#actoar

The music at Rita’s was louder than usual. Velaris was still celebrating. Weeks had passed since the last successful negotiation with the Winter Court, but the city was riding the wave of peace like a drunken high.

You didn’t care about peace treaties or politics. You cared about freedom. You cared about nights like this, where the shadows of your past didn’t cling quite so tightly to your bones, where your wings didn’t feel like heavy reminders of a war you never got to fight in, where you weren’t just Rhysands’ poor baby sister, the one who had been stolen, tortured and thought to be dead.

Everyone still treated you like that fragile girl, everyone except Azriel.

The Inner Circle had taken over their usual booth in Rita’s, all leather seats and cramped spaces, but not one of them would opt for somewhere else. The drinks were bottomless, the laughter rich, and the conversations casual. The shadows of war felt far away here.

But no matter how many weeks passed, how many times you reminded them you were fine, the same pattern always formed: Rhys hovered, Cassian fretted, Feyre watched you like she was waiting for you to scream. 

And Azriel… Azriel watched you.

From across the room, glass untouched, shadows curling at his boots like smoke. He watched the way your lips curled when Mor whispered something naughty into your ear. He watched the sway of your hips as you danced, the gold dusting your collarbone, the arch of your neck when you tipped your head back and laughed–gods, it had taken you so long to laugh like that again.

You knew why Rhys acted the way he did, why even Amren softened her voice around you. Why Nesta continually glanced over, unreadable. Why Cassial still called you “Kid”, even though you were the same age as your cousin Mor?

They remembered you as a ghost. Because that’s what you had become, stolen all those years ago, taken during the attack on your mother by the Spring court, presumed dead. But unlike her, you hadn’t died. You’d been sent away. A trophy for King Hybern, locked beneath the palace, used for leverage that never came to light.

You spent years in darkness. With only pain as your companion to remind you that death had not welcomed you yet.

And then, when your brother found you, when you had burst free from that cell and Rhys had caught your fragile body, you weren’t a ghost anymore.

But they still treated you like one, except Azriel.

Even now, you felt the heat of his stare from across the bar, like a phantom hand at the small of your back. Watching you twirl and laugh between Mor and Feyre and Nesta, your hands entwined with theirs, hips swaying as the music throbbed through your blood.

You were glowing tonight. You knew it. And he saw it.

Gold dust shimmered over your bare shoulders.  Your dress clung like silk to every curve Hybern hadn’t stolen from you. Your wings were hidden for now, folded into nothing, but the base of them itched when Az stared at you like that.

He stood in full leathers, motionless, the chaos of Rita’s parting around him like waves around a rock. Rhys was to his left, distracted by Feyre now whispering in his ear. Cassian was telling some exaggerated story to Nesta, who looked vaguely murderous. Even Amren was smirking into her glass of blood.

“Someone’s got it bad,” Mor teased in your ear, grinning wickedly as she spun you.

“Which one of them is she talking about?” Nesta deadpanned.

You laughed, twisting away, letting the beat pulse in your bones. Letting your hands trail down your sides, hair sticking to your neck, heat rising from the friction of your body and the heady tension in the air. 

You felt his gaze with every movement. You wanted him to feel you.

“I should be drunker than this,” you muttered as the song changed again, low rhythm with no name.

“You could be, Rhys isn’t watching now, anyway,” Feyre offered with a mischievous smile, handing you something pink and fizzy.

You took a long sip, just enough to make your lips tingle.

“Still dancing with us?” Mor asked, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

You glance across the room and notice that Azriel hasn’t moved, not a single inch.

Your body answered before your mind did, hips twisting toward him, eyes narrowing, blood turning molten. And then you had an idea.

You stumbled.

Not hard, but enough to catch Feyre’s arms, laughing lightly as your foot slipped. “Oops,” you say, “Might’ve overdone it with that last drink.”

Mor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re faking.”

“Shh,” you whispered, leaning into her shoulder with an exaggerated put. “Just want to go home and be out of this dress.”

Nesta looked entirely unimpressed. “You’re baiting a bat.”

“I am the bats’ sister,” you reminded her, giggling.

Feyre’s brows arched. “Are you sure–?”

But he was already moving. Azriel crossed the room like a predator, shadows enveloping his frame as he strode past the others, ignoring the table, the drinks, and the conversations.

Straight. To. You.

You didn’t look up until he was there, towering over you, his scent hitting you further. Leather, cold air, and something smoky-sweet you could never name. His hand slid around your waist without hesitation, his body crowding yours, his voice a low rasp.

“She’s done for the night. Say goodnight, everyone.”

“I’m not done,” you mumble half-heartedly, resting your cheek on his chest like a lazy feline. “Just so dizzy.”

“She’s not drunk,” Nesta retorted drily.

But Azriel ignored her. “I’m taking her home.”

“See?” you whispered, brushing your lips over his collarbone as you leaned fully into him. “You always catch me.”

His jaw ticked. His hand was a brand on your waist. And when you looked up, and up, because even in heels he towered over you, you knew this was only the beginning because he wasn’t letting you go.

“Alright, what’s going on here?”

Rhys’s voice cut through the velvet haze of the lounge, soft but laced with the kind of brotherly concern that made the others go quiet. 

You were draped against Azriel’s side now, cheek pressed against his chest like he was your pillow and not a living weapon. His shadows had curled subtly around your waist, invisible to all but you. It felt possessive. Protective.

You blinked up at your brother with your best innocent smile, slurring just a little. “I jus’ danced too much, Rhysie.”

Mor snorted quietly behind her drink.

“She’s drunk,” Azriel said smoothly, voice like silk and smoke, his large hand spread gently along your waist. “Too many of those pink things.”

Rhys’s violet gaze narrowed on you, scanning your face, then flicking to Az. “She’s not drunk-drunk, right? She didn’t shift her wings out midair again, did she?”

“She’s not that drunk,” Azriel replied, calm as ever. “But she should rest. I’ll take her home.”

“I could-”, Feyre started, but Az’s shadows tensed subtly. No one noticed except you.

“No, it’s fine,” Rhys said, looking at Azriel with quiet trust. “You’ll take her to the House of Wind?”

Az nodded once.

Rhys looked down at you again, his features softening with that familiar ache. “You sure you’re okay, little one?”

You pointed, reaching up to pinch his cheek lazily. “M’fine, Rhysie. Just tired. Az’s warm.”

Azriel’s jaw flexed almost imperceptibly. Behind Rhys, Cassian chuckled and whispered something to Nesta, who rolled her eyes.

“Alright,” Rhys said, still watching you like he might change his mind. “Make sure she gets home safe, brother.”

Azriel’s wings unfolded smoothly, cradling your body closer to his chest. You tucked your face in, humming contentedly as if you couldn’t feel the thunderstorm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

“You’ve got her?” Rhys asked once more, softer now.

Azriel didn’t even blink. “Always.”

Rhys gave one last nod, and the moment he turned away, Mor caught your eye and gave you a knowing smirk behind her drink. You bite your lip, hiding your smile against Azriel’s warm throat as he gathers you in his arms, shadows cloaking you both like a secret.

And then, with one girl sweet on his wings, the two of you vanished into the night sky.

The wind was cold, but Azriel’s chest was warm. You nestled against it as he flew, his arm secured under your thighs, the other braced along your back, wings beating steadily through the sky. You could feel the tension in him, not from the weight of you, but from something far heavier.

Desire, restraint, conflict.

Guilt.

He always carried it. He’d carried it from the moment he met you.

You hadn’t even been full-grown yet, barely out of girlhood, wings still clumsy and new. He remembered it clearly, even if he pretended not to, the way you peeked out from behind Rhys that first time, your gaze already too bright, too curious. You’d watched him like a puzzle you wanted to solve.

And he looked away. He always looked away.

Even when you laughed like starlight. Even when your training leathers hugged your hips and you sparred with Cassian until your cheeks were flushed and your chest heaved. Even when your power flared in rare, breathtaking flashes, born of your High Lord’s bloodline. Even when you began to smile at only him

He stayed one step back, always because you were Rhysands’ little sister, because you had been missing, tortured, kept like a shadow under Hybern’s mountain. Because when you came back, graceful but fierce, everyone - especially Rhys - treated you like glass.

And Azriel? Azriel couldn’t look at you without burning from the inside. 

Still, when you pressed your face to his neck mid-flight and whispered his name, “Azriel,” he nearly dropped out of the sky,

He handed on the balcony of the House of Wind with more force than usual, boots cracking lightly against the stone. His hands cradled you, steady and careful, as if your body were breakable crystal instead of carved muscle and magic.

You tilted your head to look up at him, smirking faintly. “You’re tense.”

“You’re not drunk.”

You hummed, unbothered. “Caught me.”

He sighed and finally set you down, but his hands hovered like he didn’t want to let go. Or couldn’t.

You smiled, sharp and knowing. “So why did you play along?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Because you wanted me to.”

You stepped toward him. “And maybe because you wanted to touch me.”

That finally earned you a look—a dark, dangerous one.

“I’ve spent centuries not touching you.”

You faltered, just slightly. That confession struck between you like a strike of lightning. He shook his head, wings shifting behind him. “You don’t understand.”

“I do,” you whispered, fingers twitching at your side to reach for him. “You think Rhy would hate you.”

“Wouldn’t he?” his voice was low and rough. “You’re his little sister. And I-”

“You’re his best friend. His brother. And he trusts you. He knows you’d never hurt me.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t.”

“Then stop pretending that wanting me is wrong.” You stepped back before he could answer, backlit by the moon as you walked toward the open space of the terrace. The House was quiet, its walls echoing with your boldness and your hunger. You stood there, framed by night as you slipped off your shoes and turned slowly.

“Dance with me.”

He didn’t move. You lifted your chin. “Please.”

The House responded before he could. Music began, soft and gentle, string and piano blooming into the quiet. The kind of song that demanded closeness. The kind that had always belonged to lovers, not warriors.

Azriel’s eyes closed for a moment. You thought he might turn and vanish into the shadows. But when he opened them, you saw something fractured there. Something deafened. He walked to you in three slow steps.

And these arms were around you.

You melted into him without hesitation, your cheek resting against his chest. His heart was pounding almost as loudly as yours was. His wings shifted behind you as his hands gripped your waist, guiding you into a slow sway.

It wasn’t a soldier’s hold, it was a lover’s, protective and reverent.

You tilted your head back, eyes on his mouth. “You’re still holding back.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.” You bite your lip, slowly, and feel the way his breath caught, his shadows withered and tickled at your heels. “You’ve always wanted me, haven’t you?” He didn’t deny it. He just stared at you, his hands trembling slightly where they helped your hips. “I knew the first time you looked away,” you said. “I’ve spent years waiting for you to stop.”

The music slowed as his hold tightened. And when you rose to your toes, brushing your lips just barely against his. He finally stopped. Stopped pulling away, stopped fighting how he felt. 

Azriel’s shadows surged around you like smoke and silk, coiling at your spine, sliding under your dress. His body pressed flush against yours, towering, hot and desperate. And still, he didn’t kiss you back. Not fully.

He looked like a man teetering at the edge of a cliff, scarred hands clenched, wings trembling, shadows circling like vultures.

You cupped his jaw gently, “Az…”

He inhaled sharply, like your voice burned. His hands on your waist flexed, like he wanted to drag you closer, but still didn’t trust himself.

“I can’t,” he rasped, voice strained and cracked. “You’re-”

“Don’t say it.” You stood on your toes once more, lips rushing his. “I know who I am. And I know who I want.”

He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and suddenly, your back hit the wall of the terrace. Not hard, not rough, but urgent.

His body caged yours completely, towering over you. Wings spread wide and trembling behind him like a predator mid-hunt. His chest heaved, his hair falling over his brow in wild, unkept waves, and his shadows writhed between your legs, around your wrists, your neck, like they couldn’t decide where they wanted to taste you first.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he growled.

You looked up at him, flushed and breathless. “I hope so.”

His pupils blew wide. “I’ve wanted to run you for centuries.

“Then ruin me, Azriel.”

He snapped. Finally.

One second, he was still. Next, you were in the air. He’d lifted you like nothing. Like your weight didn't matter, just one massive hand around your waist, pinning you to the wall, legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed flush against you.

“Az-”

He kissed you. Devoured you completely. His mouth crashed into yours with a desperation that bordered on violent, hot, slick, claiming. His tongue parted your lips and swallowed your gasp. He growled again when your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, like you wanted to crawl inside his skin.

He let you pull, but he held all the control. His shadows surged behind you, pinning your wings gently to the stone wall, bracing you so his hands could roam freely. One slid up your spine, while another gripped your thigh, yanking it higher around his waist.

“You don’t understand,” he panted between kisses, voice breaking. “I’ve dreamed of this. Every fucking night. And I wake up hating myself.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted that I wasn’t allowed to have.”

You kissed his jaw. His neck. His scarred shoulder. “Then take me anyway.”

His hand came to rest on your face, cradling your jaw so gently that it made your heart ache. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

“You won’t. I can handle more than you think I can.” You bite his lip, teasing.

He snarled, and then his shadows exploded.

They coiled around your waist, pulling you away from the wall, only to wrap you up in them like silk restraints. His winds closed around you, a protective cocoon of night and wind, hiding you from the stars, from the world, from everything that wasn’t him.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your mouth, lifting you effortlessly again. “Do you understand me?”

You whimpered, nodding. “Yours.”

His mouth crashed into yours again, harder this time, hand sliding beneath your thighs to grip your ass as he carried you through the halls of the house like you weighed nothing. One arm around your back. The other is between your legs. His shadows wrapped around your ankles and wrists like a crown.

Your back met the softness of your bed, but your attention was solely on the male in front of you. Azriel couldn’t stop staring.

Not even as he knelt between your spread legs on the massive bed, the House had now been lit with candles. Not even when you reached down and touched his face, a whisper of fingers over his jaw. Not even when you whispered his name, as if it were something past.

“I never thought...” His voice broke, deep and rough as he withheld his emotions. “I’d get to touch you.”

Your hand curled into his black hair. “You’ve always touched me.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yes. You did. The weight of years pressed between you. All the stolen glances, the tension, the desperate little almost-touches. All the time he’d spent holding himself back because you were Rhys’s baby sister and off-limits. But now, Azriel was looking at you like you were the only star in the night sky. He was done pretending, done denying himself.

And when he kissed you again, it was like he breathed you in.

He kissed your lips like he wanted to memorise the shape of them. He kissed down your throat, over your dress, reverent as he went, until he reached your breasts and kissed them through the fabric, your nipples firm and scratching beneath the dress.

You arched into him, and he groaned. That sound was enough to send a deep shiver down your body. 

“I want to taste every part of you,” he almost begged against your clothed abdomen, continuing to kiss your body.

He didn’t undress you, not at first. His shadows peeled back your dress only enough to bare you. A shoulder, your breasts finally spilling free. Then your underwear, soaked already, pulled gently aside as he kissed your hips, your thighs, desperately. His huge hands slide beneath your ass and lift you like you weigh nothing, bringing your cunt closer to him.

And then he buried his mouth between your legs.

Azriel didn’t eat you out to tease. He did it like he needed to live. He moaned when he tasted you, lapped at you like he was desperate, tongue working slow, steady strokes until your hips bucked into his face.

His hand came down on your thigh, “Let me,” he said, almost a plea.

You whimpered. “I need you.”

“You have me.”

He kept going, longer strokes with his tongue, deeper. Until you’re crying out, grinding relentlessly against his mouth and nose, crying out for more. Until you came with a choked sob, hands in his hair, thighs trembling as your orgasm dragged on and on.

Even after, he didn’t leave you empty. Two ice-cold fingers slid inside you, slow and deep, and your whole body arched. You could feel it then. The stretch. The slight ache of being filled.

“You’re already tight, I don’t know how you’ll take me,” he said against the sensitive area of your inner thigh where he was continuing to kiss and bite.

“I will,” you say breathlessly, looking down your body at him. “Azriel, I want to.”

He pulled back, eyes wild as he undressed, shadows tugging his elathers off his broad chest, his powerful thighs, until he was kneeling there above you, naked and gorgeous.

And then you saw his cock. You gasped.

It was massive. Thick, long, veined and dark, flushed at the head and already slick with precum. It twitched under your gaze.

Azriel groans, hands clenching into the sheets as his wings flared behind him. “I knew I’d hurt you.”

“I want it to hurt.”

He froze, as if he were internally conflicted.

You reached for him. “Azriel, I want to feel everything, I want you to fill me until there’s nothing left but you.”

With a growl, he surged over you. Mouth devouring yours, cock grinding against your soaked pussy. One hand cradled the back of your head with unbelievable gentleness. The other pinned your hip in place.

And when he started to push in, you felt every inch.

The pressure was unbelievable. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your mouth open in a silent moan as he slow, so fucking slowly, workings his thick length inside.

“Gods,” he breathed. “You’re–fuck, my love, you’re so tight. So perfect.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed as your thighs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer.

“Does it hurt?” he rasped. You nodded, biting your lip. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, eyes widening as you looked up at him. He kissed your forehead. “You’re taking me so well.”

He rocked deeper, letting you adjust, your breath coming in shaky gasps as you stretched around him. It burned and throbbed. But it was precisely what you needed.

And when he finally couldn’t inch in any further, your wings snapped open behind you, shimmering with raw pleasure.

Azriels groaned like it broke him. “You like it?” you asked hopefully.

He looked down at where you were joined, a dark flush on his neck, sweat beading at his temple. “I’ll never be the same again.”

Then he started to move. Slow, grinding thrusts, deep enough to make your vision blue. He held you down, kissed your throat, fucked you like he was carving his name into your soul. Every time you clawed at his back or tugged his hair, he snarked and moved harder.

You sobbed his name; he kissed your tears. And when he felt you tighten again, your second orgasm crashing through your body like waves of thunder, he growled into your neck, “That’s it. Cum for me. Let me feel it, my love.”

You shattered urgently, and still, he didn’t stop. He thrust through it, holding your hips steady with his huge hands, shadows crawling up your spine, pressing into your wings like a second mouth. You moaned louder, not thinking or caring who might hear you.

“I can’t stop,” he said, shocked, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re too fucking perfect. You were made for me.”

And then, when you whispered that you wanted it to hurt again, his control finally snapped. Az flipped you onto your stomach. And he retook you, deeper, rougher, worshipping every inch of you until you were sobbing into the sheets, begging for more. Until he, too, finally came inside you with a broken cry and buried himself so that it felt like you might never breathe without him again.

You didn’t remember returning onto your back in the middle of the bed. You only remembered his arms around you. The weight of him, the tremble of your own body, how sore and sensitive you were, how it still somehow wasn’t enough. How you wished you could pull him closer, deeper, keep him inside you forever.

Azriel was still above you, breathing hard, body slick with sweat. Your thighs shook where they clung around his waist, and he was still inside you, buried to the hilt, as if letting go would make this moment break apart.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “You stayed.”

His hand slid gently across your cheek, eyebrows drawing together in concern, “Of course I stayed.”

Your eyes pricked with tears. His mouth was immediately there, kissing your temple and catching every tear that fell. “Don’t cry.”

You let your eyes close, focusing on the warmth of his body, the burn between your thighs. The thrum of his heartbeat was still fast beneath his ribs. But he was already moving, slowly and carefully and lifting off you only just enough to keep from hurting you.

“Wait…”, you whispered, but he was already shushing you gently.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. “Just taking care of you, sweet love.”

His shadows slid across the room. A warm cloth appeared in his hand, summoned by the House. You flushed when he knelt between your legs again, as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour inside you.

“You don’t have to”

“I want to.” So you let him.

He cleaned you carefully, being cautious of your tender body, gentle even as he wiped away his release leaking between your legs. Every pass of the warm cloth made you sigh. His hands were so big, drawing your waist, your hips, your thighs. His shadows curled protectively around you both, brushing your calves in coolness, your wrists, your neck.

When he was done, he vanished the cloth and pulled the sheets up over your body, settling behind you, letting you curl into the heat of his chest. Your body ached. It sang. But slowly, the world crept back in.

“What do we do now?” you asked into the hush. Azriel didn’t speak right away. You turned slightly, and your wings brushed his. “Azriel…”

His arms tightened. “We go back to pretending,” he said quietly. “At least for now.”

You flinched. “Even after–”

He kissed your shoulder, aching. “You think I want to hide this? Hide you? I’ve wanted you since I was barely a grown male.”

“I don’t care if Rhys finds out.”

“I do,” he said with great gentleness. “I care about you being safe and protected. Until we’re ready, we keep this between us. Just a little longer, my love.”

You didn’t like it. You hated that the fear still clung to both of you, that what you had to say goodbye to in the morning had finally happened after so many years. But you knew him. And you knew he was being careful with your heart. With your future. With you.

So you nodded. “Okay.”

His nose pressed to the back of your neck. “Get some sleep, love.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?”

Silence. Then: “no”.

You still. “But I’ll stay until you fall asleep. I promise.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. “You always keep your promises.”

His breath hitched. “Only for you.”

You didn’t fight the heaviness dragging you under. Not with his arms around you. Not with his scent in your lungs, his warmth cradling you from behind. You fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat in your ear.

“Hey, Az…what…what are you doing awake?” 

“Are you busy?” 

“If by busy you mean utterly failing at these strawberry basil bars- then yes. But otherwise- I’ve got sometime- what’s up?” 

“If I send you an address, can you meet me there in 10?” 

“Oh, yeah. Quinn and Dre have got it for the afternoon shift- send it.” 

“Okay- see you in a bit. Love you.”

“Love you too, Az.” 

He glanced over at his realtor and she shook her head. He’d purposefully kept quiet about why he was looking to move. If this place wasn’t good for Lainey- it didn’t matter what he thought about it. But as he took another look around the open concept main floor, he hoped that Lainey would like this as much as he did. It was the first place he’d walked into that felt like it could be their home for years to come and that was part of why he had needed to come back. 

That first night he had reconciled with the realization of what wanting years with her meant. Of how a little over two and a half months had passed and he was already planning the rest of his life with her. It was also the night he’d started looking for engagement rings. That was, perhaps, even more infuriating than shopping for a new apartment.  

“Does she know?” 

“It’s a surprise. Which may be idiotic, but I didn’t want her worrying about this- can we go down to street level to wait?” 

“Absolutely. If you had mentioned this was for you and your girlfriend- I would have shown you more places like this earlier on, Azriel.” 

“Tabitha- please- just don’t. Right now, as far as she knows, I just want to get out of my current building.” 

“Ah- so the honest approach?” 

“Half of the closet is hers- I just want her opinion on it.” 

“Yes. Yes- because that is exactly who you are, Azriel Mortwyn.”

A pointed look and Tabitha just shook her head as they got in the elevator to go back down to street level. The first floor- like so many in this area- was a mix of businesses. Almost everything they would need- only a short elevator ride away. He could already see Lainey running down here to get something she needed and then popping back up to their place. Their place. It was truly what he wanted this to be. He wanted this to be something that was for them- not their own places that were ill fitted for their new purpose. 

He spotted her long before she saw him. Her hair a long braid down her back- a lavender ditsy floral dress and her work clogs, a cardigan that had disappeared from his place a few weeks back guarding against the spring chill that was in the air. He watched as she took in her surroundings. A mix of old and new. The old brick buildings next to soaring skyscrapers, planters every few feet which were currently barren, but he knew would have some of her favorite flowers in only a few weeks. The restaurant they’d had their- real- first date at and he watched as she stopped for a moment and just smiled- probably thinking of that day in the same way he did when he walked by. 

Her eyes met his and he watched her face transform. Delight replaced her observing the world around her as she waved at him. God, he hoped she always looked at him like this. That he could be a good enough partner to deserve it. He knew they’d both eventually do things to hurt the other, but he wanted to keep that on her face for as much of the rest of her life as possible. He scooped her up into a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before turning back to his real estate agent. 

“Elain Archeron- this is Tabitha Green- my real estate agent.” 

“Oh, oh. So that’s what’s in this building. Google didn’t help a bit. Nice to meet you, Tabitha.” 

“Nice to meet you as well- right this way.” 

He saw the confusion flash on Lainey’s face and then it was quickly replaced by her default customer service look. She did not know Tabitha- so she’d be polite, but as her hand gripped his a bit more tightly- he wondered if this was a horrible idea. He wondered if this was all too much, too soon. And he tried to push that away as the words of both her sisters and his best friends echoed through his mind. Elain wasn’t used to being loved out loud, of being considered as part of his plan for the future. Her ex had never done that- had always moved forward with what he wanted and never considered Elain. He hoped she would see that this was his way of consideration, of wanting her input, even if at the moment this was all for himself. 

The doors slid open and they followed behind Tabitha- there were only a handful of apartments on this floor. Enough that they would have some neighbors, but not so many that it was likely that they’d have noise issues. Both of them needed uninterrupted rest- perhaps more than they admitted to anyone else. He gave her a reassuring smile as Tabitha opened the door and motioned them inside, Elain first, with him close behind her. 

“It’s a three-bed, two and a half bath- loft apartment. All of the bedrooms are on the top floor. Down here you can see the lovely floor to ceiling windows with a view of downtown Chicago–” 

“Tab- I’ve got it. Can you give us some space?” 

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.” 

He watched as Elain ran her hands over the countertops, her eyes going to the dual ovens and then flashing over to him. He felt the corners of his mouth lift as her confusion and then realization grew. He could feel how nervous she was, feel what she wanted to ask, but was not sure how to voice. So he waited. He stayed near her and he waited. 

“So, you’ve been house hunting in your spare time?” 

“Yeah. My place just doesn’t work for what I need anymore, but before I did this, I wanted to make sure…I wanted to see if this was a place that worked for you too.” 

He watched the tremor go through her body a moment before the tears started streaming down her cheeks. This was not the reaction he’d hoped for, but he pulled her into his chest and she settled there, her hands clinging to him as he felt her nodding her head against his chest. Overwhelmed. He’d completely overwhelmed her, but even as he cradled her to him, his breathing calm, the words that fell from his mouth only a whisper- she just sank into him. 

“But if we…Az…I don’t know how…” 

“It’s just an apartment, Lainey. Yes, it’s closer to your work. Yes, it’s a place we can grow into. Yes, I saw this kitchen and thought you’d love it. I just want to come home to the same place as you every night. But if this is too much- I can wait. We can keep doing what we’re doing right now until something like this makes sense.” 

“Show me the rest.” 

He wiped the tears away before he pressed a kiss to her lips, then gently took his hand in hers. There were parts of this loft that were for him, but in his soul this was a place that reminded him of her. He walked her through the large balcony porch- her eyes taking in the skyline- where they could see her bakery across the park. As they made their way upstairs, he felt her hand trailing along the handrail and he wondered if her mind went to the other set of stairs that had set them in motion. She paused in each of the guest bedrooms, before he walked her into what could be their bedroom and she froze. Another set of tall windows and a skyline view. He nudged her towards the bathroom and he saw the shock on her face- deceptively large- and with all the features she loved about his place. 

“A…Az…” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Can…can we paint this room green and tan and add the wallpaper I bought way too much of behind the mirrors?” 

“You can decorate this place however you want and I’ll happily be your painter, wallpaper assistant- but I’ll probably call someone else in if you want new fixtures.” 

“I…I’ve never…I don’t know what to say.” 

“Say that you want to make this place a home with me. But only if you mean it.” 

She turned to him and he saw the tears again. This time he knew they were happy tears, tears at someone caring more than she ever expected. She pulled him down to her and the kiss she gave him seared his soul. God, he loved this woman. He didn’t know how he’d gone over a year knowing her and not having the courage to ask her to really be in his life. She pulled away, her forehead rested against his and he felt her cheeks lift into a smile. 

“I want to build a home with you, Az. Only you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four Months After

She glanced at her watch again. Rhys and Feyre’s flight had landed at O'Hare a little over an hour ago and she tried to keep herself calm as she fluffed pillows for what must have been the tenth time. It was just a weekend with her sisters and their partners. At her new home. With her boyfriend of only a handful of months. She could feel their judgment about it already and she really, really wanted for them to just be happy for her. To just be happy for them. The only saving grace was that Nesta loved Azriel and had only shrugged when she’d told her this plan. 

The door handle jiggled and her eyes darted to it. Azriel backed in first, his body relaxed as he joked with Feyre and Rhys- carrying one of their suitcases as Rhys handled the other. Her eyes darted to her sister, but before she could thoroughly catastrophize what she might be thinking, those steady arms wrapped around her and Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The pointed cough let her know she’d stayed in his arms a bit longer than socially acceptable, but as it ratcheted down her nervous system, she felt him squeeze her, letting her know she didn’t have to let go. Letting her know that he saw the panic that was running through her and would stay with her in it. It was one of the lingering things from her injury that she just couldn’t shake and the only thing they’d found was her settling in his arms until her body relaxed and she could breathe again.

“Oh my gosh- this view. I would just spend hours up here painting it. Can I…” 

“Yeah, make yourselves at home.” 

She heard the door slide open and closed, the panic still riding her body hard. Feyre and Nesta had always hated Graysen, had always remarked on how she let him rule her life. And, ultimately, the ‘I told you so’ that came along with the painful divorce. That came along with learning that her heart couldn’t be trusted. Would Feyre believe that this was different? Would she see the same things that she saw in Azriel that she knew was different than Graysen? Would she sit there and judge them for moving this quickly? 

“Baby, breathe with me okay? Breathe.” 

“Think…I rushed…that you…you are…you’re not like Graysen. You’re not like him. I…I can’t…” 

“Oh, Lainey. Okay. C’mon- try to breathe with me. He has no place here- he’s the one that fucked up. Not you.” 

“But what if…what if I’ve done it again and you and we and my sisters think that I’m a fool to even…” 

“They don’t. Did those shrieks sound like they were concerned you made a bad choice? Or like they were excited?” 

“Excited.” 

“Yeah, yeah they were so excited for you- for us. I got you, baby.” 

She felt him pick her up as she tried to suck in air. She hated these attacks. She hated what it did to her and she realized she’d been fighting this one all day. That from the moment she woke up, she had felt the panic right there- just waiting for the opportune time to take her over. He sat down on their couch- one of the many pieces of furniture she’d picked out over the last month and a half- and she wound up straddling his lap. His hand guided her face into his neck and he just rocked her with his body. He was calm and steady as everything was just too much and she willed her body to relax into him. But that almost never worked- the panic was not a battle of wills or something she could logically attack- they’d tried that. The only thing that reliably worked was this- him. Arms around her tight, murmuring things she couldn’t comprehend, but that her body responded and calmed to. 

“Shit, Lainey. I thought you were just nervous when I left. If I had realized- I would have tried to derail this more this morning. Fuck. I should make you some tea and–” 

“No. Don’t. Stay. You stay.” 

“I…okay, okay. I got you. I won’t move until this passes, okay?” 

“Please…please, Az.” 

He pressed butterfly soft kisses to where he could reach with her face buried against his neck. He gently lifted her head and pressed a firmer kiss to her lips and she felt herself exhale into him. She felt the fear loosen, even as he pulled away from the kiss and settled her face back into the crook of his neck. God. What were Feyre and Rhys thinking about her? About how she was acting? She was supposed to be better. She was supposed to be healed and… 

“Hey baby, what you thinking?” 

“Rhys and Feyre must think that I…that I’m…I’m supposed to be better by now, Az.” 

“I told them on the drive over that this sometimes happens. That we’re working through it and that their visit might trigger this. Baby- they get it. That's why they gave us some space.” 

“You…you told them that I…that we might need…that this…” 

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes and he just nodded. The vice-like grip on her soul finally loosened and she settled her forehead against his. Her breathing calmed, her body relaxed and she let out a long sigh as his hands continued to rub her back. She stayed like that for several minutes, before she finally was able to nod and he helped her settle on her feet. 

“Why don’t you go say hi and I’ll make you that tea you like? Then you can show Feyre the place while Rhys and I talk about a few things.” 

“I love you.” 

“Love you more, Lainey.” 

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

“Ellie- this place- you two. I’m so happy for you.” 

They had settled back on the balcony, in the outdoor furniture that they’d only gotten the week before. Feyre’s artist eye had zoned in on small details, things that Nesta never noticed or cared about. The large picture of her in front of the bakery that Azriel had insisted they blow up. Pictures of the three of them that littered some of the tables. Pictures of Azriel, Rhys, and Cass growing up- along with Azriel’s mother. The raven haired woman she had yet to meet and was terrified would reject her on sight- something that Azriel had assured her was nonsense. But also on the style of each of the guest rooms, the careful selections, and what Feyre had remarked more than once that Rhys would never let happen in their place. 

She hadn’t realized how lucky she’d been when Azriel just said yes to whatever she asked. The only thing he had insisted on was a good desk in one of the guestrooms for when he needed to do continuing education courses online. Other than that- she’d taken what she loved most from both of their places and built their home around those things. 

“I’m so sorry about the panic attack- it’s the one thing that I…” 

“Hey- stop. You’re alive. And that man in there loves you, so much. So much that he realized that something was off today and warned us that what happened could happen. If you don’t marry him, I might.” 

“Feyre!” 

“What? I have eyes. Besides- I don’t think he’s looking at anyone but you. He didn’t check out my ass a single time in this dress and I know it looks good.” 

“Feyre–” 

“What? I had to do a little test. Rhys talked me out of the test that would have gotten us sent to stay with Cass and Nes. Can…can I ask what the panic attacks are about?” 

“Everything. Nothing. The only consistent thing that works is well…what you saw. Our therapist has no working theory on what might be causing it.” 

“Other than a TBI that nearly killed you?” 

“Yeah. Other than that.” 

“I think he’s going to propose before Christmas.” 

“I swear you and Nes are in a competition for who can make me blush the reddest.” 

“We definitely are. But it’s because we love you and want you to be treated well and holy hell, does Azriel fit that bill.” 

Helion learns it's Nesta Archeron's name day in the way most important things arrive—incidentally, without ceremony, slipped into conversation. It takes him only a moment to register it properly, to turn it over in his mind with the same unhurried attention he gives to anything that might later prove useful.

It should be harmless trivia.

But the coincidence is too much to ignore.

"Nes doesn't want to make a big deal of it," her mate says below his breath. Cassian's face is already flushed from djinnfire, black wings gleaming with oil as they congregate near a table laden with the usual lavish provisions. "So pretend you don't know, alright?"

The courtyard at the center of the palace is full of activity, as it always is. Helion often finds the noise useful. It gives him cover to think, and while most assume he's surveying the crowd for future lovers, more often than not he's deep in contemplation .

It's a useful ruse. Would be very useful today, but he can't keep his eyes off the quiet moon in the center of Day.

Tag list: @wolfnesta @clarranam @jsmelodies @misstyfikacja @scarlettrose80 @silly-little-lizard @acourtofladydeath @freyjascatchariot @spilledcoffeechronicles @chelseamorninggirl @norabraveseeker @mydnights @irithiadourden @ericacharles514 @ladyefoxy @something-xoxo @smol-grandpa @humansaredumb @pham-tastical