#azriel fluff

You stopped when you noticed his breathing had evened out, and his body had finally relaxed. You gently stroked his hair, trying to keep him asleep. Your eyes found Azriel's, warmth spreading through you at the unguarded admiration he was giving you. Azriel forgot he was staring until Rhys’ hand on his shoulder pulled him back to the moment. “She's good with him.” Rhys says, watching his son sleeping peacefully. “She is.” Azriel agrees, his eyes still on you as the soft lullaby your humming drifts across the room.

“Careful or she'll want one of her own.” Rhys teases but there's truth in his words. “I'll give her as many as she wants.” Azriel says without hesitation. He doesn't try to deny that he's imagined it himself. Everytime he witnesses a quiet moment between you and Nyx he's imagined it. He's patient though, waiting for you to decide you're ready without him feeling like he's pressuring you into it. “You might not have to wait much longer.” Rhys says with a grin before walking towards you.

You let Rhys pick up Nyx, making sure not to wake him. He stirs but doesn't wake as Rhys carries him towards his room. It isn't long before Azriel's standing beside you. “You're good with him. Better than most of us.” Azriel says as he sits beside you. “He makes it easy.” You say, letting Azriel hold you close to him. “Rhys says if I'm not careful you'll want your own.” Azriel says with a grin. “And what if I did?” You ask. You've been ready to have this conversation for a while now. “I'll give you as many as you want, love.” He says, the truth behind his words making the bond glow. 

The warm night air stretched on around you, the only light the moon’s shine in a clearing in the trees. Bark dug into your back, making indentations that you were too comfortable to pay any mind to now. A small fire crackled in front of you, one the four of you had used to cook dinner for the evening. The dying embers produced little light, but the glow they gave off made you warm.

The small clearing was just large enough to allow some light in and for a few bodies to sit in a circle, but alone it felt large and expansive. Your gaze wandered to the entrance to the cave your party had scouted out earlier, your position far enough away to give them privacy but close enough to be heard should you alert them.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you settled deeper into the tree, failing to resist exhaustion from overtaking. The day had been mostly one long trek, the party traveling through the mountains, putting miles between you and Velaris. Your shoulders ached where your backpack straps dug in, the weight of your tent too much for the bag.

Tonight was your first time out in the field. Lurking somewhere in the mountains, Rhys had sent the four of you in search of a few rare plants. Using historical records and maps, the plants had last been seen deep in the mountain range that borders Night and Day.

Legend has it that the space between the two courts saw full light - full sunlight during the day, full moonlight in the evening, bestowing interesting medicinal remedies to these plants.

Your eyes were drooping, your training not quite preparing you for the day’s hike. Your breathing began to even out, your body growing comfortable against the tree.

Something sharp poked your side, not breaking through your leathers, but its presence was enough to have your eyes going wide.

“Sleeping on the job?” A voice startled you awake, the knife at your side gone. You instinctively swung an arm out, hoping to catch whoever it was off guard. Instead, a familiar wind grabbed your wrist, holding your arm out to keep from striking their master.

You narrowed your eyes into the darkness, searching for Azriel but coming up empty. Still hidden in the darkness, you targeted your scowl at the dark tendrils holding a tight grip on your arm. They wiggled excitedly up your elbow before dropping you, as if chuckling at the disturbance. They slithered back to their master, hiding in the folds of his wings as he sat against the tree next to you.

You expect him to scold you, your head ducking in preparation for being caught sleeping on watch. Mortification climbed up your throat, squeezing your throat shut, unable to even think of a defense.

“What are you doing out here?” Your eyes widen at the more quizzical tone, his words soft in the night air, as if carried by his shadows.

“I’m taking watch.”

Azriel tilted his head, his eyes darting toward the entrance to the cave the four of you had scoped out earlier.

“Why are you so far from the entrance?” You flushed, not expecting to be questioned, but you should have known this would happen. Azriel isn’t one to let information slip away, even the most mundane of statements have a few follow up questions from him.

“This spot looked comfortable.” The lie fell from your tongue, your boots toeing at the dirt you were sitting on. A shadow peaked out from behind their master, swirling around in the dust you were kicking up, almost as if it were dancing.

“I thought Cassian had first watch.”

Too analytical for his own good, you thought. Why you even bothered lying in the first place, you weren’t sure.

“Okay, spymaster, you caught me. Cassian asked if we could switch watches.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you, waiting, letting the silence envelope you. The Illyrian had a way with pulling information, his silence an open doored confessional.

“It’s Illyrian mating season and he needed time with Nesta,” you mumbled, cheeks heating knowing what they were doing in the cave. Living in the House of Wind let you be privy to a large number of their sexcapades, but you stayed on the opposite end of the house from them and were only subjected to their intensity on rare occasions.

“Illyrian mating season?” Azriel asked, his brows arched in confusion, rising to his feet.

“Yes,” you sighed, annoyed he was making you draw this out for his own amusement. “He said that during the change of the seasons into summer, Illyrians have a mating season to ensure offspring for the next spring and that it gets rather, erm, uncomfortable for a male to go too long without.”

The shadowsinger’s head was bent, his neck craning down just watching you on the forest floor. His gaze was assessing, something lurking just beyond his eyes.

“Did he say what I’d be doing during the season?”

“I didn’t ask, but maybe it only affects mated males?” It came out more as a question. You truthfully hadn’t even considered what a mating season meant for the male before you.

Intelligent, devastatingly beautiful. Azriel would be more hard pressed to find someone who didn’t want to sleep with him than someone who would.

Your stomach churned at the thought of all the fae who would line up for him.

“And if it’s Illyrian mating season, why have us be out here?” His question pulled you out of your jealous stupor, your head shaking slightly willing the thoughts away.

Your cheeks flamed with embarrassment, realization dawning on you with his teasing tone. Cassian had looked so sheepish when he spoke to you about it - you should have seen right through it.

Cassian wasn’t shy about anything.

“That bastard lied to me!”

Azriel’s mouth stretched into a rare smile, beaming down at you in the moonlight. His beauty was quick to dissipate your anger, something closer to gratefulness that you got to witness this moment of time.

He settled next to you, a soft snickering as he stretched his legs out onto the ground. His shadows swam through the ground, streaky dark tendrils moving the grass with their curiosity.

“It’s not my fault Illyrians are secretive and seclude themselves to the north!” You hadn’t thought anything of Cassian’s lie at the time, which was the part that wounded your pride more than anything. Illyrians are a race of mystique and intrigue in the Dawn Court, the several millennia of their absence caused glaring holes in the records of fae diversity. Even when they did live in your native court, they never interacted outside of their own communities.

“You’re better off not knowing.” Azriel huffed, disdain for his kind spilling through every syllable.

“Well, if I had known anything about them, maybe I’d be asleep in the cave now.” You pointed at the cave’s interest, scowling your annoyance at Cassian once more.

“You could go disturb them.”

“No way. I don’t want Cassian’s ass searing itself into my mind.”

Azriel chuckled, his gaze moving to something in the treeline.

The silence stretched on, making room for the lie you had fallen for to come to light. You scoffed before putting your face in your hands, unbelieving that you fell for such a stupid and obvious lie.

Azriel laughed into the fire, his eyes searching for a well-worn memory faded with time.

“We used to share a room. Most of the time, we didn’t care, but occasionally… Cassian loved shy females, ones that would blush madly when he winked at them and duck their heads if he caught their eye.”

You didn’t try to fight the grin from spreading across your face, the image of these two seemingly opposite males occupying the same room. You hadn’t seen the inside of Cassian’s room, but judging by the trail of clothes he leaves through the house after training, you had a decent idea of how messy he was.

Cassian occupied spaces, filling up every inch with his existence, meanwhile Azriel kept traces of his presence down to a minimum.

“One night I had come back to what was our place in a camp. By that point, Rhys’s father, the High Lord, usually had me spread across Prythian, and even the continent, to where I hardly saw my brothers. I came inside and I could smell Cassian down the hall. I was so tired, as long as he let me get to my bed, I didn’t care.

“He stopped me in the hallway, a crazed look on his face, telling me our room was infested with star mites and to protect myself I should sleep on the couch.”

“Star mites? Are those - do I have to worry about them? And what was his reason for staying in the room?”

“No. They’re not real.” Azrie rolled his eyes but a hint of fondness remained. You felt a little pride at now being the one to ask dissecting questions. “And he said it was too late for him and that he’d have to bathe or treat himself.”

“So what did you do?”

“I thought they were real. Or I was too tired to care about his theatrics. Either way, I slept on the couch, not seeing the lie until the morning.”

“Did you do anything in retaliation?”

He grinned something boyish, his features losing some of their years for a moment.

“Rhys’s father sent me to the continent for a six month excursion. The morning I left, Cassian was still asleep in his bed. I may or may not have procured some very real mites and dropped them all over his bed before heading out.”

A laugh burst from your throat, Azriel’s shadows quickly darting around to dampen the noise, to keep it from going too far. Maybe even to collect it and keep it for their master.

You could see it so clearly - Cassian’s terrible bedhead, his loud snores interrupted by Azriel, one of the most feared fae alive, dropped arthropods on top of his brother before scurrying off into the night.

“I may have enchanted my bed before leaving as well, asking a local fae to cast a very thorough protection spell over my belongings.”

So methodical, even for the most ridiculous of tasks. It made your heart race a little, his thoughtfulness one of your favorite traits of his.

Even when it was used for annoying his brothers. Especially then.

“And now he’s somebody’s mate.” Azriel stiffened at your words, quickly releasing the tension in his muscles hoping you didn’t notice.

It was unsuccessful.

“And they're trying for a baby.”

“Are they really?”

Azriel nodded a little solemnly, his arms hugging his knees towards his chest. It made him look small, a boy too worried about such things.

“I wish them luck - Nyx would love a cousin.”

Somewhere a cricket began chirping remind you of the little toddler’s coos. He was a few years old now, nearly tall enough for his head to touch your hip.

Every time you thought of him, you thought of one night where he had been teething, staying up all night for a week straight. Rhys and Feyre were going out of their minds, the High Lady falling asleep during dinner enough for you to suggest, or demand as they saw it, the two fae to retire and for you to watch the babe.

You must have given him everything you could think of to soothe his pain. A finger, a toy, some bread. Eventually Azriel came in, fresh from a mission, and pulled a carrot from the cellar. You only watched as he took the carrot outside and left it on a balcony in the snow before joining you and Nyx for about thirty minutes.

After that half hour, he got up, retrieved the carrot, and offered it to Nyx, who took to it like a starved animal. He chewed and chewed the carrot, making obscene slobbering noises and soft coos.

It was adorable and maddening.

“Do you want a family?” He whispered the question, almost like he was surprised by it slipping from his lips. It hung in the air, the word family sounding foreign, like he was talking about an abstract idea.

It brought you back to the present, to the crisp air, the warm night a comfort.

This night was made for secrets buried deep.

You blew out a breath, surprised at his candidness

“I don’t know. Seems like a lot of responsibility. I can barely take care of myself some days, much less kids.”

He nodded, somewhere not entirely next to you, but in some future that hasn’t coalesced.

“But I think I want someone. Someone who knows how I like my coffee, someone who notices when I don’t come home on time.”

He snapped his eyes to you, listening to your every word with focus and intention. Being beneath his gaze made you feel reassured.

“That sounds nice.”

“What about you?” A few of his shadows rose from the ground, listening and waiting to hear what their master had to say. They created an almost curtain like figure behind him, swaying to block out anything that wasn’t him.

“I’ve always wanted a mate. Someone that the Mother decided would stay with me forever."

“What if your mate wants to stay by you?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, not quite understanding.

“You said that a mate would stay with you because the Mother decided it, but what if they just want to be with you?”

You're not sure you had ever seen him so surprised. His usual mask of stoicism crumbling by your question, a deep crease in his brows wrinkling his forehead.

“What if they wouldn’t want to stay?” He whispered the truth that filled his mind lately. “Would you?”

Something stirred in your chest at his question, feeling almost itchy. A shadow moved closer to you, brushing lightly against your thigh.

You’re not sure if it was the late hour or returning a confession of your own that caused you to speak.

It was a night of honesty, after all.

“Yes - I would.”

It was enough of an answer for Azriel. His shadows swirled a bit at your words before settling calmly on the ground around him, the lone shadow on your thigh curling up into your lap.

Somewhere in the night air, the two of you fell into what some would consider mindless chatter, but you lived for every second of it. Azriel brought small parts of himself into the dying light of the campfire, just enough light for you to see.

Neither of you felt the passing of time until the sky began turning brighter, more light filtering through the trees until eventually the sun was peaking over the horizon. The sight of it made weariness settle into your bones, eyelids suddenly weighing ten times heavier.

Despite the exhausting trudge of the day, despite knowing it would be another day’s hike before you could sleep, not a trace of resentment lurked in your heart. Not even resentment for Cassian who forgot to come change out the watch so you could get some sleep.

The two of you would spend the day teasing Cassian about a ‘mating season’, laughter bouncing off the trees, often scaring off woodland creatures. The next few days went by in a blur of searching thousands of plants with no success. The trek home was uneventful, at least that’s how they’d describe it to Rhysand.

‘Uneventful’ did not cover how your heart sped up every time you looked at Azriel or how the momentary brush of his side against yours made your skin burn for hours. How he stayed close to you almost every moment since your late night talk.

When you finally reached your bed, legs still damp from the bath but too tired to care, the memories of the night began playing over again. Every laugh and smile you pulled from Azriel analyzed as your eyes became heavy.

You didn’t mind the loss of sleep too much. Not when you dragged yourself out of bed hours later, muscles aching with each step down the stairs. Every movement begged you to turn around, crawl back into bed for the day.

You had just made it to the landing, ready to search the cupboards for any pastries Elain may have left behind, when the scent of coffee stopped you.

In the middle of the kitchen island sat a nightberry scone, sitting right next to a paper cup of coffee, your name scrawled in neat, familiar handwriting along the sleeve.

Your nose twitched with the familiar scent of cedar and night-chilled air, the cup still warm in your hand. Taking a sip, you couldn’t help but look for any shadows in the corners of the room, trying to give them the response they needed.

One tendril broke free from behind the door, pausing before you. You held out the cup in a salute, the perfectly made coffee just how you liked it.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-angst @chairofchaos os @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl @quiet-loser @thegreyjoyed @paankhaleyaaar @acoazlove

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog @emryb

The townhouse kitchen is warm.

Not just from the stove but from you.

There’s something playing faintly in the background. Not loud enough to focus on, just enough to give you a rhythm to move to.

And you do.

You always do.

Bare feet against the floor, hips swaying as you stir something that definitely requires more attention than you’re giving it.

You spin once.

Just because you can.

The wooden spoon stays in your hand.

“Careful,” a small voice says from the doorway.

You glance over your shoulder.

Nyx.

Watching you like you’ve just performed a full theatrical production.

“You’re supposed to be supervising,” he adds, very serious.

You grin.

“I am supervising.”

You gesture to the pot.

“This is me supervising dinner.”

He considers that.

Then walks in anyway.

Because of course he does.

He climbs up onto one of the chairs, kneeling on it so he can see what you’re doing.

“What can I do?” he asks.

And it’s so earnest, so him, that you don’t even hesitate.

You hand him a small bowl.

“Stir this,” you say.

“It’s very important.”

He takes it like you’ve just knighted him.

Both hands on the spoon.

Very focused.

Very determined.

You turn back to your own pot, humming now, the melody slipping out without thought.

A Day Court tune.

Soft and bright.

Something you picked up and never quite let go of.

Nyx hums with you.

Off key.

Completely confident.

And then he starts swaying.

Just a little at first.

Then more.

Then he’s fully committed, attempting something that looks vaguely like dancing and mostly like he’s trying not to fall over.

You laugh.

You can’t help it.

“Is that dancing?” you ask.

“It is,” he says, indignant. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh, am I?”

He nods.

Very serious again.

“You’re supposed to do it like this.”

He holds out his hand.

And there it is.

That tiny, dramatic invitation.

You don’t even question it.

You grab the small symphonia sitting on the counter, something glittering and golden from the Day Court, and give it a little shake.

Music swells.

Too grand for a kitchen.

Too dramatic for what’s about to happen.

Perfect.

Nyx beams.

You take his hand.

And the two of you attempt a waltz.

It is objectively terrible.

Your steps don’t match.

He keeps stepping on your foot.

You nearly spin him straight into the counter.

You’re still stirring the pot with your free hand half the time.

But you’re laughing.

He’s laughing.

And the symphonia keeps playing like you’re in the middle of some grand ballroom instead of a cluttered kitchen with dinner half-finished.

You spin him.

He squeals.

You catch him before he can tip backward.

And somewhere in the doorway, the Inner Circle has gathered.

No one says a word.

Because they can’t.

Cassian’s trying not to laugh.

Mor’s already gone soft, hand over her mouth.

Even Rhys is quiet, just watching.

And Azriel,

Azriel is ruined.

Completely.

Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, shadows still for once, just watching you.

The way you move.

The way you laugh.

The way you don’t even realize you’ve turned his entire world into something warm.

You spin Nyx again.

Barely save the food from burning.

“Multitasking,” you mutter.

“Very advanced skill.”

Nyx giggles.

Then suddenly, he stops.

Looks past you.

Eyes lighting up.

“Mom!” he calls.

Feyre steps forward, smiling softly.

Nyx immediately reaches for her.

“You have to dance with me.”

And just like that, you’re released.

Nyx is swept away into another set of arms, already trying to teach Feyre his very questionable version of a waltz.

The kitchen feels quieter.

But not empty.

Never empty.

You turn back to the stove, stirring again, breath still a little uneven from laughing.

You don’t even hear him move.

Not at first.

Just feel warmth at your back.

Arms sliding around your waist.

Solid and steady.

Azriel.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t need to.

Just rests his chin lightly against your shoulder, pulling you closer without interrupting what you’re doing.

You keep stirring.

Because of course you do.

“Careful,” you murmur, echoing Nyx.

“There’s a dangerous amount of chaos happening in this kitchen.”

His breath brushes your neck.

Soft.

“I noticed.”

His arms tighten just slightly.

Like he’s grounding himself.

Or maybe grounding you.

“You’re going to burn dinner,” he adds quietly.

You hum.

“Probably.”

Neither of you moves.

Not away.

Not yet.

The music still drifts through the room.

Nyx’s laughter carries from the other side of it.

And Azriel just stays.

Holding you like this moment is something he wants to memorize.

Like it’s something rare.

Something fragile.

Something his.

You lean back into him just a little.

Still stirring.

Still smiling.

And for a second, everything feels… right.

He doesn’t let go right away.

You’re still stirring.

Trying to focus.

Trying to pretend you don’t feel the way his arms are wrapped around you.

“Are you going to help,” you murmur, “or just supervise?”

“I’m helping.”

But he doesn’t move his arms.

Not yet.

Instead, his shadows do.

They slip off him slowly.

Not rushed.

Not sharp like they are in battle.

Soft.

Curious.

One brushes past your wrist.

Another reaches toward the counter.

You don’t even look.

“Salt.”

It’s there instantly.

Set beside your hand like it’s always belonged there.

You huff a quiet laugh.

“Show off.”

Behind you, you feel him shift.

Just enough to press a little closer.

Not possessive.

Just… there.

“You’re the one who asked for help,” he murmurs.

Now he actually moves.

One hand stays at your waist.

The other reaches past you, grabbing something before you ask for it.

He’s watching.

Paying attention.

Learning your rhythm.

You glance at him over your shoulder.

Suspicious.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Not like this.”

The shadows keep moving.

Grabbing herbs.

Sliding bowls closer.

Tugging open a drawer before you reach for it.

At one point, one brushes your fingers and lingers there.

Like it’s testing the warmth of you.

You don’t pull away.

You never do.

“You’re distracting them,” you murmur.

“They like you,” he says.

You smile a little at that.

Still stirring.

Still pretending your heart didn’t just do something stupid.

Behind you, his head dips slightly.

Not quite resting on you.

But close.

“You’re burning it,” he adds quietly.

You glance down.

You are.

“…we’re fine.”

His breath ghosts against your neck.

A hint of amusement.

“We are.”

And he doesn’t step away.

Not when the food is done.

Not when the noise in the other room swells again.

He stays there.

Helping.

Quiet.

Steady.

Like this, like you, is something he’s decided he’s allowed to have.

─── ⋆ SERIES ⋆

THROUGH THE ECHOES ★𖤓♡ — What began as a mirthroot-laced mistake on Azriel’s twenty-third birthday unraveled into something far more dangerous — a five-centuries-long secret situationship and the entire course of your lives changed. [Coming soon!]