearings and inched close to your heart. You reached up to place a hand against the pressure there as Azriel tugged you back against his body and glanced toward Melanie to ensure she hadn’t picked up on your stress.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he comforted, running his hand down your hair. “Nothing with the court, okay? I won’t tell any of them.”
“Do you promise?” you all but whimpered. A tinge of embarrassment seeped under your skin at your actualized panic, but the fear took precedence and Azriel showed no repugnance at your reaction.
For a brief, fleeting moment, you considered that a promise didn’t really mean anything at all—not before.
But, from Azriel, it felt like something.
“I promise.”
A small voice then sounded, facilitating the natural end to the sharing you had offered. “All of the fishies are gone.”
Azriel didn’t even attempt to move you away from his chest as he spoke, his words creating vibrations along your body. “That’s because you keep throwing things at them, Mel.”
“I wasn’t throwing things at them. I was trying to offer those things to them.”
You turned to speak to your daughter, Azriel’s arms unmoving around you. “Why were you offering things to the fish?”
“Just in case they’re water gods. Ms. Fern tolds us about them in school. If you make them offerings then they protect you.”
Your laugh was echoed by Azriel. The two of you shared a smile before you slowly unraveled yourself from him and beckoned your daughter forward. “Well, I’m sure they were very grateful for your offering. It was probably just their bedtime. Just like it’s almost yours.”
Melanie made a face but didn’t argue, instead taking steps past you to stand at Azriel’s feet. “Mr. Azriel, is it my turn to cuddle? I don’t want to walk all the way home.”
You watched Azriel’s mouth twist into a small smile that was obviously in place of a much larger one. He looked over Melanie’s head to send you a wordless question that you were quick to nod in response to.
As if you would tell him no.
Azriel reached down to haul your daughter up, settling her against his hip as if he’d done so a hundred times. Melanie rested her head on his chest almost as quickly as he’d grabbed for her, fiddling with a stick she still held in her grasp. You made to walk alongside them and calm your pattering heart, but certain people had other plans.
“You too, mommy,” Melanie called, peaking the side of her face out from Azriel’s chest.
“Me too?”
“Uh huh. You come too. Mr. Azriel has two arms. And I can hold your hand.”
You sent a knowing glance up to Azriel, but he forwent the snickering and already had his arm open by the time you looked. “In,” he prompted with raised brows. “And you have a hand to hold.”
Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: Illness, angst babyyy <3
a/n: I'm going insane and crazy and every iteration of that. I love writing this fic so much I want it tattooed on my forehead. Thanks, love you all <3
Read part one | part two | part three | part four
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You were in and out of sleep for the next few days—much to your displeasure.
After attempting to down all the herbal remedies Azriel’s healer had left and continuing to care for your daughter without missing a beat, Azriel had made it clear that that would not fly. You told him several times to go home and not burden himself with caring for the two of you, but he was entirely too stubborn to listen to you.
You even watched as his shadows left and returned with messages for him, sure that his High Lord was calling him home.
But Azriel still stayed.
He made food, he served the food, and he fed Melanie, coaxing her delirious eyes open to make sure she took medicine at the right times. You weren’t completely incapacitated, but it didn’t matter; Azriel wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger.
He answered the door to the apothecary several times, sending away customers after collecting payments and restocking shelves, somehow privy to the knowledge of the store. You weren’t entirely confident that he wasn’t overcharging everyone or putting things in random places.
A few times, when sleep fought for the space in your mind, you felt fingers in your hair, along your face, across your shoulders. Each brush would send you deeper into the void you avoided so adamantly, and you were ignoring the fact that you had never felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of other people until now.
You caught Azriel holding Melanie on a few occasions.
You would crack an eye open after an unexpected bout of sleep and he’d be rocking her in his arms, bouncing her to sleep as she lay her flushed face on his shoulder.
Azriel had never told you if he had experience with children. Sure, he mentioned his closeness with Nyx and how much he loved his nephew, but that was… different from this. The ease with which he held Melanie, the instinct he seemed to have towards her—it felt different. Looked different.
You felt an unexplainable sense of safety as you watched them.
Melanie would pull back from his shoulder and arrange her fingers on the planes of Azriel’s cheeks and he would smile at her. And you felt safe.
You found more energy on the third day of the fever.
You got out of bed and took some semblance of a bath, fumbling around in the bathroom without much coordination. Your head was still fuzzy and an ache still permeated deep within your muscles, but the feeling was lessened.
It wasn’t until after your bath that you realized you hadn’t checked on Melanie the moment you woke up.
You hadn’t shot out of bed and raced to her room as you had done almost every morning since she was born.
You hadn’t feared that she was somehow taken from your home, from your arms—that she was in danger of being ripped from your grasp and sent back to Autumn to live out the same cruel fate you were destined for.
A small voice in the back of your mind offered a gentle whisper, reminding you that it was because of Azriel that you found that brief moment of peace.
You pushed it back.
With a shiver, you made your way down the narrow hallway to your daughter’s bedroom.
Empty.
You felt your heart rate tick up in a small bout of panic, but you were calmed by a fluttering in your chest just as quickly. The light pressure led you into the kitchen and then flushed into a warm bloom as the scene in front of you unfolded.
Melanie was bundled up in a blanket and sat atop the kitchen counter as Azriel whisked the contents of a bowl. She was talking her head off about something that happened at school and Azriel was nodding his head with each exasperated huff she let out. Another glance told you that Melanie had eaten an entire plate of food before you’d entered, a feat in itself as your daughter hardly ate to begin with—let alone when she was sick.
“Mommy!” Melanie cheered, wrapping her arms around your neck as you entered the quaint kitchen. “I thought you were gonna sleep forever. I wanted to wake you up but Mr. Azriel said you had to sleep to get better so he made me lunch.”
“Lunch, huh?” you smiled, gathering her into your arms and sliding her off the counter.
“Uh-huh. You slept through breakfast and lunch. Aren’t you hungry, mommy?”
“Maybe a little bit.”
“Well, you should have Mr. Azriel’s pancakes.” Melanie yawned. Her blinks became longer. “They’re so good, mommy. He should live with us and make them all the time.”
From the stove, you heard Azriel breathe out a laugh. You glanced at him through your lashes as you held Melanie in your arms, the broad expanse of his wings barely contained in the kitchen. The shirt he wore strained against his arms as he shifted a pan on the burner and he didn’t look back as the two of you spoke.
“I think I need a nap,” Melanie proclaimed, rubbing at her heavy eyes. “I thought I was a big girl at school now and didn’t need to take naps. You told me that, mommy.”
You tore your gaze from Azriel’s back and offered your daughter a soft smile. “Well, you need rest to get better, too. So it’s okay for you to take naps right now.”
“I don’t like having hot blood. This is so annoying.”
You jutted your head back at her statement and made to have her explain, but Melanie shimmied from your arms and scampered off to her room before you could make a sound, her blanket dragging behind her.
That left you alone with Azriel.
“Hot blood?” you asked, leaning against the counter and attempting to appear casual in your own home. It was still surreal that he was up here—making pancakes in your kitchen—when just a few days ago, you never would have let him get past the stairs.
Azriel hummed and flicked the burner off, leaning his back on a nearby counter to face you. “I think she heard what Madja said when she was explaining what was wrong with you both. Mel’s been calling it hot blood. I didn’t—I didn’t think it was my place to correct her.”
You pressed your lips into a line and rubbed your forearm in some attempt of comfort. “Right.” A long pause. Azriel didn’t press you to speak. You did anyway to fill the dead air. “You really didn’t have to stay for as long as you did. I know this place isn’t what you’re used to and it must have been a handful with Mel—”
“I wanted to stay,” Azriel interrupted. He stepped forward and placed a hand on your forehead, ignoring the tension you felt weighing on your shoulders. “You’re still warm.”
“I feel a lot better. Almost completely fine. It would be okay… if you had somewhere to go. If you had to leave, I mean.”
The hand on your forehead slid down to your chin and tilted your face up. Azriel’s gaze flickered between your eyes—back and forth with a furrowed brow as if trying to parse out a deeper meaning behind your words or solve a puzzle you hadn’t presented. His hand was hot against your chin in a way it wasn’t against your forehead.
“You should eat,” he settled on. He brushed your still-damp hair back from your face before turning on his heel. “Mel was right. I make great pancakes and you haven’t eaten in a while. Lucky for you she didn’t finish all of them. She was close, but there are a few left.”
You let him fuss, watched him as he rooted around the cupboards to pull out a plate and a glass, and tried to figure this out now that you were more coherent.
Azriel had stayed—for almost three days he had stayed at your apartment and cared for you and your daughter as if it was expected. Each time you had woken up he had been there, coaxing water and bone-dry broth into your mouth before helping you see Melanie and then helping you to fall back to sleep. He had held your daughter and made her pancakes and he was still here.
Could this somehow be nefarious? Some ploy to get close to you just to use you as a bargaining chip and send you back home? Had the High Lord demanded that his Spymaster keep a close eye on you and this was the outcome?
No.
No, that couldn’t be the reason Azriel was setting a plate down on the counter beside you. That couldn’t be why he caught your eye with a worried gaze and seemed to pinpoint your inner turmoil almost instantly.
But why?
His visits over the past few weeks had been welcomed—confusing at first, but a welcomed break from the mundane, anxiety-fueled life you lived. You had grown comfortable with him and Melanie had begun asking for him when she showed you her art projects or had questions about the walks of life. You had come to expect his presence in your store and found yourself looking forward to the chance to see him outside of Melanie’s school.
But what could he possibly have to gain from making himself a constant in your life?
You had asked before, a single question with a simple “Why not?” for a response that you had brushed off. Because it wasn’t too much of a big deal for him to stop by or help you lift the apothecary boxes or let Melanie talk his ear off.
But this was a big deal.
It was a big deal when he sat beside you until you fell asleep and it was a big deal that he was still standing here now, inches from you, eyes boring into yours.
“Why are you doing this, Azriel?”
Your question seemed to suck all of the air from the room. Azriel winced to such an infinitesimal degree you almost missed it. His fingers twitched as they rested on the counter. The plate of food sat forgotten, its intended distraction wasted.
“I’ve already said.”
You shook your head. “‘Why not’ was okay when you were stopping by the apothecary a few times a week and flirting with me for fun. It was okay when you were saving me from nosey teachers and opening doors when my hands were full. It was okay when this—” you jabbed your finger between your chest and his “—didn’t involve you in my apartment holding my daughter until she fell asleep. I need more than why not, Azriel. I need to understand if… if…”
“What?” he whispered so close the air between you warmed.
When had he gotten so close?
“I need to know if this isn’t safe. If there’s some other reason for all of this.”
This time, when Azriel winced, he flinched. His body seemed to stun and his face twisted into a frown etched with such an uncomfortable pain it was difficult to look at.
He spoke as his head shook. “I’ve told you this isn’t… I want you to feel safe with me. I thought I would have proved that was possible after this.”
“You have,” you were quick to reply. “I wouldn’t have been able to take care of Mel if you hadn’t been here. But, that’s the thing. I don’t even know how you knew to come here. You walked in asking if I was okay—asking where Melanie was. I know your shadows spy, but why, Azriel? Why take such an interest in me? In us?”
“Is it not enough to just want to know you?” he asked, his words tight and pained.
“No. For others, maybe. But not… not after everything I’ve been through. Not when everything I have could be ripped away. I need a reason, Azriel. I can’t let this happen without one. I can’t put Melanie in danger.”
“I don’t understand,” Azriel pleaded. He got closer, wrenching his head down to find your eyes. “Help me to understand. What danger are you in? I can explain, but I can’t protect you without knowing.”
You let out an exasperated scoff, tugging at your hair and regretting the action as a headache bloomed. You took a step back until your back met the kitchen wall.
“You can’t protect me, Azriel. You can’t.”
“I could if you—”
“It doesn’t make sense that you want to! You work for the High Lord. You spy for him! Do you have any idea what any of that means in the grand scheme of things? What it could mean if someone found out that the Night Court’s Spymaster was suddenly asking around about someone from Autumn?”
Azriel opened his mouth to respond, confusion marring his features, but you were breathing faster, the fever and the panic combining beneath your skin.
“I have stayed hidden for five years—five. I shouldn’t have sent Melanie to school. I shouldn’t have asked for help from anyone. If… if someone finds me—”
“No one will find you. Hey—hey.” Azriel invaded your space, your back against the wall and his hands against your face. His eyes softened as they caught yours. “No one is going to find you. You need a reason why I want to be here with you? Why I care about you and Mel?”
Your jaw quivered under his fingers. You nodded in place of speech, unable to find words that wouldn’t make tears fall down your cheeks.
Azriel stared back at you with so much torture and conflict in his eyes you almost wanted to take back the request. He took several breaths and seemed unsure of his next words. But he held your face in his hands with such surety, strong fingers unshaken.
The Shadowsinger brought you forward with the guide of his palms until his lips met your forehead.
And then he pulled back and said, “You are my mate. I want to keep you safe—to protect you and Melanie—because you are my mate. You are what I’ve been waiting for for hundreds of years and if you want nothing to do with me after this, that’s fine. But if you’ll have me, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”
Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.
Warnings: drug usage/mentions as usual, alcohol, mor/feyre/reader being fashion icons, reader & az being 'just friends', drunk girl bonding, reader being a sentimentalist and loving her friends
Word Count: 5.4k
Previous Part | Series Masterlist
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
There was a cramp in your stomach from laughing so hard— a pain only made worse by the roughly made mimosas Mor concocted, which were only fueling the hilarity of every comment. Her and Feyre were in stitches beside you, their snickers echoing off the walls as you all made your way down the stairs. It had taken a while, but you were finally ready to head out for the last day of Summit. The boys had been waiting with increasing impatience.
As you rounded the corner into the kitchen, Cassian looked up with a start, his hand paused mid-air, spoon halfway to his mouth. He choked as he took in the sight before him, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“What the hell do those say?” Cassian coughed, pressing his hand over his mouth as he swallowed hard. He stood up from his seat, and you bit back a laugh.
You three had been adamant about making your last day truly memorable. Somehow that had turned into throwing out any pretenses of looking cute or trendy. Instead, you three wanted something more sophisticated, outfits that showed your maturity. You’d each chosen special shirts for one another.
Yours was a white tee with bold, unapologetic text: “I made your dad a bottom.” Mor’s shirt was a masterpiece of absurdity. She’d cut it into a sleeveless, oversized fit that hung off her frame with casual abandon. The front featured a stock photo of a muscular, awkwardly posed werewolf figure with the caption “Human by chance, alpha by choice” scrawled underneath in an ill-advised font. Feyre’s was also a true work of art. She'd played pretend offend for all of three seconds when she'd first seen it, giggling about how true it was. Her shirt boasted a crudely drawn frog holding a paintbrush, paired with the words “Dyslexic with tig bits.”
You exchanged grins with your best friends.
"Aren't you gonna tell us how good we look?" Mor asked, placing a hand on her hip. She gave him a look of impatience, as if the time running by without her compliment was getting on her nerves.
"I-" Cassian ran a hand across his mouth, tracing his mustache with extra care once he noticed her budding scowl. "Rhys! Az!"
The two boys emerged almost instantly, their mouths falling open in amusement as their eyes scanned the shirts. Rhys was the first to react, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he let out a low whistle.
“Pretty privilege lets you guys get away with way too many things,” he mused, his attention fixed entirely on Feyre as he approached her. He gently took her hand, guiding her into a dainty twirl to showcase her outfit.
Your gaze shifted to Az, who leaned casually against the wall, amusement dancing in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. Mimicking his pose, you crossed your arms defensively. He shook his head, pushing off the wall and strolling towards you.
“Well, don’t cover up the art like that,” he said, glancing at your crossed arms. “I was enjoying it.”
You blushed, letting out a snort as you dropped your arms, gesturing dramatically to the shirt. Az’s eyes glimmered as he reached forward, his fingers lightly brushing the edges of the fabric. “Why this one?”
“Mor chose it for me,” you replied, your breath catching slightly. Azriel nodded in approval.
“Fitting.”
Cassian, now fully recovered, let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I’m feeling left out. You all look—” he paused for dramatic effect, “—exceptionally unique.”
“Good answer,” Mor said with a satisfied nod. She wrapped an arm around you, pulling you along with her as she walked towards the kitchen. “And isn’t the idea of dommy Y/N so hot?”
You groaned, your face flushing red as she giggled beside you. For the tenth time that morning, you begged her to stop using such a strange title. Her laughter only grew louder.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
The merch line was long, but you didn’t mind waiting; the day was cooler, the sun less blistering than it had been, and the thought of having a physical memento from the weekend was comforting. Az had volunteered to keep you company while the others leisurely watched a smaller set on the schedule. There was an ease to this moment, the kind that settled in when time stretched out.
Azriel turned his head to look at you. His eyes scanned your figure and a second later he was shaking his head, looking away as a laugh left his lips. Your heart skipped a beat. Az’s laugh was something you coveted, a sound you’d become addicted to over time.
You waited until his eyes reached yours again to raise your eyebrow. "What?"
"That fuckin' shirt," Az replied. "I just can't get over it."
You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder as the line moved forward. "Don't judge. It's been a chick and dick magnet."
It was true. You'd gotten more compliments on your shirt than you'd ever received in your entire life— at least, drunk you seemed to think so. God, you needed to wear this outfit more often.
Azriel shook his head again, offering up his hands in surrender. "No judgment here," he said. He scanned you again, eyes glowing with a sense of contemplation. He pulled his cap off his head and placed it on yours. You tracked his movements with your eyes, watching as he took a step backwards and admired you as if he'd just created a masterpiece.
"Perfect."
It was an effort not to beam at the word alone, at how it seemed to anchor itself in your chest, resonating with a deeper meaning you were too embarrassed to fully acknowledge. You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth that rolled through your body, surely collecting on your reddening cheeks. You placed your hands on your hips.
"I look good?"
Azriel let out a small hiccup, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh yeah," he said, reclaiming his spot next to you in a few, easy strides. "You look like every dude in Rhys's frat."
Your smile fell. You attempted to give him a glare, to scowl, but Azriel's proud grin pulled a laugh from deep in your chest. "You said it looked good."
Az's smile curved, deepening into the crevasses of his cheeks. "And I meant it, you look great. Stunning."
There it was, that feeling again— that giddiness that left you fumbling for words. Something warm and silly spread throughout your chest. For a moment, you struggled to respond, fumbling through your mind to put together a coherent sentence. It was proving hard, so incredibly hard, when Az was looking at you the way he was.
"I didn't know frat boys were your type."
Azriel shrugged. "I didn't either. Guess we're both learning new things."
You playfully smacked him with your hand and reached up to remove his cap from your head. He shook his head, taking it back to adjust the band with nimble fingers. You watched him, noting the slight tremble as he refitted it to your head.
“You keep this,” Azriel said, securing it on you again. “It looks better on you anyway.”
You swallowed, fingertips brushing the brim. “Careful, Az. It might sound like you’re flirting with me or something.”
Azriel stared at you for a moment. His gaze was steady, searching. Do friends look at friends this way? Was it wrong to crave his gaze so deeply?
"What can I say," Az finally replied. The line moved forward. "I guess I just can't resist the pull of a frat guy."
Azriel brushed his palmalong the small of your back to guide you forward. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he removed his hand.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You weren't sure how much time had passed since Az left to go put all of the merch in the car. His instructions to you had been clear: stay in the same area so he could find you when he came back in. When he'd left, there was still around an hour until you'd meet back up with Mor, Feyre, Cass and Rhys.
But Azriel's instructions left your mind the minute he was out of view. You'd reached that perfect point of being slightly crossed—mostly drunk, but not dangerously so— and everything felt vibrant. Alive. It made no sense to stand still or sit in a patch of grass and wait for Az to return like a sad codependent dog and its owner. No, that wouldn't do.
So you wandered, finding yourself by the food trucks, a new fruity drink in your hand. Non-alcoholic and entirely too expensive for its small size, but money didn't seem real to you. There was a large smile on your face as you weaved through the small crowds. You'd made around six new friends, random people you began talking to in line, those equally as drunk who voiced their love for your outfit.
You barely registered when you bumped into a girl, the drink in your hand sloshing a bit.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A soft voice exclaimed. You brought your attention to her face, taking in her long brown hair as she wiped a drop from her shirt. You were about to apologize then too, but then her eyes met yours. Something sparked in them. They widened, the brown glowing almost, and she beamed.
“I know you!”
You stilled. “You do?” There was something familiar about her but you couldn’t quite place it. The smile especially. Something warm and friendly.
“Yes!” she nodded eagerly. She grabbed the arm of a person next to her, pulling them into the conversation. Deep blue eyes and sandy brown hair.
“Babe," the girl said, "This is the girl from yesterday!"
A look of realization formed on her partner's face. She turned to you again. "I was just telling them earlier about you. I took your picture yesterday."
They nodded, a small chuckle leaving their lips as they took a sip of their shared drink. "She was," they said, "The pretty girl with the boyfriend who had a sick wing tattoo.”
You blinked. Maybe you were feeling a bit slow today, a bit lethargic, or maybe you were a bit too gone to carry such a fast conversation. You let their words sink in, allowing your face to blossom into a smile. You recognized her face now, remembering the sweet approach she'd had to you and Az. The picture you now cherished so deeply. Your cheeks warmed.
“Oh, uh. He's not my boyfriend.”
The girl stilled. A sense of surprise flickered across her face. “Really?”
“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “just friends.”
She exchanged a look with her partner, a silent conversation passing between them, and then turned back to you with an intrigued expression, eyes slightly narrowed, lips still curved at the edges.
"Really?" She repeated, as if her question would pull a different answer, one that may have satisfied her more.
You gave a sheepish smile, shrugging your shoulders. You suddenly felt entirely too vulnerable, embarrassed in a way you hadn't felt since you were a child in kindergarten. She exchanged another look with her partner.
“Does he know that?” They said.
You shifted awkwardly, the heat rising in your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, it's kinda weird, though. I don't know...” You trailed off, feeling the words slipping away from you. It was hard to articulate when your mind was so pleasantly hazy. You hesitated, then added with a chuckle, “It’s a long story.”
They both nodded. The girl looked at her partner before turning back to you. She grinned and shrugged, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Well, if you have the time, so do we.”
You furrowed your brows. She leaned in closer, like a best friend about to share a secret, and whispered conspiratorially, “I love a good storytime.”
And so, you found yourself sitting on a patch of grass, with Victoria and Jamie, as you learned their names to be, a band playing distantly on the stage nearby. The entire history spilled from your lips like uncontrollable bile, as if you were drafting a biography and starting it from the moment you met Feyre—because that’s when it truly all started. Almost four years ago, you realized.
You talked about freshman year, about your introductory philosophy class, your friendship with Az that blossomed into this deep, heavy crush. You told them about that almost-kiss, the one that lingered in your memory like a bittersweet stain, and even about your relationship with Eris.
Victoria's drink was empty by the time you’d finished and the sun had dipped ever-so-slightly in the sky, now painting the festival in golden hues.
“Wow,” Victoria said, exchanging a meaningful look with Jamie before turning back to you.
You felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I talked too much, didn't I?"
“Not at all! That was incredibly entertaining. Felt like the plot to some kind of romcom,” she said, laughing lightly. Jamie nodded in agreement. You felt heat rush to your cheeks.
“So… what’s holding you back?” Victoria asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied your face. You opened your mouth to respond, but she quickly interjected, “And do not say it’s because you’re not sure he feels the same. You’re wearing his hat.”
You offered a sheepish smile, bringing your fingers up to trace the brim of Azriel’s cap, still securely placed on your head. You’d almost forgotten he’d put it there. It made sense now, why your face didn’t feel as burnt as usual. It also felt silly to admit that it was a worry of yours--- that maybe Az didn't see anything romantic with you the way he once did, that maybe these small moments were doused in a platonic love, like that from Cass and Rhys, and you had deluded yourself into thinking too deeply about them.
You shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. “It’s more complicated than that,” you mumbled, but your words felt hollow even to your own ears.
Jamie leaned forward, their gaze sharp and inquisitive. You resisted the urge to draw back at the eye contact, at how their blue eyes seemed to be reading you. They casted a glance at Victoria.
“Is it because of your ex-boyfriend?"
"What?" You frowned, letting your shoulders sag as the words ran through you. "What do you mean?"
They shrugged, sharing another glance with Victoria.
"You mentioned him a lot. And you said they all had a past. Maybe it’s some kind of guilt?”
Your eyes widened as you considered the possibility, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. You hadn’t consciously connected the two, the strange anxiety and guilt that had bubbled throughout the week. But now that it had been mentioned, acknowledged by someone other than yourself, the thought lingered, a seed of doubt taking root.
Maybe they were right; maybe you’d been letting guilt hold you back from pursuing what you truly wanted. That extended to things far beyond the way you felt for Az. The truth was, you did feel guilty. You'd lost time with your friends when you and Eris dated. It was part of the reason why you felt even worse for not wanting to move with Mor— because you didn't want to disappoint her another time, to make her feel like you were choosing something else over her.
And there was Azriel. Azriel, Azriel, Azriel. Where was he anyways? You should go find him. Surely it's been too long. Were you spending too much time with him? Should you be at Mor's hip instead? Your thoughts started swirling faster, more compounded and harder to process.
“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” you admitted, your voice quiet. "Maybe that's it."
Why was it so easy to be more honest to complete strangers than to yourself? Such a strange thing, you thought, as Victoria watched you carefully. Her eyes softened with understanding. There was a moment of silence before Jamie smiled encouragingly, gently placing a hand on her thigh.
“I think Vi has something to show you.”
"Oh, right! I do." She beamed, eyes lighting up with excitement. She pulled out her phone and a few seconds later, she was holding it out to you, a photo on the screen. "This was why I was so glad to run into you."
The photo was taken the day before, during the set where Victoria had taken that picture of you and Azriel. This one was from behind, capturing Azriel’s arm resting naturally around your waist as you both watched the band. The sight stirred something deep within you. You felt a smile tug at your lips as you remembered how that moment had felt—comfortable, right, as if the world outside had fallen away, leaving just the two of you.
When you met her eyes again, Victoria grinned, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Watch the live,” she said, offering you her phone to hold in your own hands.
You listened, gently taking it and pressing down on the photo. It showed you looking away from Az, a soft smile on your face, and then, right after, Az looking down at you with an expression just as soft, one that you felt deeply in your chest. You let it replay a couple of times.
No wonder Victoria had assumed you and Az were together, had complimented you like a couple, told her partner about you both. If you were an outsider watching this moment, you’d think you were a couple too—so natural, so connected. What could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.
Victoria’s voice pulled you back. “It was fate that I ran into you again. The picture was so cute I was tempted to post it somewhere in hopes it got to you.”
Her words made you smile and you glanced at Jamie. The way they looked at her, with such tenderness and affection, was like something out of a fairy tale. It made your heart ache, longing for something similar. Azriel's laugh echoed faintly in your head.
Jamie caught your gaze and nodded toward the phone in Victoria’s hand. “Friends don’t look at friends that way,” they said, their grin slightly teasing but gentle all the same. “Just so you know.”
Victoria sighed wistfully, leaning into Jamie as they wrapped an arm around her. "You know what I think?" You raised a brow, inviting her to continue. Her face softened as she met your gaze. "You should tell him how you feel."
You sighed, looking down at the ground. Admitting you felt something for Azriel could change the dynamic between you. And not only that, but the dynamic between you and everyone else. You liked where everything was at now. You didn’t want to ruin it.
“It’s just not that simple.”
“No one said it would be,” She said gently. She looked up at Jamie, her eyes shining a bit brighter than seconds before. “But sometimes, the best things aren’t.”
You had given Az similar advice the day before—urging him to chase his dreams and not confine himself to limitations. The irony of those very words being directed back at you now, especially about him, made you want to laugh. It felt oddly fitting and full-circle. Maybe you could write a paper about it.
Jamie tangled their fingers in Victoria’s hair. They nodded in agreement, giving you a look that said: Listen to her. She's right.
Victoria seemed to catch your hesitation and she called your attention with a gentle murmur of your name. "I'm serious," she said. "The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now."
You smiled to yourself, picking at the grass around you and feeling the blades between your fingers. You looked at them again, amused at how your day had led you to this insightful couple and some much-needed time to spill your guts.
"You guys are so wise," you said with a small chuckle. "Y'know that?"
"It's these fucking spiked lemonades," she replied, lifting up her empty can. "They give me a fifth sense."
Jamie chuckled next to her. They patted her head gently. "Sixth."
"Huh?" She said, turning her head to look at them.
"Sixth sense, babe," they said. "You already have five senses."
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Azriel had found you five minutes into your second conversation with Victoria and Jamie, his eyes wide and cheeks slightly red. He'd been looking for you for almost fifteen minutes, his countless calls having been sent to voicemail because your phone had been silenced. You'd apologized profusely, but Az had laughed it off, saying he was grateful that you had a shirt he could see from miles away and a hat he knew like the back of his hand. He greeted Jamie and Victoria, recognizing the latter almost immediately, and then jokingly thanked them for watching you while he was gone, making a joke that you were a wandering toddler with an affinity for shiny things.
Victoria shot you a knowing look as you both walked away.
You had a few more minutes before you were scheduled to meet the rest of the group, so you took the opportunity to enjoy the scene. You and Azriel wandered through the vibrant area of the festival where booths from local artists and craftspeople lined the grassy areas. The atmosphere was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of music from nearby stages. With everything around you vying for your attention, your mind stayed tethered to the conversation with Jamie and Victoria.
You stopped when you spotted a photobooth nestled between two tables, a vintage looking thing advertising two strips of 5 photos for 12 bucks. A steep price, but something in you was drawn to it nonetheless.
You looked at Azriel with a grin. “Does the photographer feel like being photographed?
Az raised an eyebrow. “I feel like no matter what I say, you'll somehow convince me to do it anyways.”
You smiled wider, biting your lip to keep it from spreading too much. “You know me so well.”
The space was intimate, practically needing you both to sit atop of one another. You gently took his hat off, placing it in your lap as Azriel’s arm slipped comfortably around your shoulders, drawing you even closer. The gesture was casual, something he'd done countless times before, but it sent your pulse racing all the same.
Azriel’s smile was warm as he looked into the camera and you found yourself acutely aware of his presence, noting the smallest of details despite the camera's low quality. The curls on his head, the sharpness of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled as he grinned. The smile on your face as the booth snapped its first picture was a result of staring at Az's reflection; your second smile came from the sound of his laugher, soft and genuine, filling the tiny space.
You reached out and gently cupped his cheek for one of the next poses, your fingers brushing against his skin. His expression softened. And then his fingers were grazing your hair, slowly tangling themselves by winding a strand around his finger.
As the fourth picture snapped, you noticed how he was looking at you—not at the camera, but at you. His gaze was steady and unwavering, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt in every fiber of your being. You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes with soft breath.
Jamie’s voice echoed in your head, a distant but persistent echo. Friends don’t look at friends that way.
The space between you seemed to contract. You took a deep breath, feeling a familiar buzz of longing resurface. And suddenly, you were eighteen again, millimeters away from Az on that Halloween night. His eyes drifted to your lips.
Victoria’'s voice whispered next: The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now.
Azriel leaned in, his eyes drifting shut as he brought his hand up to cradle your hair. Your breath hitched and you moved to close the distance, a sudden need filling your body. Azriel, your mind seemed to whisper, repeatedly like a prayer, Azriel Azriel, Azriel—
A sudden, blinding FLASH snapped you to reality. You both pulled back slightly, eyes wide, as the booth’s camera whirred to capture the memory you’d just almost shared. Azriel blinked, clearing his throat, and you scrambled to pull back the curtain, stepping into the blinding sunshine.
You fumbled with your shirt, trying to smooth it down as though you'd been caught in some misstep. The words, I made your dad a bottom, mocked you boldly. Avoiding Azriel’s gaze, you stared at the ground as he handed you the strip of photos. Your hand brushed his briefly, lingering long enough to feel the warmth of his touch as you took the pictures.
You glanced at the photos, then looked up to find Azriel already staring at you. You opened your mouth to say something, but a familiar voice yelling your names cut you off. Mor and Cassian came sprinting towards you with wide smiles. You shoved the photo strip into your bag.
You smiled, making an effort to focus on the story Cass was animatedly telling as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side. But your eyes kept drifting back to Azriel, who seemed just as lost in thought as you.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You were a sentimentalist at your core.
For as long as you could remember, you collected memories. You stored them away like treasures, delicate and fragile, saving them for rainy days when you'd wrap yourself in nostalgia like a warm blanket. You wanted everything to have meaning, for things to make sense in a world that often didn’t. Perhaps that’s what led you to study philosophy—a major that let you think too deeply about everything, that encouraged you to seek understanding to a point where nothing made sense.
The Stoics believed that the practice of virtue was enough to achieve eudaimonia, a well-lived life. As you stood in the grassy expanse, watching the lights dance across the night sky and feeling the music pulse through your veins, you thought that maybe this was what they meant. Maybe this was a well-lived life—being surrounded by the simple joy of being alive.
The sun had long set and the sky above was a blanket of deep indigo. You'd all chosen to enjoy the headliner and final performance from a distance, preferring the open space behind the throng rather than being swallowed by the crush of bodies near the stage. From your vantage point you watched the massive crowd sway in unison, a sea of bobbing heads and glowing sticks. Every now and then flashing neon lights would meet your eyes, causing you to squint at their power.
You could see it all—the band on the huge screens, the ocean of people, and the world alive around you. Your arms were intertwined with Mor and Feyre's as you danced together, singing the songs at the top of your lungs. Mor pulled you both closer and you felt her laugh more than you heard it, a rumble through her body as she beamed into the endless night.
Feyre laughed, and you watched as her gaze fell elsewhere. She squeezed you both before bouncing towards Rhys, hair flying wild and free. He caught her easily, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony and you grinned at the way they fit so effortlessly together. You stored the image of their smiles away in your mind.
Mor pulled you towards her, bringing your cheeks between her palms. Her eyes were glowing with a mixture of happiness and the alcohol in her system as she grinned. "I'm so glad you're here!"
The words ran through you, warming every corner of your body as you smiled back to her. Distantly, you could feel the tickle of tears behind your eyes--- the urge to cry from a strange mixture of love, happiness, and guilt. You let your mind focus on that love as your smile grew wider.
"Me too," you responded loudly. "I love you."
Mor's eyes lit up even more as she squealed, pulling you into a quick hug as she repeated the words back to you, over and over. When you pulled away, you found Cassian next to you, his strong arms wrapping around both of you, drawing you into his orbit. He twirled you and you laughed, moving with him until your world was a dizzy blur of colors and lights. And when Cass moved to pull Mor, you paused for a moment, looking around the crowd. You weren't quite sure what you were searching for. But your heart seemed to be seeking it, some craving.
A few steps away were Rhys and Feyre, their faces lit up with excitement as they sang animatedly to Azriel. You turned your attention to him, observing his genuine smile and the way he moved to the music. Despite the proximity of your bodies on the same patch of grass, in this fleeting instant, he seemed distant, absorbed in his own enjoyment--- and you watched it with a sense of admiration. Your gaze lingered on his lips.
The craving you once had—whatever it was you had been searching for—faded as he laughed.
You gently pulled away from Mor and Cassian, stepping aside to watch your friends dance. The scene was too perfect to let slip away unrecorded, so you pulled out your phone and captured a bit of it. The quality would suck in the darkness, the figures mostly shadow with laser lights painting them in brief flashes of color, but you didn’t care.
A bittersweet ache ran through you. You'd never have this moment again. And if you parted ways after graduation, you'd miss out on many more moments like this. When you looked back up, Az was approaching you. There was a smile on his face that matched the warmth in you, a sense of peace that paired perfectly with that tingling excitement that Az often made you feel.
He extended his hand towards you. "It's time to take your own advice.”
You looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. He didn't need to explain his words further. You knew exactly what he was referring to. Almost instantly, your mind traveled to the countless times you had urged him to embrace the moment, attempted to pull him out of his head.
You let out a determined breath and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as you pulled him back towards the group. Mor and Feyre had blended into a new group, singing along and laughing with their new friends. Meanwhile, Cassian and Rhys were dancing in a playful, almost mocking manner, with Cassian humorously mimicking the way Rhys and Feyre had been dancing closely.
You tugged Azriel into the midst of it all, letting him guide you into a light twirl. The music wrapped around you, the lights casting an ethereal glow over the jubilant crowd. The world narrowed into this experience--- to you and Az surrounded by your friends, to Mor singing the lyrics to a giggling Feyre.
The Stoics believed in many things. They believed in the value of virtue and the pursuit of wisdom, in accepting the things we cannot change, and most importantly, they believed in the power of the present moment. It is the only thing we have control over.
Your wandering thoughts from earlier were all true. You'd never be this young again. You'd never attend this same festival, never be this drunk, never dance like this in this exact constellation of friends and music. You'd miss out on many memories, many moments just as joyous.
You’d never have this exact moment again.
But right now, it was all yours.
And that was all that mattered.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
For your viewing pleasure, here is the view Victoria had of Reader and Az:
drawn by the best and most talented ever @micahssketchbook
authors note: i wonder who that sweet sexy drunk best friend was named after.... @daycourtofficial any ideas?
summary: after getting a broken nose from Nesta, you end up yielding to what you have been trying to avoid.
warnings: blood, injuries.
You knew exactly what kind of man Azriel was. Cold as steel, emotionally distant, always disciplined and rigid in his principles. He was the kind of man that, in some twisted way, you had been searching for your whole life. His emotional distance provided you with a safe space, a solid wall between your true self and him. You felt comfortable there, with no commitments or emotional obligations tying you down, allowing you to stay within your comfort zone.
You had easily navigated a sea of superficial relationships because that was the type of love you had known since childhood, the only example you had received from your parents. That cold and distant love had taken root in you, and without realizing it, you had spent years seeking it in others, desperately trying to recreate something that, although painful, was familiar to you.
But everything changed with Azriel. Despite knowing that being with him went against all your defenses, you found yourself unable to resist the subtle warmth that emanated from him in the most unexpected moments. Like the touch of his hands when they brushed against your skin, always gentle, or the looks he gave you, full of a tenderness that seemed to melt the ice in your heart.
He was an enigma. Your hands, accustomed to being firm and decisive, trembled at the thought of holding something as fragile as Azriel's emotions. You hadn’t been raised to handle softness, and yet, every gesture of his made you yearn for something you never thought you needed.
Azriel sought you out. You saw it in the way his hazel eyes landed on you when he returned from a mission, in how he sat next to you at dinners, so close that his legs brushed against yours under the table. You felt it in the way his presence enveloped you during the nights at the Town House, where laughter and stories filled the air, but his attention was always on you, subtle but constant. And when, in a moment of weakness, you leaned towards him seeking his touch, he was always there, his hands steady on you, holding you with a gentleness that disarmed you.
Tonight, everything had gone wrong. In a burst of brutal honesty, you had said something you shouldn’t have to Nesta, and now you were in the Town House kitchen, cleaning the blood from your broken nose with a cloth soaked in cold water. The punch had been deserved; you couldn’t deny it. Your words had been harsh, even cruel, and you knew you couldn’t blame Nesta for reacting the way she did.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the almost inaudible footsteps behind you, nor did you notice how the shadows in the room grew denser. It wasn’t until you felt Azriel's presence, his chest almost pressed against your back, that your heart skipped a beat.
"So she really hit you," Azriel murmured, more to himself than to you.
"I don’t blame her," you responded, trying to keep your voice steady, but you noticed it sounded weaker than you had intended. He moved even closer, his warmth surrounding you, and you felt his breath on your neck.
"In the nose?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, you turned so he could see for himself.
You had to look up to meet his eyes, those hazel eyes that observed you with an intensity that made you feel exposed. Azriel took a step back, examining you carefully, his hand lifting your chin gently to inspect the damage.
"I don’t think she broke your nose," he said, his fingers firm but tender on your skin.
"It doesn’t feel like she did," you whispered, barely aware of how close he was to you.
Azriel looked at you for a second longer, his eyes tracing your face as if he wanted to memorize every detail. You noticed the tension in his jaw, a fraction of a second where he seemed to struggle against his own feelings before his expression softened again. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart.
His eyes shifted to the damp cloth you were holding, and for a moment, his expression hardened before returning to its usual calm. It was in that moment that you realized, with painful clarity, what his gestures meant. Every look, every touch, was leading you further and further into a situation from which you knew it would be hard to escape.
But you let it pass. For once, you decided not to think too much about what was happening. You didn’t want to analyze it; you didn’t want to find a way out. You just wanted to feel.
With a delicacy that disarmed you, Azriel took the cloth from your hands and guided you towards the kitchen island. He sat you on one of the chairs, his height imposing even while you were seated. Leaning towards you, he lifted your chin again, his fingers brushing your skin with a softness that not many people had shown you.
He wiped the blood from your face with slow, meticulous movements, making sure not to leave any trace. And even though he had finished cleaning, he kept his hand on your chin, his hazel eyes fixed on yours.
When his thumb gently traced your lip, a shiver ran through your body. No one had touched you like this before, with an intimacy that bordered on vulnerability. You closed your eyes without realizing it, letting yourself be carried away by the sensation.
Shame hit you instantly. You weren’t a teenager, nor someone who let themselves be carried away by uncontrolled emotions. And yet, there you were, reacting to every gesture of Azriel’s as if you were someone completely different.
You could see the internal struggle in him, the tension in his shoulders, the doubt in his eyes. He seemed to be debating between what he wanted to do and what he knew he should do. And you, for the first time, found yourself at the same crossroads.
But instead of retreating, you decided to stay. Because despite everything you knew about Azriel, there was something in that subtle warmth, in that silent connection, that made you want to stay by his side, even if just for tonight.
Azriel kept his thumb on your lip, as if he were testing the texture of something fragile and precious, something that might break if he applied too much pressure. You shivered at the intimacy of the gesture, at the way his touch, both firm and gentle, seemed to ignite a spark within you. Your eyes closed again, trying to contain the avalanche of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.
"Why are you doing this, Azriel?" Your voice came out barely a whisper, unsure, but loud enough for him to hear.
"I don’t know," he replied just as softly, his breath brushing your face. "But I also don’t know how to stop."
His words echoed in your mind, more like a promise than a confession. The air between you both grew thick, charged with a tension that you could both feel. You opened your eyes slowly, meeting his gaze once more, that intense look that seemed to read every corner of your soul. There was something new in those hazel eyes, a mix of desire and vulnerability that you had never seen before.
"Azriel…" you whispered, his name leaving your lips with a softness that even surprised you. You didn’t know what you were going to say, you didn’t know if there was anything to say. All you knew was that he was too close and that you didn’t want him to pull away.
In a movement that felt completely natural, Azriel lowered his head towards yours, his lips just a breath away. The world shrank to that small space between you, to the way your breaths mingled, to the anticipation of what would come next.
Your heart pounded harder, quickening when Azriel closed the distance, brushing his lips against yours in a gesture so delicate it was almost imperceptible. But that barely-there touch was enough to unleash a storm inside you. It was a kiss that didn’t demand, that didn’t rush; it was a kiss that offered, that gave you the chance to decide if you wanted it, if you were ready to let everything change.
Without thinking, you leaned into him, accepting his invitation, your lips responding to his with a longing you hadn’t realized you had buried so deep. Azriel’s hand, which still held your chin, slid to your cheek, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin as his lips moved with a tenderness that completely disarmed you.
There was no rush in the kiss, just a connection that deepened with every passing second. You felt your barriers crumbling, felt how every caress of his made you forget the reasons you had built those walls in the first place.
Finally, when you both ran out of breath, Azriel pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb gently stroking the line of your jaw.
"I’m not used to this," he confessed quietly, his vulnerable gaze contrasting with the impenetrable image he usually showed the world. "I don’t know how to handle what I feel… for you."
The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him, processing what he had just said. The sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes searched yours as if desperately needing an answer, made your heart tighten in your chest.
"You don’t have to do it alone," you finally responded, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling. You knew this was new, even scary, but there was something in you that wanted to try, that wanted to give a chance to whatever was blooming between the two of you.
Azriel seemed to relax slightly, as if your words had eased a weight he had been carrying on his shoulders. Without saying anything else, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you both breathed in silence, sharing that small space of peace in the midst of the storm.
You stayed like that for a while, in silence, simply enjoying the closeness, the comfort found in the simple act of being together. Finally, Azriel opened his eyes and looked at you, a small, barely perceptible smile curving his lips.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked, his tone lighter but still carrying that underlying seriousness that always accompanied him.
You thought for a moment, weighing your options, before answering with a smile that matched his. "I think we could start with another kiss," you suggested softly.
Azriel let out a low laugh, his hand moving to tangle in your hair as he leaned towards you once more.
Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.
Warnings: drug usage (marijuana), lil anxiety thoughts about the looming future, reader is a sentimentalist, az & reader smoking in the summer night air
Word Count: 2.1k
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
The ache in your muscles, despite how irritating, was a good one.
You welcomed it as you sat down on the balcony, settling into a white wicker chair with a beige pillow. The chair was worn, discolored in some areas and peeling apart in others, and that fact made it seem even more inviting to you. There was a sense of life in every corner of this house, remnants of love that manifested in the old furniture and sentimental decorations. It made you feel closer to your friends, made you feel like you were making your own memories here, too.
The ocean breeze smelled especially refreshing with the night breeze that accompanied it. You let your eyes fall shut as the gentle air weaved itself through the loose strands of your hair, pulling goosebumps from deep under your skin. From where you sat, you could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from the kitchen. You smiled at the noise.
Truth be told, the first day of the festival had drained your energy more quickly than you’d expected. While your social battery was bound to grow over the next few weeks, this peace, this moment of solitude, was desperately needed now. Even still, you appreciated feeling close to everyone despite the physical distance. You made a mental note to thank Rhys and Mor once more for placing you in this bedroom.
Your mind was slow, ears still slightly ringing from the loud speakers, and your thoughts drifted from the events of today to ones that felt much heavier, much more contemplative.
Moments from today replayed in your mind: the first set of the afternoon, securing barricade for four artists, the way that Cassian befriended everyone in the crowd, how Azriel swayed to the music and smiled when you’d meet his eye. Each one glowed with a sense of permanence you wished you could grasp. You could, in a sense, make sure these moments never left.
If you followed through with the plan, you’d all be in the same city after graduation, sharing even more of these moments. There could be countless, maybe even hundreds, more.
A flicker of guilt sparked in your stomach.
It felt almost wrong to be preoccupied with this sour sense of sadness when the present was still here— how foolish of you to already already be grieving for a moment that hadn’t yet ended. You’d gotten home barely an hour ago. Your friends were still downstairs.
A shadow danced across the porch and you jumped.
You turned, and Azriel stood there, his figure illuminated by the faint glow of his bedroom lamp. A nervous laugh escaped you, and you muttered his name in recognition. Azriel lifted an awkward hand in apology, his mouth curling into a tight lipped smile.
"My bad," he murmured, "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."
He’d just stepped out of the shower, damp curls clinging to his forehead and a faint scent of soap on his skin. You let your eyes wander for a fleeting second, taking in his simple outfit: a loose black shirt and a pair of sweat shorts that looked criminally good on him. He’d gotten even tanner since your arrival here, and it seemed as if the harsh sun of today had also left him with a fresh sunkissed glow.
You gave him a small side smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Don't worry about it. I'm just jumpy and you're really quiet. I’m serious."
"I'll invest in a cat collar. Complete with a bell and everything."
You chuckled at the mental image. Azriel paused, studying you for a moment from where he stood. After clearing his throat, he gave you a small nod. You watched with a frown as he turned and headed back to his room.
"Wait," you said, pushing yourself to the edge of your seat. Azriel stopped at his door, turning to look over at you as you continued. "Why are you leaving?"
A crease formed between his brows and you watched as his gaze bounced between you, the table in front of you, the ocean-view, and back. "You were out here first."
"It's your balcony too."
Another pause. His chest rose with even breaths.
"I don’t want to bother you."
You shook your head. "Stay." You offered him a smile— an invitation. "If you'd like. I always appreciate your company."
You felt inclined to tell him that he never bothered you, that you craved his presence more often than you’d like to admit. There was something so calming about Azriel, something so familiar. It made you sad to think about the time you’d lost with him, how much stronger your friendship could’ve been by now. And then you felt guilty for feeling sad about such a thing, because that time lost with him was time gained with Eris.
Azriel seemed to think about it for a moment, his eyes dropping to the ground, dark lashes brushing against his cheeks.
"Yeah, sure,” he said, “I'd love to."
He pulled a chair from his side of the porch and sat across from you.
You felt his eyes on you as you placed your phone down and pulled a small container from your pocket. You knew it was a bit cliche— the Altoids container holding various shitty pre-rolled joints– but it worked like a charm and you always did love the classics.
Azriel’s gaze lingered as you brought the joint to your lips and lit it. When the courage finally found you, you offered it to him with an outstretched hand. His eyes dropped to your fingers.
"Would you like some?"
His lips curved slightly and a warm look appeared in his eyes. He leaned forward, hands carefully plucking it from yours.
“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, his voice nearly swallowed by the sound of the ocean waves. He met your gaze and a smile slowly grew on his lips, as if he was offering it to you in return for the joint.
You gazed out, admiring the moonlit waves and the soothing rhythm of the ocean, fingers absentmindedly playing with the lighter in your hand. Glancing down, you traced the polymer clay sleeve that adorned it, a piece you’d crafted during a girls’ night. Feyre had found a video showing how to make it, and while her and Mor’s lighters were more decorative than functional, the memory warmed your chest with something bright.
“You okay?”
Azriel’s eyes were soft when you met them, inquisitive like a tender animal. Even in this dim light, with half of his face illuminated by his bedroom’s light and the other half by the moon, you’d never seen anything quite as striking. You chewed over your words for a moment— thinking, choosing which felt best on the tip of your tongue.
“Yeah. I’m just thinking.”
His eyes narrowed and a small crease settled between his brows. An urge bit at you to trace your finger along it. He handed the joint back to you.
You didn’t have the heart to tell him anything nearer to the truth. You were thinking. That was true. But Azriel didn’t need to know about what. You wouldn’t be able to explain it if you tried.
Today was good. Your limbs were heavy and there was a small sunburn on the tip of your nose, but it was good— great. You took a deep breath and pulled yourself from the hands of the future, away from its sweaty, iron grip, and focused on Azriel’s eyes.
He nodded and you could’ve sworn he read your mind, that he knew where you’d pulled your mind back from. But he said nothing and you thanked him with a quick, small smile.
A comfortable silence settled over you both. The noise from downstairs had quieted down as everyone made their way to bed and the gentle echoes of their laughter had begun to fade into the night. You’d brought a small speaker out with you, and the music from it softly filled the now quieted spaces, blending seamlessly with the sounds of the ocean. You watched the waves against the sand, breathing in the fresh breeze that now mingled with the familiar scent of earth that surrounded you and Az. Neither of you exchanged any words as you gently traded the dwindling joint back and forth.
He beckoned towards your speaker with his chin, turning his head to you before his eyes followed the movement. "Is this tomorrow's lineup?"
You nodded, letting out a smooth exhale and watching as a cloud of smoke floated into the air. "I like listening to every artist just to get an idea of what they sound like."
You wouldn't be hearing many of the artists that were playing through your speakers. You all had meticulously mapped out the daily festival schedules, poring over the list of artists to agree on a which to see. Each person had their own preferences so there was a game plan in place: which sets you’d all battle for the barricade, which performances you’d catch while casually wandering, and what times you'd explore other activities or grab food. There was even a strategy for when to get even more hammered, as Mor had so delicately put it.
The schedule had worked perfectly today.
"Smart," Azriel said, grabbing the joint from your outstretched hand. His fingers brushed against yours and a small chill ran through your skin. "I do that too."
You smiled, watching as he brought the joint to his lips and took a small drag. The action itself was so graceful, so effortlessly elegant that it seemed almost sinful to watch. Your gaze lingered on his lips for a moment too long before he was looking at you, offering it back to you.
You savored the final few puffs, embers glowing softly as you moved your head in rhythm with the song currently playing. The vocals faded, giving way to a stunning guitar riff that seemed to surge through you like a physical force. Azriel's face lit up and you exchanged a glance.
"Wait," you murmured, grabbing your phone. "I really like this."
You adjusted the volume, settling back into your chair as the music swelled around you.
"They're playing tomorrow?" Azriel asked, leaning towards you.
"Yeah." You glanced at the band's profile on your phone— they were relatively small compared to the other sets tomorrow. "I bet this would be great live."
Azriel turned to you with a thoughtful look. "Let's find out."
"We already have the sets for tomorrow planned, though."
He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "So?"
You frowned, shifting in your seat as you locked your phone and placed it back in your lap. "They’re not going to change their plan."
Azriel hummed in contemplation— a small, low rumble in the back of his throat. "They don’t have to. We can go by ourselves.”
You blinked at him, feeling your eyebrows raise as you considered the idea. You felt giddy at the notion that spending time with you alone was something desirable to him— fun, even.
Azriel leaned in closer, his eyes scanning your face with a playful intensity. They were heavy lidded now, the whites of his eyes red from the high. "I think they’ll survive without us for an hour, Y/n."
Your name on his lips felt like a soft caress and, for a moment, you understood why even the most steadfast of saints could be swayed by the sweet whispers of sinners. If he said your name again just as tenderly, as kind, as soft, you’d agree in a heartbeat.
“I know,” you murmured. “But I don’t think they’ll want us to miss one of the bigger sets.”
"Well what do you want?"
The way he asked, with that casual yet earnest tone, made the choice seem somehow more significant than it was. You looked at Azriel, down at your phone, and back at him again. "I’d love to hear them in person."
He nodded in agreement, a damp curl bouncing with the movement, and a dimpled smile found its way onto his face.
"Let’s see them tomorrow, then."
Your cheeks began to ache with the strain of a smile— a gentle tugging at the corners of your lips. A warm, tingling sensation spread across your face. “You sure you want to hear them too?”
Amusement glistened in Az’s eyes as they scanned your face. Your stomach fluttered, each beat feeling lighter than usual.
“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “I really do.”
You leaned back into your chair, watching as Azriel settled in, his eyes closing as he relaxed. You followed his lead, starting to play more tracks from the band. As the music filled the space, you let yourself sink into the chair, letting the sounds blend with the quiet of the night.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
authors note: im a bit biased as a stoner girly but when i tell u those late night moments smoking w someone r sooo intimate. i love them ur honor i truly do
Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.
Warnings: alcohol use, mention of drugs, mentions of scars (azs hands), slight Tamlin slander (lighthearted tbh), reader being observant, az being… well az :)
Word Count: 4.7k
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Introduction to Philosophy was taught by professor Jeff Davids.
It was one of the smaller classes you’d taken in freshman year, intimate enough to have proper discussions with the rest of your classmates but large enough to be held in a lecture hall. Though many people took it to fulfill a General Education requirement, it was more significant for you. It marked the beginning of your Philosophy major and a longstanding obsession with the ideas of ancient thinkers.
It was the same for Morrigan and Feyre, both of whom you met in Professor Davids’ class. Like you, they were Pre-Law students. And while you’d sat with Feyre on the first day out of pure chance, you were sure that it was fate that pulled you both into an assigned group with Mor— and Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. The three boys had chosen Intro to Philosophy because it had enough seats for all of them.
There were many things you remembered about your Intro to Philosophy class. Professor Davids was a rockclimber, the Allegory of the Cave was one of the most well-known philosophical concepts, Cassian always came ten minutes late, and Mor’s first major presentation was an in depth and perfectly executed criticism of Plato’s The Republic. You remembered it clearly. She argued against the idea of Plato being classified as the ‘first feminist’. Even if you hadn’t already shared Mor’s belief that Plato fell short of feminist ideals, her presentation would have won you over. Just two months into your friendship, Mor had already made a lasting impression. You remembered her eloquence, the way she commanded the room—a woman of honor and dignity.
It was strange, in an endlessly entertaining way, to see the same woman before you now down on one knee, chugging the last of her drink in the Summit Pulse parking lot.
She let out a belch as she stood and Cassian responded with an approving whistle, giving her a sloppy high five. “Fuck,” she said, gingerly dabbing at her smeared lipstick. “Can someone pass me my bag?”
Summit Pulse had officially begun twenty-five minutes ago, at 11:30 AM. You’d arrived at 11, found two open parking spots, and began your small, almost humble, tailgate— consisting of various seltzers, shooters, and beers for the boys.
You’d driven in two cars: Feyre and Rhys in one, and Az, you, Mor, and Cassian in the other. It was more economical to get two parking passes for the three days, so the boys had devised a plan. The idea was simple: whoever wasn’t driving in the morning would get heavily intoxicated right from the start, making full use of the tailgating privileges. Since the sets ended around 10 PM, by the end of the night one of them would be sober enough to drive. For today, Az was the designated driver, while Cassian would take over for the ride home.
Rhysand’s plan was far simpler. He would only drink modestly throughout the day— but no matter what, he was driving home. This was for two reasons. First, no one but him was allowed to drive his car anyway, and second, he didn’t want Feyre to be worried about her ride home.
When you’d asked the boys why they hadn’t included you, Feyre, or Mor into the shifts, they had shrugged and adamantly opposed. According to them, it was their job to take care of you, to let you have fun at a festival knowing you’d have three eyes watching over you. Not to mention that they knew their alcohol tolerances better than you three.
Rhys, with a sly smile, had also pointed out that your edibles made predicting sobriety a bit unreliable.
He was right, of course, so you didn’t argue— even if you hadn’t brought them today.
You handed Mor her bag. Her nimble, ring-clad fingers dug through it as you grabbed your phone, offering the camera screen to her as a makeshift mirror. She sung out a small thank you in response.
It was already hot out, a fact you’d prepared for but nonetheless hated, and the seltzers in your stomach gurgled in the heat. It suddenly crossed your mind that you should’ve had a heavier breakfast. But the morning had been chaotic, so you were now forced to rely on the festival food— food that was bound to cost three times as much as it would outside of festival grounds.
Two voices joined the sounds behind you and you cranked your head in time to watch Feyre bound over, a bounce in her step. She wore simple shorts and a flowy, linen tank that swayed with her movements. The look of it seemed to perfectly pair with the outfit Rhysand wore— white linen shorts and a short-sleeved button up, a few more buttons undone than necessary, of course. An image flashed into your mind of a very probable future: Feyre and Rhys married in this very city, white linens and salt-air breezes at their reception.
Cassian and Azriel would fight for best man, of course, and when they were both asked, they’d fight about which was number one and which was number two. Feyre’s maid of honor would be a much more nuanced choice, balanced between her two sisters and you and Mor.
At least, if you and Feyre were still friends by then.
You pushed the thought away— a silly, irrational, and anxious thought. They appeared a lot, especially when you weren’t as busy as you’d conditioned yourself to be these past few semesters. It was strange how those thoughts manifested when you were at your happiest. But there was no room for those this summer. You’d told yourself this over and over. One summer to just live, you repeated in your mind, one summer to exist.
Feyre wrapped her arms around your shoulder, tight enough to give you a welcome squeeze but tender and careful so as to not disrupt your mirror duties.
“You smell good,” you told her as the sweet smell of pear reached your nostrils. She met your eyes from the side as you grinned. “Look even better too.”
A small blush painted her cheeks and Feyre smiled. “You think?”
You nodded and Mor ran a gentle nail around her lips, picking up the excess red gloss with her nails. You watched as she struck a pose.
“And how do I look?”
There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that seemed to intensify by the second. Her excitement grew as the drink she chugged began making its way through her system.
“Good enough to get free drinks.”
You felt Feyre nod in agreement against your shoulder.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Summit Pulse had been going strong for hours and you were riding the high of it all. The sun was still glazing in the sky, your ears were still ringing, and the crowd's anticipation for the next set was almost tangible despite it not starting for another hour.
You guys had staked out a great spot near the front, close enough to give you a full view of the stage. Sadly, you hadn’t come early enough to get barricade, but you were more than content with the place you held in the growing crowd. Az and Cass had ventured off some time ago to grab more drinks and a small, worrying voice in the back of your mind began to worry that the two boys would struggle to rejoin the group.
You tried to pay it no mind, focusing on the game of Heads Up you were playing with Feyre and Mor. Feyre held her phone to her forehead and prompted the next word to come.
SPRING.
You and Mor exchanged a conspiratorial glance, gently pushing one another to create a space between your two bodies. A mirrored grin grew on your faces— ones with such childish glee and mischief that Feyre immediately picked up on the shared thought.
Her eyes widened as she shook her head. She dropped her hands to her side. "No," she whined, "Please don't."
You frowned in feign confusion, bringing a hand to cup your ear. "What?" you exclaimed, "I can't hear you." You looked back at Mor, watching as the face she formed mimicked yours. "Do you hear anything?"
Rhys fought to suppress a grin, wrapping his arms tighter around Feyre as she let out another helpless groan. He gave her a kiss to the temple as he leaned in further, eyes bouncing between you and Morrigan.
"I-" Mor stopped, bringing a hand to her chest as she exaggeratedly examined her surroundings. "I think it sounds like….like…"
Rhysand leaned into Feyre's ear. "Like Spring?"
"Oh god," Feyre whined. The sound fell on deaf ears. "Kill me."
Tamlin Spring was Feyre's boyfriend in freshman year, a first love so smitten with her that it bordered on slightly creepy— teetering across that fine line of obsession and adoration. You found Tamlin tolerable in small portions, but the others hated him with a passion. In truth, they hated a lot of people, your ex boyfriend included, and you just chalked that up to the reality of growing up in the same small city with the same people. You thanked eighteen-year old you everyday for choosing to attend college in a different state.
"Spring, you say?" you chimed in. Mor mimicked the motion of drawing a bow across a fiddle. She gave you a look and without missing a beat, you launched into a memorized dance, feet bouncing in an exaggerated jig while your hands moved as if playing invisible fiddles.
This abomination of a dance was one you and Mor had created one random drunken night—- a way to commemorate the infamous serenade Feyre had received from Tamlin post-breakup. At the beginning of their relationship, Tamlin's musical talent was impressive, even charming. But when he pulled out his fiddle and played what was meant to be a heartfelt apology, it left Feyre cringing and you unable to defend him anymore. Thus, the iconic dance was born.
For what it counted, the tradition to embarrass Feyre with your performance of it lasted longer than their relationship ever did.
Feyre's face was three shades redder by time you found yourselves unable to continue the dance any longer. She leaned her head back against Rhysand's chest as he laughed and hugged her tighter, apologizing for his own musical incapabilities. She tucked her phone tightly away in her pocket, muttering some off handed comment that she was never playing ever again.
You were still giggling and catching your breath as Azriel and Cassian returned, slowly making their way through the crowd— each holding a fresh, cold can of beer. Azriel's face was neutral as always, but a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes as they met yours. Cassian, on the other hand, wore his usual broad grin. He murmured polite, flirty pleasantries to every pretty woman they brushed past.
"Damn," Cass said, filling in the space Mor had saved for him by proxy of a strange, wide-legged stance. You’d done the same for Az. "Did I miss you hitting the Tamlin?"
You and Mor let out another shared round of giggles and Feyre groaned into the sky once more. Cassian turned to Rhys with a grin.
"Do you two have no shame?" Az said, settling into the space between you and Feyre. He took notice of Mor's lingering gaze on his drink and offered his can to her eager hands.
You shook your head, a grin plastered on your face as Mor brought the drink to her lips. The two of you made eye contact, and maybe it was the buzz of the drinks you’d already had, the tiny high making everything funnier, but you couldn’t hold back a laugh. Mor followed suit, the sound coming out of her in a wet snort as Azriel's drink sprayed everywhere.
Once you both finally calmed down, Mor pushed Azriel's drink back to him with an extended hand, batting her eyelashes as she met his gaze. "Thanks, Az. I needed that."
"I'm good. That's all yours now." Azriel pushed the can back to Mor with a single finger, a look of playful disdain on his face. His eyes, however, shone with amusement—enough to show that he wasn't really angry, not even disgusted, despite his expression. "I'll get a new one later. Preferably with less spit."
Mor offered him a sheepish smile. "My bad."
She offered the can to you next. You narrowed your eyes at it for a moment, then shrugged with a resigned smile and raised it to your lips. You felt Azriel's gaze on you, noticing the amused, skeptical eyebrow he raised. You waited for him to say something, to speak in that low tone he often preferred in public, but he only shook his head, chuckling softly.
His eyes lit up a few seconds later.
"Wait a second,” he said.
Azriel's gaze flicked to Cassian, and without a word, he started patting him down. Cassian angled his head to the side, brows furrowed as Az’s hands wandered around his form. “Dude,” he said, “What's with the hands?”
Azriel didn’t respond, continuing his search with focused intent. He wrapped a palm around Cassian’s exposed biceps to face him further, finally reaching the fanny pack strapped to his broad chest.
“Got it,” Az declared. When he pulled away, you caught sight of the device in his hand. Cassian paused for a moment, and you could see an out-of-pocket response on the tip of his tongue, but he simply shrugged and rejoined the conversation he had left with Feyre and Rhys.
His camera was held securely in his hands as Azriel turned back to you and Mor. Your eyes drifted down to the way his palm held it. It looked so natural there, a perfect fit, and the glow of inspiration in his eyes sent a flutter through your body. You hadn’t realized that he had brought it— hadn’t seen when Cassian went through security with his bag.
Az lifted the camera in a silent invitation and Mor let out an excited squeal, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. You smiled and your focus fell on Azriel. He held his camera with a careful, precise grip, ensuring you were perfectly in frame. With every movement he made, either a height adjustment or a turn of the camera, he sent a quick glance to his surroundings, quietly making sure that he refrained from accidentally bumping the people around him.
It was sweet how he managed to remain respectful in such a large crowd, how he cared enough to be aware of such things. The thought burrowed itself deeper into the area of your mind that had gained a heavy label this past week: Longings for Azriel, as you called it. An embarrassingly fitting title.
He took the picture with a satisfied smile and lowered his camera, the sunlight casting a warm, almost golden glow over his features. For a moment, your mouth felt dry at the sight of him. The harsh sun you’d been cursing for hours now seemed to soften, bathing his eyes in a molten blend of brown, gold, and green. Azriel had been in his element all of today. You saw it clearly— the ease in which he spoke with all of you, the way his eyes gleamed and the smile on his lips persisted. Every set you’d watched had been enjoyed through two ways: dancing with Mor, Feyre and Cassian, or admiring Az as he listened. Your grip tightened around the can you still held.
Mor leaned in to view the image on the camera’s screen and your surroundings poured into your consciousness once more, the loud sound of the crowd rising in level. You closed the gap Az had created when he stepped back and, in a moment of self-indulgence, brushed lightly against him to view the picture.
“This is so cute. I love it,” Mor fawned. She placed a hand on Az’s forearm and gave him a sweet smile. “This is such a great photo, Az.”
Azriel angled the screen towards you. You didn’t doubt her words, but Mor was indeed right. It was a great photo. You could see it all perfectly: the bustling crowd, the stage, the speakers in the background, and you and Mor glowing with happiness. It stirred something emotional within you, a perfect memory you could imagine showing future children to prove that their parent was once cool.
You looked up at him. “This is perfect.”
He smiled, almost timidly. “Yeah?”
“I guess you're back on track?”
Recognition sparked in his eyes and he smiled. “I think I just found my mu—”
Just then, the crowd moved like a restless sea and a body pushed into you. You stumbled slightly and Azriel's hand instinctively reached out to steady you, his touch warm and firm against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants. A shiver ran through you at the contact.
You turned to look at the person. He looked to be around your age, if not a few years older, with green eyes and a strange mullet that almost gave him bangs. Mor glared at him, but it was Azriel who spoke.
“Watch it,” he growled.
“My bad man,” Mullet slurred, eyes shifting between you and Azriel. “Didn’t see you.”
Azriel’s glare followed him until his figure melted back into the crowd, muttering under his breath, “Cut that mop you call hair and maybe you’d see better.”
You suppress a laugh at Azriel’s irritation, a huge amused grin spreading across your face. You’d forgotten how protective Az could be, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. His readiness to jump to the defense of those he cared about was endearing at its core, so you swallowed the small urge to make fun of his response.
Instead, it was Mor who broke the tension, her voice laced with mockery. “Damn, Az.” She raised an eyebrow and a small smirk grew on her lips. “If looks could kill, you’d be a serial killer.”
Az rolled his eyes but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, betraying his true amusement despite his feigned annoyance.
You handed Mor the canned drink back and clapped your hands together. “Alright. I need my own drink, so I’ll be back.”
Az handed Cassian the camera and turned to you. “I’ll go with you.”
You shook your head. “No, its okay. You just got back.”
Az gestured to the drink Mor had swiped. “I could use another, too.” He looked around. “And I think you might need some help getting back.”
You scanned the crowd, noting how it thickened with every passing second. Having Azriel to help navigate through would be a relief. And the prospect of some alone time with him was just as appealing.
“Okay,” you smiled. “Thank you.”
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
The line for drinks was manageable, with only about seven people ahead of you. The festival buzzed around you, the air thick with the scent of food and the distant hum of music from other stages.
Azriel stood next to you, head slowly scanning his surroundings, silver dagger earring glistening in the sun. Your eyes lingered on the slight curve of his lips, at the way a sense of ease hung from his resting features.
“You know, I knew you’d enjoy this,” you found yourself saying, voice carrying over the ambient noise. “The live music and all. But part of me is surprised.”
He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “Why’s that?”
”I thought you weren’t a large gathering type of person.”
You held many memories of Azriel from over the years. The memories from the past two years were few and far between, but the ones from freshman year—- those you held in abundance. Azriel’s quietness was something you noticed before you knew him. He was content to watch, content to observe. It was why photography seemed so fitting for him, a hobby for someone who liked to collect moments, to enjoy them from a watcher's vantage point rather than that of a main actor.
Azriel chuckled softly. Despite the festival’s noise, you heard it in perfect clarity.
“I’m not. But that’s for gatherings where I’m expected to constantly engage. This is different. Everyone here is doing their own thing, no one is paying attention to me. I can just disappear into the crowd.”
You let the words settle and studied him more intently. It occurred to you how unrealistic his words felt to you, how silly it was to think that people’s eyes didn’t naturally gravitate towards him. And you thought that it was a bit silly too, then, that your eyes did.
You and Azriel were friends, maybe even in the lightest of terms. Friends that could’ve been more, could’ve had a deeper connection, platonically, had it not been for choices you made. And yet, your eyes always found him. All of this morning, all of this past week. Your gaze found him time and time again, like a magnet calling to you.
You shook your head and a small laugh left your lips. An amused, timid sound. Azriel nudged your shoulder.
”What? He asked, but you only shook your head again, letting the smile linger on your lips. “What is it?” Azriel asked again.
You met his gaze then, that surveying, intense gaze, and shrugged. “It’s just, you could never disappear into a crowd, Az.”
His brows furrowed and you held his gaze, watching as a flicker of confusion crossed his face—- or perhaps it was curiosity, instead. You felt a flutter of something deep and tender inside of you. You swallowed.
“At least not for me.”
The line moved forward and you sent a silent thank you to the sky, stepping ahead. Azriel lingered behind for a moment, eyes still trained on you. His brows were still slightly furrowed, but a smile tugged at his lips—-something tender, like your words touched him in a way he hadn’t expected.
You ordered your drink, offering a grateful smile to the girl behind the table, and stood to the side as Azriel stepped up to order. The girl’s demeanor changed almost immediately—- cheeks flushed slightly, a new timid smile playing on her lips as she drank in the sight of him. You resisted the urge to laugh at it, a desire born out of total understanding rather than mockery.
Azriel was a stunning kind of attractive, a cold type of handsome that made you shiver if you stared too long. And the girl, she was pretty too, you thought, in an angelic sort of way. Blonde hair like Mor, blue eyes like Feyre. It dawned on you that you might look at Azriel the same way, with the same childish awe and longing admiration. The thought made you blush in embarrassment and you took a sip of your drink.
Azriel seemed oblivious to the effect he was having, focused solely on the screen before him and paying for his drink. She turned around to face him, drink in hand, and leaned forward to offer it.
And then her eyes fell to his hands. She let out a small breath, a sound that seemed to surprise even her, and her eyes widened in response. Az’s drink was placed on the counter much harsher than she likely intended.
As strange as it sounded, sometimes you forgot about Azriel's hands— forgot that they weren't what were considered normal to the causal observer. You didn't know if this was a good thing, if it was something Azriel preferred or had no opinion on.
Like most people, you'd noticed them when you first met him. Azriel was a quiet observer, a motionless one at times. But in class, when you caught yourself staring at him more often than you'd ever admit, you'd catch sight of the way he'd anxiously crack his fingers with the pad of his thumb. It would bring your attention right back to his hands, to the ridges on his skin.
The scars that marred his hands were extreme, yes, and a certain sadness flowed through you when you looked at them long enough— when you thought about what pain he must've endured— but they were also beautiful. Something so entirely unique; unique enough to where you knew it was him whenever he touched you.
But as hauntingly beautiful as his hands were, eventually they simply became a part of him, something as mundane and expected as his right earlobe or the freckle on his cheek— the one that disappeared into his dimple when he smiled hard enough.
The girl tried her best to catch herself, quickly pushing forward Azriel's canned drink on the surface and giving him a timid, almost apologetic smile. But it was too late. You saw the switch clear as day, watched as something dark ran through Azriel's face— something parallel to childhood fear, to deep-seated embarrassment, to heated resentment, all in one. He pressed a button when prompted for a tip, his gaze steady on his finger as it moved across the screen.
You cleared your throat, leaning forward to grab his drink in your free hand and motioning him away from the growing line. Az seemed to snap out of the daze he'd fallen into, meeting your hurried motions with a furrowed brow. You nodded towards the crowd.
"C'mon," you said, offering the can to him. "We gotta head back."
The whine in your voice did its intended job, concealing your actions as ones driven out of an impatience to return rather than a desire to protect him. It wasn't that you thought it would bother him if he realized what you were trying to do, no, but you didn't want him to read it as something rooted in pity. You didn't want him to fall further back into his head than he already had.
When he didn't reply, you pushed his drink further towards him with an impatient hum. He raised a singular eyebrow for a fleeting second, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he took the cold drink from you, fingers brushing against yours. Nothing flashed in his face at the contact— there was no twitch, no flicker of something darker in his features.
"They're not going on for another forty five minutes," he finally said.
You sighed, a dramatic and weariful sigh, and the curve of his lips blossomed into a smile.
"Az,” you began, “Some of the best moments are going to be found in that crowd while waiting."
For the second time, you beckoned towards the crowd. You ignored the flutter in your chest as you leaned forward to grab his hand, tugging him along behind you— ignored the tightening in your chest as Azriel held onto you tighter.
You made your way back through the dense crowd, struggling to move until you finally reached your friends. Feyre and Rhys were the first to spot you, offering a cheer of greeting as you and Az squeezed into the spaces they’d saved for you. Mor’s eyes traveled to Azriel, scanning his face quickly.
“Whats wro-“
You widened your eyes in warning, giving a small, subtle shake of your head that only she could pick up on. Mor mouthed a clarifying question and in response you brought your hand to the one that wrapped around the cold can of your drink, gently brushing your palm against the knuckles.
Her eyes widened in understanding and a small frown found her lips. She wiped it off within seconds, any trace of it perfectly concealed as she grabbed Azriel's attention with a large smile.
"Aren't you so excited? I'm so excited."
Azriel nodded, but his expression remained a bit guarded. Your stomach twisted and Mor shot you a worried glance. You looked at Az, nudging his arm with your shoulder, and his gaze dropped to you.
”Cheers?” You said, lifting your drink in invitation. “For good luck.”
Azriel’s face softened and the remaining edge washed away. His eyes glimmered as he lifted his drink.
“Cheers,” he replied, clinking his can against yours.
Thirty five minutes later, the crowd came to life as the band walked on stage.
They played for a total of forty-eight minutes.
Your eyes were on Az for around twenty-seven of them.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
authors note: they notice each other 🥺🥺 they pay attention to each other 🥹🥹 god this makes me miss having a crush— noticing every small thing, those BUTTERFLIES!!! i love them your honor
Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.
Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, cass & mor being bickering siblings, cass with facial hair, modern adaptions of bat wings aka tattoos, sexual n romantic tension, reader has a big fat crush
Word Count: 5.5k
Part One
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
“I hate it.”
Though Mor was seated beside you, her voice seemed to reverberate from a great distance, oscillating from one ear to the other. Your attention was not on your two best friends; their conversation filtering through your senses like white noise. Instead, your mind was entirely captivated by the view of the beach you sat on. The sun was setting and a golden hue painted the skies, its final light skittering across the soft waves of the ocean.
This was always one of your favorite times of day.
There was a specific sense of peace that seemed to settle among everyone as the sun gave over to the power of the moon, a peace that almost felt tangible on your skin, like the grains of the warm sand beneath you. You dug your toes further into its warmth as Mor scowled next to you, her gaze stuck on the horizon where Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys currently ran around, attempting to pin one another and throw each other into the waves.
The topic of conversation was what it had been every time Mor complained over the past week: Cassian’s new mustache.
It had grown exponentially over the last week, now fully formed above his top lip. Even from this distance, you could make out its shadow. But, in all honesty, it wasn’t his mustache that you were focusing on. It was his chiseled, bare torso.
The boys were always very fit, sporting defined bodies with even more defined muscles. But you hadn’t seen them like this in a while: shirtless, sun-kissed, tanned skin, and swimming shorts that created sleek, stark tan lines along their hips. Not since way back in the first summer you all shared. Last year’s break was filled with an internship to beef up your resume, moving into your new place with Mor and Feyre, and spending whatever free time you had with Eris and his family— far, far away from Mor.
The boys had grown even bigger since that first summer. Cassian, in particular, had developed noticeable definition, which you attributed to ROTC and his various sports activities. After all, ROTC combined military training with college coursework and demanded a significant amount of time and discipline. Balancing academics, those military duties, and being a student athlete seemed like an overwhelming feat, but Cassian managed it all. His physique was a clear indication of it.
Yet, despite his impressive build, it was Cassian’s face that truly drew attention. His large, beaming grin had a way of captivating anyone who saw it. It seemed to say more about his character than his muscular frame ever could, making it clear that beneath all that strength was someone incredibly approachable and genuinely good-hearted.
Your attention traveled to Rhysand next. Rhysand always held a certain grace to him, a regal essence of someone born to be a leader, to stand out among a crowd. You’d watched him come into his own in the past few years, watched as he fell in love with Feyre and began planning a life for himself outside of the pressures his father had implemented throughout his childhood.
Rhysand’s usually meticulously styled hair now hung in front of his eyes as he dodged Cassian and went under his arm. He was always a bit leaner than Cass, but still very built, with large, defined muscles that Feyre giggled about every girls' night. Rhys knew how to put those muscles to use, Feyre seemed to remind you every time she was three margaritas in. You didn’t doubt it, even if you and Mor groaned and pushed her further off the couch—and watched as she fell to the floor since Feyre’s balance tended to disappear when alcohol was introduced to her nightly diet.
Despite every fiber in your being begging for your gaze to fall to him first, your eyes went to Azriel last. You’d been fighting the urge, telling yourself that if you looked at him last, your eyes could linger just a few seconds longer.
You were currently mesmerized by the tattoo sprawling across his back.
The design was captivating—an elaborate pair of wings stretching gracefully across his shoulder blades, with their apex extending along the sides of his neck. The wings seemed almost alive, their fine details appearing three-dimensional against his golden skin. The spaces around the wings were filled with swirling patterns that looked like shadows, moving fluidly as though they were dancing across his skin.
The wings didn’t stop at his back; they extended over his biceps and down to his elbows. When he moved his arms, it almost seemed as if he was preparing for flight, the tattoo coming to life with every gesture. Cassian’s wings mirrored this design, stretching over his own biceps and elbows in a similar fashion. However, the empty spaces on his arms were adorned with sharp, angular patterns. Where the patterns on Az’s skin were fluid, like smoke and shadow, Cassians were rigid, sharp lines like that of a fierce fight.
Rhysand’s tattoo was distinctively more reserved. His bat-style wings were intricately etched into his back, spanning from his shoulder blades to his lower back, but they remained tightly confined to his torso. Unlike Azriel and Cassian, the design didn’t extend onto his arms. Instead, it was tattooed in a tucked, retracted position. Besides the wings, Rhysand’s collarbone was adorned with an elaborate tattoo of stars and swirling patterns that mimicked the night sky, with galaxies appearing to shimmer and shift across his skin.
Your eyes stuck to Azriel’s moving form— glued to his every gesture, really.
Azriel was always very cute. Handsome and pretty in a way that made chests tighten. But you hadn’t seen it much recently, hadn’t paid attention to anyone besides Eris, really. Now that you were broken up, it was as if you were seeing things in a completely new light, with new glasses that magnified every detail of the males around you. The reality was undeniable: Azriel had gotten more attractive over the past two years.
It was unfair. Completely and utterly unfair.
And you were completely and utterly overwhelmed by it— more so than you’d ever expected. God, you needed to check yourself, to reel in this strange crush that had begun to bloom like a flower in a new spring. You felt feral. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and you were grateful that your friends were often too absorbed in their own lives to notice your lingering glances.
Your fingers itched to trace the intricate ink on Azriel’s skin. You settled for running the pads of your fingers along the bare skin of your knee, mimicking the graceful movements of his tattoos. The act was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it helped channel the sudden urge to connect with the beautiful art that adorned him.
Feyre let out a hum besides Mor. From the corner of your eye you caught sight of her tilting her head in quiet focus. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, “It’s not that bad.”
Mor whipped her head to the side, her blonde locks cascading across her shoulder like a golden waterfall. She let out a shocked gasp.
“Feyre,” she scolded, “You can’t be serious.”
Feyre raised an eyebrow in response. “I’m serious. I’ve seen worse. It works for him, I think.”
Mor’s attention shifted to you. It took a minute before you were able to tear your gaze away from the view in front of you— the three boys illuminated by the soft glow of sunset; the delicate waves behind them that collected the remaining colors of the sky.
You turned to look at her, taking in her widened eyes and pursed lips. It was an expectant face, one she wore when she was waiting for important news— or in this case, for someone to agree with her. You offered a sheepish smile and shrugged, pulling your knees closer to your chest.
“Sorry girl, it’s kinda growing on me, too.”
Her mouth fell open and another dramatic, shocked gasp left her mouth. She returned her gaze to the view before her.
“It’s like I’m the only one with taste in this entire house.”
You snorted, turning to look as Mor shook her head in disbelief. Your gaze connected with Feyre’s as you leaned over slightly and you watched as her mouth curved into an amused smile, a small laugh leaving her delicate lips.
“You have a completely different taste than both of us, Mor. Maybe that's why you feel so passionate about this topic.”
Mor shook her head again, waving the comment off with an elegant hand— long red painted nails on every finger except for two: her ring and middle finger. The same style was mirrored on her other hand, currently at her side and playing with the sand.
“Actually,” Mor started, and you rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, a smile tugging stronger at your lips. “It’s because I’m into girls that my opinion here matters the most.”
Your attention drifted back to the boys who had finally ceased their game. They were catching their breath, hunched over and panting, before gradually making their way back.
Cassian reached you guys first, his steps falling from a jog into a soft walk before he came to a complete stop. He brought his hands to his head, smoothing down the top of his pulled back hair and readjusting his bun. Then, he placed his hands on his hips as a grin broke out on his face, eyes trailing between you, Mor, and Feyre.
“Whatcha ladies gossiping about?”
His voice was still ragged from the running, coming out in a long breath and followed by a deep one. Mor frowned at him, crinkling her nose as she scanned his appearance.
“We’re talking about that disgusting caterpillar of facial hair you’ve forced us to endure the sight of.”
Cassian’s grin faltered. “Excuse me?”
Mor only raised a brow in response— a challenge. Cassian accepted wordlessly, crossing his arms across his bare chest and jutting his chin out defiantly.
“Don’t be a hater, Mor.”
She scoffed. “Hater is my middle name. Consider this a reality check: Shave.”
Cassian considered her response for a moment, lips pursing in feign contemplation. Nope,” he said, a hand caressing his mustache. “You’re just too stubborn to admit you might actually like it.”
Another scoff. Offended and insulted all at once, the presence of those emotions fully present in the sound as it left her lips. “There are many words to describe the way I feel about that monstrosity you’re touching. ‘Like’ is certainly not one of them.”
You tossed a glance over at Feyre. She caught your gaze, eyes glistening with a quiet amusement as she tugged her legs to her chest, her sitting stance mirroring yours. She placed her chin on her knee, eyes drifting back towards the two bickering adults.
“You’re so dramatic. This ‘stache isn’t for you, anyways. You’re not the population I’m aiming for.”
“And who, pray tell, is the target audience? Divorcees in soon-to-be foreclosed homes?” A raised brow. “Republicans?”
This conversation was one you’d heard almost every day since Cass had decided to grow his ‘stache out, opting to only shave his beard. The argument held the same structure everytime. Mor would complain that it was gross and an eyesore, offer a new metaphor to describe it, and insist that Cassian shave it off. Cass would wave it off, act offended, and explain his reasonings once more to her deaf ears. It’s for the indie girls at the festival, Mor, Cassian had whined two days prior, They’ll go crazy for a pornstache. It’s a trend now. Mor only complained more in response, groaning in disgust and telling him she was going to shave it in his sleep.
As the argument continued, Azriel and Rhysand finally approached. Rhys raised an eyebrow at the bickering duo, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. He flashed you a grin before flopping down next to Feyre. With a playful shake of his head, reminiscent of a wet dog, he sent droplets of water flying. Feyre let out a startled shriek and pushed him away, her eyes sparkling with annoyance as Rhysand’s laughter filled the air.
Meanwhile, Azriel approached slowly, the last rays of the setting sun casting a faint glow on his figure. As he neared, Cassian turned his attention to him, desperation evident in his eyes.
“Hey, man, help me out here,” he called, a hand extended in Az’s direction. “Tell her it works. Back me up.”
Azriel gave him a steady look before shaking his head. “I’m not going to do that.”
Mor let out a triumphant laugh. “Aha!” Her eyes glimmered in satisfaction. “Even Azriel agrees with me!”
Cass kicked a spray of sand towards her in response. It scattered in all directions and you sputtered, grimacing as the gritty texture found its way into your mouth and eyes. With a groan, you brushed it off, watching as Cassian’s face dropped and concern flashed across his widened eyes.
Both him and Azriel muttered curses under their breath, the two starting to move towards you. But Cassian was faster. With a swift motion, he plopped down beside you, arm reaching out to pull you into his side.
“My bad, my bad,” He said, his voice laced with sincerity as he tucked you against him, his damp arm warm around you. He gave you a reassuring squeeze, though you still felt the remnants of sand clinging to your skin.
You squirmed a bit, trying to escape his sweaty embrace, but Cassian held you close. Over your hunched back, he shot a glare at Mor. “See what you made me do?”
She squeaked. “What I made you do?”
“Yes you.”
Your cheek pressed against his chest, squished near the area where his arms met his torso.
“I didn’t force you to kick sand at me with your big ass feet,” she huffed.
A new argument arose, Cassian leaning further over your back to bicker with Mor face to face. The more enthusiastic he became, the farther he seemed to shove you into his form. You looked up and managed to meet Azriel’s gaze, widening your eyes in a plea for help.
He understood the look immediately. The corners of his lips twitched upwards in amusement as he stepped forward, knocking Cassian’s muscled calf with his foot.
“Cass,” Azriel said, “You’re suffocating her.”
It took him a moment to register the words. But when they finally hit, Cass sprung back, holding you out with his arms in a movement so swift you blinked to reorient yourself. He examined you with the same observant eye as a parent, looking over your exposed skin as if he was searching for any open wounds or deformities.
“My bad,” he repeated. He gave you a guilty grin as brought his hands to smooth down your hair. His large hazel eyes met yours, widened and soft like that of a puppy. “All better.”
You gave him a look— brows raised and scrunched, a deep crease forming in the middle of them.
“Get outta here,” you muttered, pushing his warm body away from you. But despite yourself, a small grin hung on the corners of your lips.
You still felt Azriel’s eyes on you— that faint warm sensation that filtered through your skin. You met his gaze momentarily, watching as his eyes bounced between all of you. He settled back on the large teddy bear next to you.
“Help me start the fire,” Az said, calling Cassian’s attention back to him. Azriel looked at Mor next, gesturing towards her with his chin. “You too, judgy.”
“What?” Mor paused, hands freezing mid motion of wiping sand off her thighs. “Why me?”
“Because you’re mean,” Cassian said, bringing a hand to stroke his mustache. “And mean people do labor.”
Rhysand snorted. You had almost forgotten Rhys and Feyre were sitting there, quietly in their own world until Rhys leaned back on his hands with a grin, obviously enjoying the argument.
Azriel rolled his eyes. “Get up, c’mon.” He gestured with his hands, herding them both like sheep. Mor let out a grumble but began to push herself up nonetheless.
“I’m getting up because I want to. Not because you told me.”
Cassian was in front of her before she managed, offering a large hand out. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Let's go.”
She threw him a scowl, but the act had no malice behind it. Taking his hand, she muttered, “This would be much sweeter if you didn’t look like my creepy uncle Chris.”
Cassian just groaned.
Thank you, you mouthed when Azriel met your eyes once more. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he gave you a soft smile. Something deep within your chest flickered, like a candle being lit aflame. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before trailing after the two.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Forty five minutes later, you found yourself seated around a crackling fire, the sound of Rhysand's offhand joke eliciting laughter from everyone.The night had fully descended and the sky above was dotted with dim, flickering stars. You’d all discussed the summer, the festival, and your plans for the month. It was a summer of living, you’d told them. A summer to sit back and let life do with you what it may—and hope that meant all good things.
The stretch of beach was empty except for your group. Whether Rhysand and Mor’s family owned this area or the rest of the world had simply decided to stay in, you weren’t sure. Either way, you were appreciative.
Cassian was beside you, but your attention was solely on Azriel, who sat next to him. The firelight played upon his skin, casting a warm glow that accentuated the sharp lines of his face. The embers illuminated his hazel eyes with a brilliance that made your breath catch every time he laughed.
Azriel met your gaze, his features softened by the dancing flames, and your heart skipped a beat. His mouth moved, forming words, and it took a moment for you to realize he was speaking to you. You blinked, the spell breaking, and slowly forced yourself to focus, bringing yourself down from the reverie you had drifted into.
“Are you cold?”
Azriel’s voice rolled over you like a small wave and you shivered at the sensation. You looked down at yourself and realized, for the first time, how the night’s chill had settled in. Goosebumps had risen on your skin, more pronounced than you had initially thought.
“Just a little,” you admitted, running your hands along your arms in a vain attempt to generate warmth. The friction offered little relief and you exhaled softly. “I can just move closer to the fire.”
You repositioned yourself, moving to scooch closer to the fire that illuminated your faces.
“Nah, don’t do that.” Cassian said. You turned to find him watching you, his gaze steady, shadows of flames flickering on his features. He gestured back towards the house with his chin. "I have a hoodie in the living room if you want to grab it."
You considered his idea for a moment, then nodded in agreement. It was a sensible suggestion. Placing a gentle hand on Mor’s shoulder, you let her know you’d be right back. She smiled in response, her eyes warm in the flickering firelight.
You brushed off your pants and walked towards the house, your feet sinking slightly into the still-warm sand with each step. The contrast of the cool night air and the lingering warmth of the sand created a soothing, almost nostalgic sensation as you made your way to the living room.
The dimly lit interior welcomed you with a cozy, muted glow and your gaze fell on the kitchen counter. There, amid Azriel’s keys and a variety of Rhysand’s rings, rested a camera.
You took a moment to examine it—a digital model. While you weren’t particularly knowledgeable about cameras, this one was nice; reminiscent of a simpler time. You weren’t exactly sure if it was the design that made you feel that way or the person that owned it: Azriel.
You knew without a doubt that it was his. You could also assume, with a fair degree of confidence, that the camera could beautifully simulate the look of film.
Azriel had mentioned his burgeoning passion for photography two years ago, expressing a particular fondness for the aesthetic of film. He’d said that a true film camera was beyond his budget at the time, but a digital model with film simulation would be an ideal compromise. Rhysand and Cassian had gifted him this very camera the following Christmas. From what Mor had told you, Az never felt comfortable enough to pick up the passion— kept telling her that he hadn’t found his muse yet.
"Hey."
Despite how soft the voice was, you still jumped, placing the camera back down on the counter as you turned to face Azriel. He always had an uncanny ability to move silently, almost as if he emerged from the shadows themselves. It was unnerving at first, but there was a certain comfort found in his stealth now. His presence wasn't loud. You appreciated it.
"Hi, Az." You smiled sheepishly. "You're so quiet. It's crazy."
The corners of his lips twitched upwards. Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, his hazel eyes now glowing with a gentle amusement.
“Sorry,” he said, accompanied by a small laugh. He moved around you and made his way to the fridge. It opened with a small clatter, the glass bottles stacked on the door moving with the movement. He pulled out a few bottles of beers.
“You agreed to be the errand boy?” you asked, a hint of playful reproach in your voice.
Usually, the boys argued over every action; who would grab the next drink, who would drive while the others drank— the options were endless. It was often settled with a game of rock, paper, scissors, or a classic nose-goes. Azriel always seemed to come out on top.
He glanced back over his shoulder, a casual shrug punctuating his response. “If I didn’t, no one would.”
His voice was quiet– steady. You studied his movements, taking in the details of his tattooed back that were too small to appreciate from a distance. He turned around, walking forward to place the bottles on the kitchen counter across from you.
"You could be a spy, y'know."
Azriel raised an eyebrow skeptically, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that suggested he was both amused and intrigued. You returned the gesture, leaning forward on your forearms. The kitchen counter was cold against your skin and you felt a slight chill run through your body.
“You don’t agree?” you asked.
He met your gaze through his lashes and shook his head, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. The curls otop of his head bounced with the subtle movement and the warmth in his eyes reflected the gentle glow of the dim kitchen light.
“Nah,” he responded. He popped the caps off the bottles. “Don’t know if that fits me.”
“I think it does. You’re an observer.”
“Careful,” Azriel warned with a playful edge. His voice was smooth in a way that made you clench, tone low and unintendedly seductive. “Don’t make me sound like a creep.”
”Okay, what would you like me to say instead?”
He contemplated. “I just like to people-watch.”
You had to stifle a chuckle, finding his self-description almost endearing in its simplicity. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that actually sounded worse— at least to you. Instead, you reached to the side, grabbing the camera that had been in your hands a few moments prior. "This kind of people watching?"
For a moment, you both stood in silence as you stared at the camera in your hands. When you looked up, you focused on Azriel’s face. His eyes traveled from the camera to your eyes, and in that moment, there was something alive in his gaze—an intensity that seemed to make the room itself disappear. Something warm and comforting.
“I remember you talking about wanting to get into photography,” you said, your voice softening with genuine warmth. With a smile, you extended the camera toward him. “I’m glad to see you’re pursuing it. At least for the summer.”
Azriel’s smile widened slightly as he reached out and took it from your hands, the brush of his fingers against your skin sending a pleasant shiver through you. Your smile grew deeper into your cheeks, pulled at the edges by his very touch.
But when the camera was finally in his hold, something seemed to change in his gaze, as if the weight of the it in his palm was transferred to a weight on his chest. He let out a small sigh.
"Don't get your hopes up,” he murmured, “I haven't taken any pictures yet."
He placed the camera back onto the counter with a slight thud, the sound echoing softly in the quiet kitchen. You gave him a face.
“It’s barely been a week,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Six days to be exact.”
“That’s already a week behind.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, a small laugh leaving your lips. Azriel seemed to lock onto the sound, eyes glittering as his hand found the beer bottle again.
“Seriously?” You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms in a playful gesture of mock indignation. “It’s been six days and you’re already considering yourself behind schedule?”
He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s not just about having the camera. It’s about actually using it. I had high hopes for this week.”
“Sometimes its okay to just enjoy the moment, Az.”
He leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with playful intensity. You felt a catch in your breath at the way his expression shifted. It was enough to remind you that Az wasn’t just kind and attractive; he was a suave college boy when needed.
“Ah, but the burden of my artistic aspirations are too great,” he said, his voice low and playful, “How will I ever manage without my schedule?”
A comedian, truly. You raised an amused eyebrow. “And I’m the Type A one?”
"You are." He grinned. "Who counts the days they've been on vacation for, anyways?"
"Okay that's not fair."
Azriel chuckled and walked over to a vase on the counter. The vase, a clear, simple one that had come with a bouquet of flowers for Rhys’s mother, was part of a collection Azriel started—a small yet meaningful tradition of saving bottle caps from vacation. You took the opportunity to glance at his back again, taking in the intricate tattoos that adorned his shoulder blades. The designs seemed to pulse with life against his skin when they caught the light.
“It’s cool seeing all of the details in your tattoos. I never really noticed them before.”
Azriel turned slightly, his gaze meeting yours as he considered your observation. “Is this you admitting that you’re staring at my naked back?”
“Do you want me to be staring at your naked back?”
Azriel dropped the caps into the vase and walked back towards you. He gave you a nonchalant shrug, his mischievous smile lingering slightly on his lips, casual and knowing.
“It’s hard not to stare,” you added, tracing idle patterns onto the counter, unaware of how the motions mimicked the swirls on Az’s skin. “You, Cass, and Rhys have the most ink out of everyone I know. My eyes naturally gravitate.”
“And here I thought my back was special.”
You felt a flush rise to your cheeks and you quickly looked down at the counter, hoping it would hide the color spreading across your face. Your smile was so wide it almost hurt. You met his eyes once more. They were already on you.
“I will tell you that your wings seem a bit bigger than Cass or Rhys’s.”
Azriel’s grin widened at your response. He leaned forward, resting on the counter and lowering his gaze to meet yours. “Don’t tell them that.”
He took a swig of his drink. You watched the path of the liquid down his throat, tracing it to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. You cleared your throat, laughing softly. “Never.”
He looked at you for a moment, gaze soft and contemplative. A thoughtful glaze found his eyes, as if he were lost in deep reflection.
“What?”
Your voice came out meeker than intended.
“I’m just really glad you’re here.” Azriel said. His voice was sincere, carrying with it a weight that made you pause.
You sucked in a breath. “Me too. It’s nice to be around you guys. All of you.”
“Would I be a dick if I said that I’m glad you and Eris broke up?” Azriel paused. “Because now you can be here with us.”
You bit back a smile, your cheeks warming slightly. “Maybe just a tiny bit.”
But the corners of your lips still twitched upwards, forming a lopsided smile.
He shrugged, a casual grin returning to his lips. “In that case, consider it thought, not said.”
You smiled at him, feeling a nervous flutter in your chest. The dim light of the kitchen seemed to cast a warm glow around him, making his features appear even more inviting than usual. He looked soft now, and you found yourself struggling to understood why, at one point, you were unbelievably intimidated by him.
Freshman year you would be having a heart attack now, truly. You could still feel her deep down in your mind, beginning to hyperventilate with excitement.
You looked down shyly, trying to steady your racing heart, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before pointing at the beers.
“Do you need help with those?”
“Sure,” he replied with a grin, pushing one towards you. “I can never say no to you.” His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and you bit your lip to prevent your smile from growing even more. Forget alcohol— subtlety is what you needed more of. He rounded the kitchen counter.
As he neared you, he paused, his eyes flicking to your forehead. Placing the beers back down, he reached out, his fingers hovering inches from your skin. You scrunched your brows in confusion, blinking rapidly as his face came closer to yours. His touch was feather-light, so soft it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine all the same.
“What—” you began, but the words caught in your throat.
“There,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. He brushed something from your temple, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. You felt your cheeks heat up, a growing blush spreading like wildfire.
You couldn’t help but imagine how Azriel must be with those he loved beyond friendship—how his gentle gestures must perfectly soothe the hearts of those he held dear. The soft touches, the attentiveness, the small actions that made Azriel so uniquely himself. The thought lingered as he pulled away, rubbing his fingers with a small, smile.
“Some sand,” he said, his voice casual, but the warmth in his eyes gave it a softer edge.
You managed to breathe out a thank you, the breath escaping you in a soft rush. Another shiver ran through you, not just from the chill, but from the unexpected intimacy of his touch. You stared at the counter, hoping it would hide the flush on your cheeks and the way your smile made your cheeks ache.
Azriel seemed to have a sudden realization. “Aaand,” he said, turning on his heel and walking briskly into the living room. Moments later, he returned with a small jog, tossing you a hoodie. “It’s mine, not Cass’s, but hopefully it’ll work.”
The hoodie smelled faintly of him—an understated blend of his personal scent that made you feel a little warmer. You took it from him, the fabric soft and reassuring against your fingers.
“Thanks,” you said, smiling as you pulled the hoodie on.
“Ready?” he asked, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he grabbed the remaining beers.
You nodded, following him back outside. As you stepped into the night, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth on your temple. It felt as if the very spot on your head held an imprint of his touch, a marker of his fingerprints.
You smiled for the rest of the night.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
authors note: this series is the only thing keeping me going rn, just two sweethearts with crushes on each other and a lovely beach….and cass with a pornstache 😏
Summary: After the mating bond between the two of you formed, Azriel takes you to meet his family for a dinner.
Word Count: ~1.4k
Warnings: Mentions of family problems, but other than that just some cute fluff
A/N: Sorry this was so long coming I went through some writer’s block, but it’s here now and I hope you enjoy<3
Requests are open!
Part 1
-
Your family hadn’t been the most supportive, which was expected when you suddenly told them that you were mates with not just a Night Court resident, but the Spymaster of Night Court, a male shrouded in mystery and vicious rumors of the things he’d done, how he was a violent, secretive and dangerous person.
Even your attempts to convince them otherwise hadn’t yielded much.
“He’s dangerous, especially for our kind. You’re delicate, he’s..anything but.” Your father had spoken, your mother just seeming concerned. They hadn’t told the rest of your family the truth behind your absence, other than the fact that you wouldn’t be coming back for quite a while.
Being cut off completely from your family hurt, they’d been there for your entire life, your first steps, first words, birthdays, graduations, heartbreaks, everything. But you didn’t have time to think about that now, not as you were standing outside the family townhouse of Azriel’s adoptive family, most of them being people he’d known for centuries.
It was more than a bit nerve-wracking.
“You don’t have to do this if it’s too much.”
Azriel’s voice, quiet and low, but soothing said. You swallowed, shaking your head. You would do this. His family had already been told that you would join them tonight, and you’d even dragged him out to help pick a dress, even though he said they all looked good on you.
You’d ended up choosing a light pink romper, a color that complimented your hair, and your light shimmery wings and the pixies that surrounded them. You hadn’t ever intentionally kept your wings out around strangers, but you felt like it was wrong to try and hide anything from your mate’s family. Especially since you suspected that he was waiting for his family’s approval to accept the bond.
“I want to.”
You replied quietly to him, his hands sliding into yours, a movement that was second nature by now. He gave you one last glance that said, “You can back out, I won’t be upset” but you only shook your head. He nodded almost imperceptibly, before gently leading you into the house, and opening the door.
The home itself was customized to everyone inside, and it was obvious. From the Illyrian-sized couch and armchairs to the large fireplace, or the garden in the backyard you could see through the windows or the paintings of the family. You recognized some, like the High Lord and his mate, or the General, then Azriel as well as a few other women.
As soon as you and Azriel were even three steps into the home, you were greeted with a little toddler squealing and hugging Az’s leg, before gaping up at you and reaching up to try and tug at your wings, seemingly fascinated with how they looked. Luckily, the High Lady scooped him up and away just in time, giving you an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, he’s wild these days. I’m Feyre, this is my son, Nyx.”
You smiled, looking down at the little boy and then at the female.
“It’s nice to meet you, I’m-“
“Is Az’s girlfriend here?”
An excited and teasing voice asked, peeking around the corner before the General himself came into view. He was tall, muscular, and very brusque looking, a stern-looking female followed behind him, shooting him a look.
“Don’t cut her off,”
She snapped at him, and Cassian winced, hand going to rub the back of his neck as he sheepishly grinned.
“I’m Nesta, and this big idiot is my mate, Cassian.”
She said, eyes looking you up and down before whatever standards she held in her head were appeased and she relaxed a bit.
“I’m Y/N.”
You said, feeling oddly nervous now even though the hard part was mostly over. Rhysand strode into the room, smiling at you before murmuring something to Feyre and picking Nyx up and holding the little boy. It was a bit funny seeing the mighty High Lord having his ears and hair yanked on by a little toddler.
“Rhys, but I’m sure you already know that.”
He said in an amused tone, and Cassian snorted.
“Hard not to know your name when you’re such a massive prick.”
He said in a joking but casual tone with a crooked grin as he poked Rhys in the elbow, the High Lord squirming a bit. You glanced back at Azriel, amused, and his hazel eyes seemed to almost glitter as he smiled at you, looking gleeful that you were getting along with his family, or at least finding them entertaining.
Rhys rolled his eyes at Cassian’s remark, slipping his arm around his mate’s, and began walking into the kitchen.
“Oh, shut it. Let’s just eat dinner already.”
He said, and Azriel gave you a reassuring glance, arm gently placed around your waist as he led you into the kitchen that smelled of delicious food, and the two of you sat down, greeted with generous plates at the center of the table of meats, sides, all sorts of foods. Some of which you hadn’t ever seen in Spring Court.
The cooks, it seemed, were two shadowy females who you couldn’t tell apart, and another female, this one seemed like she could’ve been from Spring herself, happily finishing up the rest of the food with a warm smile. When she caught sight of you while putting the rest of the food at the center of the table, she offered a smile.
“I’m Elain.”
She said simply with a little nod before everyone else sat at the table. Nesta was to your left, Azriel to your right. Everyone got themselves some generous helpings of the large plate fills of food at the center, Azriel helping you cut up some of the meat that you couldn’t.
“Thanks,”
You said to him in a quiet tone, he smiled in a wry manner, raising a brow at you.
“It wasn’t that hard.”
He murmured back, and you gave him a look.
“If I knew you were so good at handling meat, I might’ve asked you sooner.”
You said back, and Cassian must’ve heard what you said because he snorted and choked on his food while Nesta smirked. Azriel only shook his head and smiled, giving you an amused and affectionate look that made your stomach fill with little butterflies. Rhys glanced between the two of you, a feline smile gracing his lips.
“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”
He asked in an amused tone, at which Azriel only sighed, giving Rhys a little half-assed glare as his shadows slithered onto your skin and dress.
“It’s not hard,”
You said in an amused tone, at which Cassian let out a bark of laughter, Rhys shook his head and the females exchanged glances. Even Azriel let out a laugh at that, the sound deep and rich. The entire room went silent at that, them staring at Azriel, though he was too busy watching you to notice or care.
“Damn, you really do, huh?”
Cassian asked in an almost disbelieving tone, and Rhys, finally overcoming his surprise, smiled.
“I haven’t heard him laugh like that in nearly two centuries,”
He said, at which Azriel finally snapped back into reality, hand tightening around your waist as his cheeks lightly dusted with pink.
“Or that time when he watched you fall out of that big ass tree, that was pretty funny.”
Cassian said with a grin, and Nesta and Feyre both laughed.
“At least I didn’t get called ‘Cass with the Ass’ for my first few years at camp.”
Rhys retorted, and Cassian sputtered, looking to Nesta for some support, and getting none as she too snickered at the nickname. You giggled quietly and Azriel smirked. Cassian huffed, grumbling something under his breath.
“Someone’s jealous of my ass.”
He grumbled, and Rhys rolled his eyes.
“We all know that your ass is just overcompensating for something else.”
He said dryly, and everyone laughed at that, even Cassian had to admit that it was good.
Beneath everyone’s laughter, Azriel pulled you a bit closer to him from his chair, smiling at you as if it were just the two of you in the room. You smiled back, leaning into him as the two of your chairs scooted closer.
‘I love you’, he mouthed to you, the truth of it clear in his eyes.
content warnings: descriptions of menstrual cycles and menstrual blood, discussion of the loss of a parent
word count: 5.2k
synopsis: Fae menstrual cycles are notoriously terrible to endure, but yours seem to be especially torturous. Mor normally helps you through your cycles, but when yours comes early and Mor is away, a certain Shadowsinger steps in to help.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
You were convinced your cycle was a curse that spawned from the depths of hell. Every fae female endured painful and taxing cycles, but yours was vicious. It had been since the very first time you bled, and every cycle since for the last 20 years was laced with the same crippling agony. The same pain that had you heaving into your toilet now.
You were a healer, for Mother’s sake, and even you could not find a remedy to alleviate the pain that accompanied fae cycles. When you were young, your mother would do her best to soothe you. She would create potent sleep tonics to lull you to sleep through the pain, but even those would last only a few hours before the pain shredded through the momentary peace. She never told you what she put in those tonics, and she never gave them to patients, and you had not yet been able to replicate it since she passed.
When she passed five years ago, the pain of your grief only compounded with the pain of suffering through your cycle for the first time alone. The agony was unbearable, and it was the first and only time you had passed out from the pain. Before you had to suffer through another dreadful cycle on your own, you blessedly met the Inner Circle of the Night Court.
~ Five Years Ago ~
The drink you had been nursing for the last hour swirled around in the bottom of the crystal glass. You frowned at the dark liquid, having lost your taste for it tonight. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway, but tonight was your mother’s birthday, and Rita had begged you to stop by tonight to pour you a drink in honor of her beloved friend.
You were grateful for Rita. You knew she kept tabs on you, if her weekly visits to your tonic shop down the street were any indication, and you appreciated her worrying about you. It was nice to know that at least one person still did. Although, you couldn’t bring yourself to down the rest of the free drink. You were sandwiched between two drunk males at the bar, one nearly passed out and the other contributing to the deafening chatter of the crowded room.
You were just about to stand up and leave when the splintering of wood and a heavy thud shook the room. You followed the gazes of everyone else to where two winged males were hefting another male up from the floor covered in the wood shards from a table.
You couldn’t make out what they were saying to the sneering male over the murmur of the bar, but it was clear he was belligerently drunk. You noticed a blonde female standing nearby, speaking softly to a visibly terrified female. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Your gaze then snapped back to the two winged males, and the glowing red and blue siphons adorning their wrists made their identities suddenly dawn on you. Your eyes snagged on the blood smeared across the red siphoned one’s wing, and they widened at the sight of a large slice through the delicate membrane.
The one with blue siphons and shadows swirling around him yanked the snarling male toward him, and the two of them suddenly disappeared. The injured male and female, who you now recognized as the Night Court’s general and the Morrigan, ignored the gazes of the bar as they made their way to the back exit. You watched Rita intercept them to share a few quick words, and then they were gone.
You didn’t know what compelled you to follow them out the back door just a minute later. Perhaps it was because you were innately nosey, or maybe it was the healer instinct in you pushing you to help someone in pain. It was likely the desire to dull the throbbing pain of missing your Mother by involving yourself in a potentially precarious situation.
The wooden door to the bar shut slowly behind you as the cool night air kissed your warm skin. You took in a small breath, savoring the freedom of the fresh air, before fairly loud voices at the end of the alley pulled your attention.
Morrigan and the general were standing together, seemingly arguing. “He was clearly violating her!” the male yelled.
“I know that, Cassian!” the female hissed. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done anything. I’m saying you should have deescalated the situation before he stabbed you and you threw him through a damn table!”
“I’m sorry!” He threw his hands up. He looked like he might have said more, but suddenly the second winged male, the Shadowsinger, appeared next to them from the shadows.
A beat of silence passed before the returned male said, “I assume she’s reaming you for acting like an impulsive brute?”
Wasn’t he right by the general’s side when that male was kicked through the table? You thought it was strange how casual the three of them were interacting with each other, even if they were arguing.
“Fuck you, Az,” the general grumbled.
The shadowsinger asked, his voice softer, “Are you alright?”
“No, he’s not alright,” Morrigan cut in, waving her hand toward his wing. “His wing has a damn gash in the middle of it.”
The general ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “We’re going to have to call Madja.”
“Are you happy now, Cas? Your bar fight–”
“Mor,” the shadowsinger cut her off quietly, and she quickly halted her verbal lashing.
A larged winged body was suddenly a foot away from you, and you yelped at the sudden intimidating presence. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice cold and hard.
You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “I–I’m Y/N. I don’t mean any harm. I followed you out here.” You glanced toward the two still at the end of the alley, now staring at you, as you spoke quickly to try to calm the menacing male in front of you. “I followed you out here to see if you needed any help. I’m a healer, and I saw your wing, but then when I came out here you were arguing and I–I froze.”
The shadowsinger seemed to believe you, taking a step back from your tense and wide-eyed form before dismissing you, “We don’t need your assistance.”
You bit your lip and glanced at the wounded male down the alley, agony slowly creeping through his resolve held up by the adrenaline coursing through him. “I know Illyrian wings are…delicate,” you swallowed. “But really, I can help. My mother–she was Illyrian.”
The shadowsinger glowered at you. “We would know if there was an Illyrian in Velaris.”
You shook your head slightly, holding his inscrutable stare. “Her wings were clipped,” you said softly, before adding, “if you can call it that. She was a teenager. Some boys in her camp ambushed her, took her wings.” You looked at him earnestly. “I don’t know how she made it to Velaris. She never told me. But she was a healer, and she taught me about caring for Illyrian wings. She always said it was important to be familiar with my,” you hesitated, glancing between the two full-blooded Illyrian males, “my culture.”
“Az,” Morrigan called, snapping his attention to where she stood with her arm now around the general’s middle. “I don’t know if we can wait on Madja. His wing, it’s already healing.”
His face was stoic when he turned back to you, but his eyes held a sense of urgency beneath his cool assessing gaze. “You know how to properly heal him?”
You nodded.
With a slight twitch of his jaw, he nodded toward the general. “Then help him.” Then, as an afterthought, “Please.”
You nodded again, gathering your remaining courage to stand up straight. “Take him to my shop. It’s just a few buildings down.”
~ Present ~
Since that night, the Inner Circle started to visit you for various tonics and treatments. Madja had vouched for you, telling them that many of the tonics she used in her clinic came from your store. You bonded quickly with the group, and even became friendly with Amren when she decided to visit your shop herself. Eventually, they invited you into their fold, hoping you could use the Court’s resources to further your tonic development and research.
You moved into the House of Wind. Cas, Az, Mor, and even Amren became your new family. Not long after you moved in, Mor had found you writhing in bed on the morning of your cycle, and for every one since then she was there to help you through it. Today, though, Mor was away in the Winter Court, and it looked like you would have to fend for yourself this time.
Your cycle was early. You tracked it religiously, given its severity, and you knew you had to prepare for it to take you down for at least a couple of days. You were always prepared. This time, though, with it nearly three weeks ahead of schedule, you had nothing you needed to get through this. No linens, no pain relief tonics, no sleep tonics (not that they did much), nothing. Worse yet, you were supposed to meet with Feyre today for lunch.
You loved your High Lady, but you still feared upsetting her, or worse yet, upsetting the High Lord by proxy. Rhys had been nothing but kind and welcoming to you since he returned to Velaris. Feyre, of course, knew no different. However, you were still hyper aware of how you had altered the tight dynamic Rhys expected to return to, and you were terrified of disappointing him or making him regret keeping you within his fold. The last thing you needed was to stand your friend, your High Lady, his mate up for lunch.
The mere thought of the pastries served at the patisserie you were meant to be at in an hour sent you hurdling over the toilet basin again, heaving as pain radiated from your abdomen. Breathing heavily, your vision swam as a ripple of pain so intense spread through you that you swore you felt it in your teeth. You slowly laid your body down on the cool tile, curling up in a ball. Tears leaked from your eyes as your vision grew hazier until eventually they closed on their own accord, darkness engulfing you.
~
“Y/N,” a deep voice drawled. The voice was muffled, and you were confused where it was coming from. “Y/N,” the voice said again, this time much clearer, and you felt heat seeping into your skin. “Please, wake up!”
Brightness flooded your vision and you took in a small gasp as you reoriented to your surroundings. You squinted at the figure above you as they muttered, “Thank the Mother.”
“Azriel?”
His thumb brushed your cheek. “Yeah. Yeah it’s me.”
You winced as pain sliced through your abdomen, rolling onto your back. Azriel shifted to give you space to do so, but your side brushed his knee he had on the ground.
“Hey,” Azriel said softly, his hand now on your clammy arm. An uncomfortable layer of sweat coated your skin that only added to your misery. “Did you hit your head?”
You furrowed your brow. “What? No.”
“Then why did you pass out on the bathroom floor?”
Mortification seeped through the daze that lingered. “I—” You swallowed and glanced down at your body, still clothed in only a nightgown. A bloody nightgown now, since you’ve been laying here for who knows how long without any linens. Your face flushed. “My cycle started,” you told him meekly. “The pain—it was too much, I guess.”
His face softened and he brushed a gentle hand over your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He reached to pick you up, but you jerked away, mortification flooding you. “No.”
He frowned, hurt flashing through his eyes. “What? Why?”
You shook your head, looking away. Tears stung your eyes. “I’m fine, Azriel.” You weakly pushed yourself up, bracing a hand on the toilet. You quickly hunched over as pain gripped you. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re in pain,” he argued. “Let me help you.”
Your stomach twisted and a tear ran down your cheek. You weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the absolute humiliation you felt right now from Azriel seeing you like this.
“Hey,” he said softly, warmth suffusing his normally cool voice. He gently brushed away the tear rolling down your cheek. A shadow curled through your hair that was now damp at your nape. “Can I run you a bath?”
You gazed at the blood on your gown and cringed at the sight. Your hyper awareness of it coating the skin of your legs only amplified your repulsion and discomfort. Finally, you nodded reluctantly but avoided his eyes.
You expected him to get up to start the bath, but instead he lifted your chin to make you face him. His eyes were so soft, so warm, when he said, “It’s just blood.” His hand shifted to cup your face. “It’s just me. There’s no reason to be embarrassed. I’ll leave if you really want me to. I can see if Feyre can stop by after—”
Your eyes widened. “Oh gods,” you gasped. “Feyre. I was supposed to meet her for lunch. What time is it?”
Azriel shushed you. “It’s okay. You missed lunch, but it’s okay. Feyre was worried about you, but she had an art class to teach, so she asked me to check on you. Clearly, she was right to be worried.”
“I can’t believe I stood her up—”
“You passed out in the bathroom from pain, Y/N,” he cut you off. “Feyre would never hold that against you. Neither would Rhys,” he added, knowing you far too well.
Water suddenly started filling the tub behind you. Azriel smiled softly. “I guess the House beat me to it.”
He stood up, and then reached down to pull you up by your underarms. You shakily stood in front of him, hands crossing over your abdomen. Your knees started to buckle under the intensity of the pain, but Azriel quickly stabilized you by your waist. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath, in far too much pain to keep protesting his help you desperately needed. Help you desperately wanted. “Azriel,” you whimpered, nothing else coming out.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he reassured. “Do you need help getting in the bath?”
Resigned, you nodded. “I don’t think I can do this,” you whispered.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Let’s get you in the bath then. First, we need to get this gown off you.” His thumb gently brushed your hip, and his shadows mimed his gentle touch across your cheeks and neck. “Can I?”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek and nodded. He swiftly pulled the gown up and over your head, and while he turned to toss the gown in your hamper, you slid your ruined underwear off. You stepped toward the bath, but you embarrassingly tripped over your own feet. Azriel was there instantly, swiftly resting a hand on the middle of your bare back and another under your arm. “Easy,” he murmured, gently guiding you to step into the tub, stabilizing you as you sank down beneath the sudsy water.
You leaned back in the tub, Azriel releasing you. “I hate that you’re seeing me like this,” you admitted quietly.
Azriel frowned as he kneeled next to you outside the tub. “Why?”
“I hate how weak I am right now. It’s humiliating, Az. I shouldn’t need your help. I should be able to take care of myself.”
“How is me helping you any different from letting Mor help you?” he asked, seriously.
Well, you weren’t in love with Mor, for starters.
“Mor doesn’t judge you, you know that. I’m not judging you either. I would never think less of you for this,” he told you. “I want to help you. I want to be here with you. So please, let me.”
You stared into his eyes for a brief moment, absorbing the genuine care and concern shining through the normally cool and guarded male. Here was this massive winged Illyrian warrior, adorned in armor and powerful siphons, with shadows swirling around him and a dagger strapped to his side that sent most scrambling, sitting beside you at your weakest most vulnerable state. You felt nothing but safe in that moment, and the thought made you close your eyes to hide the glossy sheen quickly forming over them.
You wanted Azriel with you. You wanted him to take care of you. You were embarrassed, yes, vulnerable and exposed, but you knew in your bones that there was no one else on the planet who would care for you as well as Azriel.
With your eyes still closed, you asked him quietly, “Will you please help me wash my hair?”
A beat passed, then Azriel said, “Of course I will.”
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his soft ones. Then you yelped as something fell and splashed into the tub, getting water on Azriel. You winced as you leaned forward to scoop it out, finding a bottle of shampoo and conditioner.
“You can tell the House was Made by Nesta,” Azriel muttered until his breath. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you, earning a shy grin from Azriel.
He took the bottles from you and sat them on the floor. He slid off some of the armor on his arms, including the siphons, leaving just the one in the center of his chest. You watched him pour a handful of shampoo into the palm of his tan, scarred hand.
You closed your eyes again as he started gently massaging the shampoo into your scalp, building a soothing lather. His large hands and surprisingly nimble fingers scrubbed every inch of your scalp, and you thought you might melt when he paid special attention to the nape of your neck. When he was done, he filled a small bowl you kept on your sink with water, then slowly poured it over your head to rinse the soap from your hair.
He pulled a cloth from the stack of towels beside the tub, but he paused his motions after dipping it in the soapy water. Before he could even ask, you nodded your head and murmured, “Please.”
Azriel gently washed your arm and then the next. He ran the cloth over your collarbone, barely brushing the tops of your breasts, but you were too exhausted and numb with resounding pain to think much of it, and Azriel’s touch and gaze remained nothing but respectful. A warm hand on your shoulder gently coaxed you to lean forward so he could reach your back.
A shiver racked your body as he brushed over your spine, and simultaneously another sharp pain pierced your abdomen. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes from the juxtaposition of sensations you were feeling. Azriel brushed a tear away with his thumb not covered in soap. “Doing okay?” he asked softly.
More tears leaked from your eyes. “It hurts so bad, Az,” you choked out.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said sincerely, as he finished washing your back. “I wish I could do something.”
“You are, Az.” You placed your hand over his on your shoulder, meeting his eyes briefly before he looked away. “I’ve only spent a cycle alone once and,” you swallowed the ache that formed in your chest, “And it was horrible. You just being here—it means everything. Let alone you taking care of me.”
He didn’t say anything, but he brushed small strokes against the skin of your shoulder before pulling the cloth away from your back. You took the cloth from him and said, “I can finish up.”
He nodded, and for a moment he looked unsure what to do before you said, “Az?” His gaze snapped back to yours. Your cheeks heated irrationally. “I don’t have any linens for…” You looked down at the water before going back to him. “And I don’t have any tonics.”
His eyes widened at the last sentence. “You haven’t even taken a tonic?”
You shook your head. “I’m normally more prepared than this, but this time it was so early,” you told him, embarrassed.
“Why didn’t you ask someone to get you one? Ask me?” he asked, clearly exasperated. “Mother above, Y/N. I know Mor is usually the one who helps you, but any of us would do anything for you.”
You looked away as he sighed and brushed a hand over your hair. “I’ll get you what you need,” he murmured. “Are you okay here for a few minutes?”
You nodded. “I promise not to pass out and drown in the bathtub.”
“That’s not even funny,” he grumbled as he stood up. He put his siphons back on his wrist and said, “I’ll be right back.” He spared one more hesitant glance at you before exiting the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.
You quickly washed yourself, then leaned back against the tub to wait for Azriel to return. You thought about getting out, but the pain radiating to your thighs and the remaining lightheadedness made you think better of it. A lingering shadow swooped over your collarbone, as if agreeing with your decision. You shut your eyes, practicing some of the breathing techniques Nesta had shared with you from their Valkyrie training to distract you.
The door creaked open and Azriel’s voice said, “If you fell asleep in the tub, so help me.”
You peaked at him through hooded eyes before fully opening them. A teasing smile adorned his face, and he held a bottle and some linen cloth pads in his hands. He sat the linens on the counter and opened the bottle, handing it to you. “Drink this.”
He didn’t have to tell you twice. He left the bathroom again briefly before returning with a new gown and underwear. “Are you ready to get out?”
“Yeah,” you said, licking your lips of any residual bitterness from the tonic.
Azriel reached for a towel and held it up for you. “I have some food and water for you in the room to wash the tonic down,” he said. You shakily stood up in the tub and he swiftly wrapped you in the towel. He held you by your arm as you stepped out, and guided you over to the counter where your clothes were.
He grabbed the underwear that already had a pad in it. “Here.” He knelt down in front of you, holding the underwear out for you. “Hang on to me and step in these.”
You did as he said, and he swiftly pulled them up your legs. He followed suit with the nightgown, letting the towel drop only after it covered you. He then used your comb on your counter to detangle your wet hair, patting it dry with your towel.
You wanted to kiss this male for how sweet he was. He presented himself as cold, stoic, and dangerous, but he was the kindest male you had ever met. The gentleness in his touch was a paradox to the career and reputation he had.
He picked you up without warning, cradling you in his arms. “Let’s get you in bed.”
He moved swiftly through your room, setting you on the bed with clean sheets. He handed you a glass of water, telling you to drink before handing you a berry scone. “You think you can stomach this?”
You nodded, not entirely convinced you could, but you were starving. Azriel sat beside you on the bed quietly while you ate your scone. You took a few more sips of water before setting it back on the nightstand. Azriel reached for another tonic bottle on the table, handing it to you. “This is a sleep tonic,” he told you. “Madja said they don’t usually work for your cycle? But I thought it was worth trying, if you want.”
You nodded. “Thank you, Az.” You drank the tonic, this one thankfully sweeter than the first one. “When I was younger, my mom always gave me a sleep tonic that instantly put me to sleep.” You smiled, nostalgia hitting you. Azriel listened intently. “I have no idea how she made it. I’ve never been able to successfully recreate it. I wish she wrote her recipes down, so I had more than just the memories of things she told me,” you said softly.
You laid down, head resting on your pillow as you faced Az. His eyes roved over you, uncertainty flickering in them. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Trepidation laced your voice as you started, “Can you just—” you swallowed hard and shook your head. “Nevermind,” you whispered, smiling half-heartedly. “I’m fine. Thank you, Az.”
Azriel frowned, and he smoothed a gentle hand over your damp hair. The motion had his cool cedar scent wafting over you, and you closed your eyes in a brief indulgence. “Y/N,” he murmured, hazel eyes glimmering with resolution as they met yours, “Tell me what you need. You say it, and it’s yours.”
Your heart skipped a beat. A few beats passed as you grappled for the courage to make your request. “Can you please just lay with me?” you asked, voice cracking under the weight of so many different emotions flooding your system.
Nearly imperceptibly, Azriel’s eyes widened. If you didn’t know him so well, you would have never noticed the shift in his breathing, the twitch of his wings. All signs that Azriel, the Shadowsinger, was nervous. You had feared rejection, but suddenly you were hit with the new fear that you had made him uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” you rushed out. “I should never—you don’t have to—”
“Hey,” he rested a warm hand on the duvet covering your thigh. “Of course I will.” He stood up from the bed and moved to the couch that rested under your window, slipping off his boots. “Just let me take some of this off first.”
You shifted to face him fully, watching silently as he removed his heavy leathers from his torso, leaving his chest and arms bare with his shadows slowly snaking across him. He removed his belt and thigh holsters, then he started unlacing his pants before he paused and met your gaze. You blushed at being caught in your ogling, but Azriel didn’t seem to mind. “Is this okay? I can go get some clean clothes from my room. I just—I know you like your bed clean, and I didn’t want to climb in with these dirty leathers.”
“It’s fine, Az,” you assured him, smiling softly.
He nodded and slipped his pants off, leaving him in his underwear. Your breath caught at the sight of his tanned, muscled thighs, and the blush on your cheeks intensified with the impure thoughts pushing to the front of your mind. A new wave of pain quickly dissolved any thoughts of debauchery, and your wince and sharp inhale had Azriel taking quick strides to your bed.
He climbed in under the covers, the warmth radiating from his body immediately seeping into your cool, damp skin. He moved around until he was on his side, facing you, and his wings sprawled out behind him. A few tendrils of shadow flitted over to you, grazing your neck and cheeks. You grinned despite the pain you were still in.
“Sorry,” Azriel murmured, and you swore his cheeks were tinged pink. “Do they bother you?”
“Not at all,” you told him honestly. “They’re…comforting, really.”
His eyes softened, and he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. The pad of his thumb grazed the exposed skin of your collarbone, and you couldn’t help the goosebumps that appeared across your flesh. “Come here,” Azriel said softly, gently nudging you toward him.
You both shimmied closer to each other until you were fully pressed against his tattooed chest, cheek meeting the warm skin of his pectoral. You curled your arms up in between you both, letting his body fully cocoon yours as his arms wrapped around you.
“Thank you,” you whispered. “Growing up, my mother would always hold me. Whenever I was hurting. Whether it was because of my cycle, or if I was scared, or heartbroken,” your voice cracked as you continued, “She would always lay with me and just hold me.” You sniffed, and a tear rolled down your cheek as Azriel’s embrace tightened. “I miss her so much, Az,” you sobbed.
“I know, sweetheart,” he cooed and rubbed his hand up and down your arm. “You can always tell me about her. Anytime you want.”
You nodded into his chest, not ready to speak.
“I wish I could have met her,” he told you quietly. “She would be so proud of you, though, I know it. Imagine if she knew you followed the High Lord’s general out of a bar and demanded to heal his wings.”
You scoffed, but it sounded more like a choke. “I did not demand anything.”
You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was smiling. “True, you were too polite to do such a thing.”
“Were?”
He laughed. “But we all knew you weren’t going to let Cassian leave without you at least looking at him. Most people run the other direction when they see us, but not you.” His wing settled over the two of you softly, the added warmth and pressure a welcome comfort. “I’m so glad Cas got in that fight.”
“I am too.”
You shifted slightly so you could see the wing hovering over you. You met Azriel’s warm and watchful hazel eyes as you hesitantly reached for the delicate membrane. You paused before touching him, meeting his curious gaze, and when he didn’t stop you, you lightly brushed your fingertips across the smooth and leathery membrane. Azriel shuddered, and you quickly retracted your hand.
“Sorry,” you rushed out, your cheeks and ears hot. “I’m sorry. They’re just so beautiful. I forget how delicate and sensitive they are.”
“Sensitive, being the key word,” Az choked out.
“Sorry,” you murmured, looking away sheepishly.
“It’s okay,” he assured, pulling you tight against him again. “I don’t mind you touching them. Truly. Like I said, they’re just sensitive.”
He jostled you around a bit as he readjusted, holding you tight against him with his wing still offering an extra layer of protection. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, yeah?” His soft, near melodic voice made you aware of your eyes starting to droop with every passing second. “I’ll stay right here,” he promised.
“Okay,” you weakly rasped as you unabashedly nuzzled against him. “Thank you, Az.”
“Anything for you, Y/N,” he whispered as his cheek rested against the top of your head. “Anything.”
whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)
a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading
word count: 3.8k
synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.
CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)
Whoosh.
Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.
You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.
If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.
Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.
No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.
Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.
You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.
Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.
Mother, how many of them were there around here?
You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.
You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.
He hadn't come to see you.
You hadn't asked.
Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.
He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.
As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.
I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.
And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?
Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.
And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.
Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.
But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.
Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.
At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.
He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.
"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.
"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.
You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.
The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.
However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.
Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.
He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.
He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.
"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.
He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."
Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.
Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.
But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.
"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.
He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"
You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.
Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.
"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."
No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.
Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.
Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.
You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.
You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.
You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.
Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.
"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."
You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.
He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.
Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.
Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.
Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.
He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.
"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.
"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."
He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.
A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"
The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.
How did he know that? He could he know that?
"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"
You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.
"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"
His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.
"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."
Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."
You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.
The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.
You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.
So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.
Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.
For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.
It had driven you stir crazy.
The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.
So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.
Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.
The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.
The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.
Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.
But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.
You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.
It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.
Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.
Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.
The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.
The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.
You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.
So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.
Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.
You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.
Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.
Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.
Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.
You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.
You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.
Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.
"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"
You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.
"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."
Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."
When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.
"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."
The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.
"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."
Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?
You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"
Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.
Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.
"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."
You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.
Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.
You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.
"What... kind of support?" You question warily.
Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.
"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."
He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.
After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.
True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.
All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.
Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.
But... these things were earned.
If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.
He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.
A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.
"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."
That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.
"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."
You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.
"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.
“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.”
What if… Azriel actually takes Rhys at his word? And does exactly what his High Lord ordered? With unexpected consequences.
This is the Inner Circle finding out about said consequences. Azriel is very good at keeping secrets
Warnings:
(This is a doozy.) Mention of Sex Work, Unexpected Pregnancy, Mention of Faerie Genocide, Mention of Faerie Wings being used as leather, Mention of Sex
Note:
This was a thought experiment that kinda started to grow a life on its own.
(super pretty divider by @saradika-graphics)
Azriel slid into the Dining Room of the River House nearly on the cusp of being late. Mostly because he hadn’t been able to pull himself away from what he had been doing that afternoon.
Nobody in his situation would have wanted to leave.
It had involved his wife and the flower field in their backyard… their daughter sleeping peacefully in her willow basket a few paces away, cradled in a bubble of her mother’s magic that would keep her asleep and safe from anything that could happen to her.
Fed, changed and as happy as a clam to fall into her usual milk-induced coma, he knew that she would only wake up if she wanted more milk.
Which meant that her parents had some quality time for each other…and they had made the best out of that.
The result was a little shimmer of magic all over Azriel that he couldn’t get scrubbed away. Not that he had tried particularly hard either. He liked having that proof of his wife’s pleasure all over him.
His wife, his mate, the mother of his child…his fucking sanity . There were many words he had for Embelia.
She was the bright spot of his life, untouched by the darkness that leeched around him. A secret he gladly kept.
And if the glimmer of her magic followed him and showed everybody that he was hers…well, then that was the case. Azriel didn’t particularly care what anybody else thought of it.
Azriel was out of fucks to give, to be honest. Had been, for the better part of two years…ever since that Solstice.
He was pretty sure that something inside him had splintered apart at Rhys’ order.
That fucking order had been the reason why he had ever even met Embelia though. He had taken Rhys literally. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her. That had been Rhys’ words.
Her had been Elain.
Azriel had listened to Rhys. He had followed the order to the fucking letter, giving the High Lord of the Night Court to complain about. He had left Elain alone…who had figured things out with Lucien. Both now happy and ensconced in Day Court, with Helion, Lucien’s actual father.
And he had gone to that pleasure hall. He had asked for any female that wasn’t afraid of him…and then Embelia had claimed his hand with hers. And that had been that.
Granted, he hadn’t known her name then. For months, all he had known her as had been Blossom. That’s who she had been to him for months .
Just Blossom. Every Thursday, he had gone to that pleasure hall and paid for her company.
And then she had gotten pregnant.
Not quite what either of them expected.
He hadn’t even bothered with a contraception draught and while she had, apparently it hadn’t stood up to Azriel of all faes.
He should probably thank the mother on his knees for that .
But Embelia had told him about the pregnancy and had been very clear from the start that while she wanted the child, she wasn’t going to ask anything of him. Which was simply unacceptable.
He had grown up a bastard. He was not going to put his child through the same if he had any choice in that matter.
And he had been a little bit in love with her then already. So taking her from that pleasure hall and making her his wife…moving her into a cottage he found and making a life with her…that had been the easiest decision he had ever made.
They had just fit together…
She had come to live with him, and had given up her job, though that wasn’t something that bothered her all too much. More than anything she was happy that she no longer needed to do that to keep alive, to make a living…
And he got to hear the story of how she had come to Velaris and to the pleasure hall.
Embelia was a Floresco Fairie. One of the few survivors of that breed of Lesser Fairies. The rest of her family had been slaughtered in the Spring Court Centuries ago.
She had escaped and had ended up in Velaris of all places, traumatised and alone. Still half a child to her people, not having a trade or anything of that sort. The natural ability of a Floresco Fairy made it possible for her to grow flowers and life wherever she stood but none of that particularly lent itself to a well-paid job.
So the pleasure house it had been. With a glamour, of course.
The first time he had met her, she had left the glamour fall away, showing him a pair of iridescent pink wings sprouting out of her back.
Even then he had thought that she was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.
That opinion had never changed. If anything…after the birth of their daughter, after the mating bond had snapped for both of them, sometimes between cutting the cord and pressing a kiss to their daughter’s blood-covered head, covered in downy black curls…and he had watched Emmie cradle the baby against her chest, watched her coo to her, not caring one bit about blood and sweat and anything else, because there was their little girl that they had hoped and prayed for…somehow at that point, love seemed such a weak word for what he felt for them both.
Somehow…somehow they had become the light of his life, the only guide he needed. And he protected that ferociously.
Maybe even more than was necessary.
He kept them away from his job and from anything and anybody that may would know him as the terror of the Night Court.
They were his. His. His .
The first thing in his long life that was his and his alone .
And maybe that was too possessive, but…he had never wanted to listen to anybody else’s opinions about his and Embelia’s relationship.
And everybody would have had their opinions.
He knew that.
Instead…he had kept them a secret.
To this day, nobody knew. Not Rhys, not Cassian, not Mor, not Amren…not Feyre or Nesta.
Though of all people, sometimes he thought that maybe Nesta suspected something.
But even if she did…that was fine too.
He had made Embelia his wife, and his mate and the mother of his child and nobody could take her away from him. Nobody but herself, and she was gloriously happy in their little flower-covered cottage, where she was…content to dabble at being a housewife.
After the life she had, he could understand it. She revelled in the normal, in doing nothing but dote on their daughter and try and cook him dinner, which had started as absolutely disgusting but these days often turned out at least mostly edible…to tend to her garden of flowers, which were all she ate anyway…
To just exist there, in that little slice of paradise they built.
And instead of being with her…he attended a family dinner at the River House that evening. He would have gladly just stayed at home, made himself dinner, or maybe let Embelia try to feed him, which never quite worked out and then walked their daughter to sleep.
It would have been perfectly fine to him. To press a kiss to their daughter’s black curls and stroke her iridescent purple sparkling wings that were carefully folded and laid over her back…her heart-shaped mouth would open into a perfect o and she would yawn and he would fall in love all over again. It wouldn’t just be perfectly fine. It would be everything he had ever wanted.
And then he could lay her in her crib and he could walk the few steps to their bed and crawl into it next to his wife, and she would give him that smile…and he could cocoon both of them in his wings and fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that she would be there the next morning.
Maybe kiss her some more and hear very perfect noise that left her throat and feel her warm body against his, skin like silk and small warm hands that could take him apart in seconds.
But no. Rhys had ordered him. Like he was sometimes prone to be doing these days. Maybe because he didn’t know how Azriel spent his free time and clearly him being a loose cannon was way more believable than anything else.
Oh well. Azriel wasn’t in the mood to clear that up.
If anything he was in a brooding mood, wanting to go back to his afternoon in the flower field.
“For cauldron’s sake,” Cassian complained, just as he started to violently sneeze. Multiple times. “Did you roll around in a flower field or something?” his brother demanded and Azriel was amused besides himself.
“Yes,” he agreed drily, taking his seat next to Cassian who just glared at him and then grumbled under his breath, swapping seats with Nesta because otherwise he was probably not going to stop sneezing.
“The Lord of Bloodshed taken to his knees by some flower pollen,” Amren drawled from across the table and Cassian glared at her.
Nesta just snorted in amusement.
Rhys and Feyre appeared at that moment and at least the discussion of flower fields was tabled for the moment.
Which was just as well.
Azriel mentally wondered if he could get away with skipping dessert if he cited some headache or something. He could get dessert at home. It promised to be much better than anything that would be served at the table anyway.
Or maybe that was just going to make Rhys think that he was on the brink of some sort of breakdown even more than he already was. Who knew?
Was it worth the mental berating that it promised to give him? All under the guise of worrying about him or checking in on him?
Azriel had his own opinion about that these days.
He couldn’t help but flinch as Nesta suddenly reached out to touch his hair.
“What are you doing?” he asked her drily as Nesta pulled back her hand, Embelia’s glimmer sticking to it.
“You have…glitter in your hair,” Nesta gave back. “What did you do?” she asked him with a grin. “Is that some kind of fashion choice now?”
“It’s not glitter,” he gave back. It wasn’t. It was the flakes that Embelia’s wings shook loose when she trembled. It did look like glitter though. Sparkling, catching the sunlight…gorgeous, like every inch of her.
“Az, I don’t know if you are ready to hear it, but it definitely looks like glitter,” Nesta told him with a snort. “Don’t worry, it suits you,” she said graciously, biting back a laugh.
Mor was watching the whole thing. “It’s not glitter,” she finally said, mustering his hair with far too much interest. Azriel forced himself not to twitch under the assessing gaze of her brown eyes. Once upon a time, he would have given nearly everything to have her look at him like that, but nowadays…there was nothing there anymore. He would always lover her but sometimes during centuries of yearning for her it had settled into a deep and abiding friendship. Into loyalty. No longer the bright burning of desire, of…anything like that. “Though I would really like to know where you found a Floresco Fairy to talk into your bed, Az,“ she said with a wink.
Azriel didn’t react.
“A what?” Feyre asked, curiosity piqued.
“Floresco Fairy,“ Mor repeated. “They used to live in the Spring Court…centuries ago.”
“They don’t anymore?” Feyre wondered and the conversation around the table dropped.
“Tamlin’s father had them slaughtered and used their wings for leather,“ Azriel said, his voice forcefully even. It was even more horrific than it sounded like. A whole breed of faeries was killed off because of their wings. Floresco Faeries had never been violent or a fighting breed. They kept to themselves, raising their families and growing their flowers and their crops…and then it had been ripped apart into a bloodbath.
Embelia had been right in the middle of that. She had escaped, her youngest sister in tow…who had later succumbed to her injuries and all Emmie had been able to do was to bury her into the icy ground in Winter Court. She hadn’t outright said it but Azriel had known that for years she had wished to bury herself right there alongside her sister.
Feyre just stared at him, blue eyes wide. “That’s horrible,“ she whispered, swallowing.
“Yes,“ he agreed. It was.
Horrific.
“Not all died, a few escaped,” Mor said, trying to make it seem less horrific than it had been. “It happened a very long time ago. But still, they are quite rare. Where did you find her?” She asked Azriel, clearly trying to find something else to talk about.
He wasn’t stupid enough to lie to Morrigan, whose gift was Truth.
“Today? At home.” He answered honestly.
“Home?” Mor repeated, sounding amused beside herself.
“Is she the same one you bought that solstice gift for?” Nesta piped up.
He had asked her for advice, more out of desperation than anything else. She had been quite helpful though.
He hadn’t been anted to ask Mor for obvious reasons, Armen would have probably bitten off his head and Feyre…well then Rhys would have known. But Nesta? Nesta had listened to him when he had asked politely and had then told him that if she liked him, she would like whatever he would buy her.
Not that useful but oh well.
So he just nodded.
“Which one did you end up picking?” Nesta asked him, curious.
“I just bought both,” he admitted with a shrug.
A hair comb that Emmie still wore nearly every day, silver and pink stones intertwined, keeping blush hair pulled back from her face and a pair of earrings that she also wore sometimes.
She liked things like that, even when she never seemed to spend much money on them. And he liked buying her stuff like that because then she wore it and had that pleased little smile on her face, content and happy…
“Lucky girl,” Nesta told him with a secret smile, elbowing his ribs and he bit back down a smile for himself.
“Az got a girlfriend?” Cassian asked, sounding shocked.
“I do not,” he disagreed with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He had a wife. Very different.
“So you just buy…What did he buy, Nesta?” Cassian asked.
“He was waffling between a jewel-encrusted hair comb or a pair of lovely earrings. Apparently, he got her both,” Nesta answered her mate with a sigh. “You should take some advice from him,” she told him drily, making Cassian roll his eyes.
“So if you don’t have a girlfriend, you just buy hair combs and jewellery for any female you come across?” His brother asked him drily.
He just shook his head, not saying a single word. His shadows tightened in response, crawling closer to him from where they had skittered away.
They liked Embelia, though they had taken a special liking to his daughter, tendrils oftentimes coming to play with her or checking on her through the night. With Emmie they kept a respectful distance, though they liked to hide and play with her, like they basked in her pure presence.
It wouldn’t surprise him all too much if that’s what they did.
“Flower and Bud are safe” they whispered at that moment, even when he hadn’t asked.
Right. Safe.
“Leave him to it, Cassian. Though maybe next time wash off the glimmer. Or don’t have one of your amorous adventures before you show up to dinner,” Rhys drawled.
It shouldn’t have upset him like that. It shouldn’t have.
It was harmless. Mostly at least, but Azriel couldn’t help but feel the icy rage burn bright in his chest at Rhysand’s words. At his brother’s words.
He didn’t have many good things in his life but he had Emmie and he was not going to let anybody take her away from him. He was not.
That was simply unacceptable.
“If you try to forbid me from bedding my wife, Rhysand, we are going to have a problem,” Azriel snapped back icily.
A real problem, because he was not willing to give up Embelia under any circumstances. Not her and also not the pleasure they shared.
He regretted his words instantly. One could have heard a pin drop in the Dining Room of the River House at that moment because this was the last thing anybody had expected.
The last thing.
He had kept his wife and his daughter hidden and he had been completely content with that because it had kept them safe and secure and he hadn’t wanted to listen to anybody trying to talk him out of it or telling him it was a bad idea.
It was his fucking choice and he had never regretted it once.
“Your wife ,” Amren was the first that recovered. “Your wife?!”
“Yes.”
His wife. His daughter. His family.
The family he claimed. They were his.
“You don’t have a girlfriend but you have a wife ?” Mor repeated.
He just nodded.
“You got married. When?” she continued asking him and he met her gaze.
“About a year ago,” he answered. It had been just the two of them…and well, the babe slumbering in Emmie’s womb, but that was the whole reason for the wedding in the first place, right?
“You didn’t even invite us to the wedding!” Cassian complained, having suddenly recovered his ability to talk. “You got married and you didn’t tell us?”
Clearly.
“And you never thought that that was something we may want to know, Azriel?” Rhys asked, his voice icy but Azirel met the gaze of violet eyes with his own.
“If you believe it or not, I can just about manage my personal relationships or my amorous adventures without the input of you, High Lord,” he drawled.
There had been no reason to tell anybody. Least of all Rhys.
“That was not what that was about and you know it,” his brother hissed at him, but Azriel just shrugged.
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was.
Maybe it had really just been a political worry for Rhys, but that didn’t mean that what he had done, hadn’t hurt…didn’t mean that he hadn’t pulled rank with Azriel in a way he had only done so very rarely.
Rhys had gotten what he had wanted in the end. Elain and Lucien had figured it out…Day and Night were closer than ever.
And Azriel…well, he was still pissed off about what had gone down in Rhys’ office that Solstice. Fucking furious, to be honest. Even after Embelia had come into his life…even after she had married him. Even after the mating bond had snapped. He loved his wife, but he was still fucking furious about being treated like that.
Furious and hurt.
And maybe that had played into his decision as well.
There was no reason to tell Rhys what happened. No reason whatsoever.
Rhys must have caught that thought because the shimmer of night started to swirl around him, but Azriel wasn’t scared. He just raised a single eyebrow in question.
“No reason?” Rhys questioned harshly. “You are the Spymaster of this fucking court, Azriel! You don’t think that maybe I should know who you are cohabiting with? Who you share a bed with? Who you married? How long did you even know this female before you married her?”
“A few months,” he answered drily. “What do you think I talk about when I am with her? Bring up the secrets of the Night Court as Pillow Talk? Oh, I tortured a couple of faes from Hewn City this afternoon, oh, harder, love? ” He questioned with a roll of his eyes.
Feyre choked out a laugh.
Rhys did not find it amusing.
“Where did you even meet her?” he demanded.
“Why, Rhys, I just followed your orders. You told me to go to a pleasure hall so I did,” he shot back. He had followed that order to the fucking letter.
“So she’s a whore,” Rhys said and Azriel just looked at him.
Embelia wasn’t ashamed of what she had been. Quite frankly, neither was he. She had done what she needed to do to survive. He was never going to give her the fault for that. The fault was on Spring for slaughtering her family and on the Night Court that they hadn’t given better support so that she would have never gotten into a situation like this where that was the only way out.
But Embelia? She had been a whore. It was a simple fact. And she wore that proudly.
“She was. Yes,” he agreed and he could see it on Rhys’ face what he thought about that.
“You ordered Azriel to go to a pleasure hall?” Cassian asked. “Why?” he demanded.
“Because he fancied himself in love with Elain of all faes and I couldn’t have him bring our court to the brink of war because he couldn’t keep it in his pants!” Rhys growled. “So I told him to go to a pleasure hall and pay for it to get it out of his system.”
“Rhys!” Mor snapped, shock colouring her voice
“Clearly, I was right, because your infatuation didn’t last long after you were told no. How long did it take you until you were in that pleasure hall?” Rhys demanded. “A Day? A week?”
“Around 6 months,” he answered, his voice even. “After it became obvious that Elain was going to give in to Lucien…Once it became obvious that she wasn’t interested in me. Then I started visiting the Pleasure Hall. I married my wife 4 months later.”
“By the mother, Azriel, did all your good sense leave you?” Rhys asked him, shaking his head. “What were you thinking?” he demanded.
“That I love her,” Azriel said calmly. “I love her,” he repeated.
“Wow, she must have really been worth the money you spend on her,” Rhys drawled.
She had been. Every gold coin. Every fucking clipped copper he paid for her company. Everything had been worth it, just for Embelia’s company.
He didn’t even react to it. He had heard worse. But he could feel his rage grow with ever fucking word Rhys uttered.
“She is worth more than you will ever understand,” Azriel said quietly, his voice laced with steel.
Rhys glared at him. And then he said something so utterly inappropriate that the rage exploded.
“So that’s what you needed all the time? Some pretty female that opens her legs and suddenly she leads you around by your prick?”
It felt like somebody had sucked all the air out of that room.
Azriel’s blood boiled with anger and hurt, seething inside, his control barely keeping the darkness at bay.
He wanted to kill Rhys at that moment. He couldn’t remember ever being this angry before.
Having their relationship reduced to that…
Embelia’s face appeared in his mind, her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her touch.
His sanity.
He had made his choices, and he would stand by them. No one, not even Rhys, could make him regret loving Embelia.
“You can say whatever you want about me, but you say a single thing about my wife or my child and I’ll rip out your fucking throat, and don’t think for one moment that I won’t,” he snapped back harshly. “And yes, for the record, she was worth every fucking clipped copper, I spent on her. She was worth everything. I wanted to marry her. I asked her. I made that choice. She has done absolutely nothing but love me .”
“You got a kid too?!” Cassian piped up. “Az?” he asked and Azriel ground his teeth.
“I got a niece and you haven’t told me?!” Cassian demanded. “How dare you! I owe her three months' worth of gifts and cuddles!”
“Cassian!” Nesta said sharply and Cassian started pouting.
“Are you sure that the kid is yours?” Rhys drawled.
He didn’t even bother to answer that question.
“Where are you going?” Rhys demanded as he stood.
“Home,” he gave back clippedly. “I’d rather walk my daughter to sleep than listen to you insult her mother and ask if she’s actually my daughter.” His voice was dripping with disdain. “Like there ever were any questions about it. She got her mother’s wings and my colouring.”
***
Nobody followed him home. Which was a good thing because Azriel wasn’t in a particularly forgiving mood at the moment. He was still furious. Utterly furious.
Even as he walked through the door of the cottage… right until he saw Embelia sit in the living room, in that overstuffed armchair and nurse their daughter. She looked up as he entered, smiling.
And suddenly, every bit of anger just went up in smoke, because he couldn’t care less.
Not when his mate was sitting there nursing his daughter, and it was so easy to just cross the room and drop to his knees before her, to let her reach out for him and run a hand over his hair and jaw and he leaned into her touch, breathing in the smell of earth and home and love.
Home. He was home, he was with her and that was all he cared about. He stared at his daughter, happily drinking…dark eyes closed in concentration, one pudgy little fist pressing against Embelia’s breast, clearly making sure that her source of milk was going nowhere and he pressed a kiss to her downy soft hair, breathing in the combination of scents of himself and Emmie that clung to her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Embelia asked him softly and he just shook his head. No. No, he didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to be with his girls. He just wanted to…He just wanted to be right there.
“You are the best things that ever happened to me,” he whispered hoarsely.
A gift from the mother herself, and he still wondered every fucking day how he deserved both of them.
Emmie ran a hand through his curls, staying quiet, as their daughter stopped drinking and he reached out to take her.
Embelia happily relinquished her hold on her, but not before pressing a kiss to his cheek, and a soft touch to their daughter’s wings…iridescent black.
Her wings. His colouring.
No question about it.
He walked her to sleep like he always did when he could be there, pressing her little body tight to his chest, a scarred hand holding her as carefully as she was made out of spun gold.
Emmie had laughed at him at the start, at how carefully he held her, telling him that she was a baby and would survive it if he kissed and cuddled her. Still, he had been terrified of hurting her.
She was so small, and his hands were so big and broad and scarred and…
But sometime during the last few weeks, he had realised that his daughter…his daughter would never look at his hands as anything other than the hands that had held her and comforted her. She would grow up with these scars…she probably wouldn’t even notice them.
They would just be a fact of life to her.
So he walked her, the slow swaying circles around their living room that he always made to calm her as much as him, as Embelia tidied around the living room, got ready for bed, and made herself comfortable for the night.
He could hear the bath running as he felt the touch against his mind. It wasn’t Rhys.
It was Feyre.
He was surprised enough that he let her slide in, just a little bit, and he knew that she caught a glimpse of the baby in his arms as he felt the surprise register.
“She’s beautiful.” It was nearly a coo in which she said that, much to his amusement and pleasure, taking in the iridescent wings that lay folded over her back.
“She got it from her mother.”
It was the truth. Embelia was the most beautiful fae he had ever laid eyes on. The kind of beauty wars were fought over, that brought males trembling to their knees…Azriel easily admitted that he also met that particular criteria.
“You missed a knockdown drag-out fight between Rhys and Cassian…And then Mor and Nesta decided that they should also get a word in.”
That was not what he had expected, to be quite honest.
He had half expected that he was going to end up taking his wife and his daughter and find someplace else for them to live.
“Amren stopped them from levelling the city,” Feyre said drily. It should have amused him, but it didn’t. Not really.
“You should have come to me after that solstice, I would have told Rhys that he was being ridiculous,” Feyre told him drily. “I’ll deal with him. I promise.”
“It’s fine,” he waved her off. It was fine.
Right now at least. He never could stay angry when he got to be home when he got to hold his daughter. How could he be angry when he got to hold her?
He didn’t want to be angry when he held her…He just wanted to breathe in her scent and feel every bit of tension bleed out of him.
A snuffling sound came from his daughter, then a heart belch…and her little body relaxed against his, clearly on her way to the land of dreams.
“No, it’s not, he should have never done that,” Feyre cut him off. “Or talk to you like that for that matter. Neither on Solstice nor today. I’ll make sure he understands that. It won’t happen again. You can expect an apology tomorrow.”
Now he was amused. It bled all over Feyre, who just huffed. “What, do you doubt that I can make him apologise?” she challenged him.
“Of course not, High Lady,” he promised her. If anybody could get Rhys to weaken in his stance, then it would be his mate. And that was exactly why he had never told Feyre, never wanted to bring her into a position where she was in disagreement with her mate.
“So congrats on that wedding,” Feyre said suddenly. “We owe you a gift or two, I think…Who knows what Mor is gonna come up with…” He could just hold back the snort at that but could feel Feyre’s amusement leech all over his mind. “Can I…” she trailed off, unsure for a moment. “May I see her?” she asked, curious and delighted for him all the same. He could feel that.
He pushed a memory at her, from that afternoon…of his wife and his daughter in that spring sun, in that flower field, their wings glittering and fluttering, Embelia’s pink hair falling to her waist in soft waves and curls, their daughter with his dark hair and her wings, curled up in her mother’s arms, grinning gummily at her…Happiness was oozing from every second of that screenshot.
“You are beyond lucky,” Feyre said quietly.
“I know.”
He knew that with every fibre of his being.
“What’s her name?” Feyre wondered. “She’s beautiful.”
She was. Gorgeous in fact. And that wasn’t just coloured by the fact that she was his wife and his mate…but she was gorgeous.
“Embelia,” he answered Feyre. “Family calls her Emmie though.” He called her that, some of her friends did as well. It was what she was most comfortable with.
“And your daughter’s? What’s her name?” Feyre asked.
It had taken them months to settle on a name, and then finally, it had been so easy.
“Aster.”
“A Star and a Flower,” Feyre realised with some amusement.
“Embelia thought it was just fair.”
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