#dadazriel

A shadow slinks out of nowhere, curling around Zuzu’s wrist and slows her enough for you to take her hand. She whines, trying to twist out of your hold but a stern look has her releanting, following you back to where the rest of your family is.

Azriel appears, Knox strapped to one side and Jax cradled against his other hip, the older of the two gnawing on the thick skin of an apple. The three of them look unbothered as ever and as sweet as it is that they seem to take after their cool, calm, and collected father, you can’t help but curse yourself for offering to take care of your rowdier offspring.

Your mate, sensing this, offers Jax to you and you reach out for him without hesitation. Zuzu takes her chance, trying to bolt off as soon as your grip leaves her arm but her father is too quick, snatching the little girl off the ground, pressing a flurry of kisses to her neck that has her screeching with laughter.

“Daddy,” she squeals, trying to shove her way out of Azriel’s arms. She’s no match for the muscular shadowsinger, who grins down at his daughter, finally pausing his attack.

“Are you going to behave now, Zuz?” he asks her, a hint of warning in his tone. He watches your daughter's eyes widen, bobbing her head up and down in agreement before he lets her back to the ground. She scampers off, little wings fluttering, struggling to lift her tiny body off of the ground as she bobs, catching air for moments before her feet hit the grass again, headed towards her older brothers.

Your heart stammers in your chest. You’ll never be used to watching your children learn how to fly, even though you’d been in your mate’s arms while he flew you places on so many occasions it was nearly second nature to you as well.

You give your mate a helpless look and receive a crooked smile and a warm caress down the bond in return. It’s paired with his arm wrapping around your shoulders and a kiss to your temple, his shadows soothing as they breeze across your face. The baby cuddled to your chest sighs with content as one sweeps her hair back.

You sigh, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve before catching sight of your rebel child getting ready to climb up on Wren’s back, who’s down on his hands and knees so his younger brother can crawl up on him and hopefully reach the branches above that hold the ruby red apples.

“Baz, don’t you dare,” you call sternly, and the boy immediately drops off of his brother, huffing. He plops down onto the ground, defeated, crossing his arms over his chest and pouts at the dirt below.

Wren gives you a sheepish smile at the look you give him, your oldest should know better by now, but Baz does have a way with words.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” you mutter, leaning your head against your mate's shoulder. You love spending time with your family, but they’re all getting older now, testing you and Azriel’s limits, and it was tough to keep them in line as they tended to gang up on the two of you.

Az chuckles, watching as Baz picks up an apple, a mischievous glint in his eye like he’s about to throw it at his older brother while his back is turned, helping Zuzu pick one from a lower branch.

“Basil,” Azriel warns sharply, and the little boy drops the apple back into the bushel you and your family had gathered. His cheeks turn a ruddy red, mirroring the color of the fruits all around, apologizing softly.

Jax sticks up the fruit, babbling with a big grin, his baby teeth peeking out of his pink gums. You take a small bite and it’s covered in his saliva and juice from where he’d broken through the tough skin, but it’s delicious nonetheless. Your son giggles happily at the exaggerated noises you make.

“Mommy, what are we going to do with all of these apples anyways?” Wren asks, dragging the basket of apples behind him. He was always wanting to prove to his father how strong he is, and Baz helps lighten the load by snagging one of his own. It’s close to the top but not close enough, a few apples tumbling off of the overpacked bushel, the troublemaker can’t help but grin sheepishly.

You puff out a breath of laughter that your mate might take as hysterical but your eyes are soft, watching the three as they quickly scoop the fruit off of the ground and back into the basket before looking up at you with curious eyes.

“Well, there’s a lot of things that we can make with all of these apples,” you start, children listening intently, their eyes lighting with each word they hear. “We can make an apple pie for Uncle Cass, Auntie Nesta, and Giddy,” Wren and Baz share twin looks of excitement.

“For Uncle Rhys, Feyre, and Nyxie we can bake apple cookies or apple crumble,” Azriel adds, winking at you.

“Or caramel apples,” Wren exclaims, remembering when his Auntie Feyre had taken him, Baz, and his cousins to their favorite bakery in Velaris, “Like the ones at Crumb!”

“Cookies,” Zuzu cheers and Jax howls in excitement.

The babe against your chest scrunches her nose up in her sleep, whining softly before settling back into her slumber, Knox fast asleep as well.

“I guess we’re just going to have to make a little bit of everything,” you decide, rubbing your nose softly against Jax’s while your children cheer, rushing up to you to hug your legs.

“You’re the best mommy ever,” Baz exclaims, clutching your leg tightly.

You run your fingers through his soft hair, heart bursting with love for your family. 

You could tell the difference between your child’s cry when he was messing around with his cousins, but this, this was a heart-dropping scream of something definitely wrong.

Bursting through the door Azriel’s shadows crawl back to him and he freezes in the doorway at the information he’s received. 

You’re right behind him, nearly slamming into his back as you round the corner. His chest is heaving against your front and you wrap your hands around his waist, peering around him to see your child and his cousins sitting in a circle on the ground, staring down at their arms with tears in their eyes.

Your stomach coils at the sight. Swirled around each of their wrists are three matching tattoos, the exact kind you get when you make a deal with someone.

“What–” the words catch in your throat as you give Azriel a frightened look. This is so bad, so so bad. You hadn’t explained where the tattoos you and your mate and the entire Inner Circle had had come from, but the children must have overheard about it somewhere and made their own pact.

You swallow harshly, afraid to ask what exactly the agreement is from your son and his cousins. Slowly, you crouch down in front of them, taking Wren’s arm gently in your hand to examine the swirling black mark wrapped around his wrist.

He’s sniffling, looking up at you with tears in his eyes, his cousins rubbing their own sore wrists. Azriel’s already sent word to Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian. The High Lord and Lady arrive, each towing their sibling. You can hear them downstairs, their muffled worlds frantic and alarmed as they make their way to the room you’re all in.

“Baby,” you sigh softly, sensing the presence of the other parents and your mate behind you. Azriel squats by your side, a comforting hand on your shoulder while Gideon and Nyx race towards their parents with soft whimpers. “What did you do?”

Wren’s jutted lip wobbles and you have to strain to hold back the tears burning at the back of your eyes. You’re terrified for him and you pray to the mother that it isn’t something serious.

“We were just talking about yours,” he whispers, tracing one of your own tattoos down your arm. “Nyxie said he wanted some like his daddy and Giddy and I want them too so we all promised we would get them together.”

You release a breath you didn’t know what you were holding at your son's admission. All they wanted was to be like their parents, and now that they have their tattoos, the pact has been fulfilled, and you watch as the mark fades from his sensitive flesh.

“Making promises or any type of agreement can be very dangerous, Wren,” Azriel softly reprimands while you give the small boy's wrist a tender kiss. He nods along at his father’s words, hazel eyes big with understanding as he climbs into your arms. He hangs on every word Azriel says like he always does as you brush the hair back from his forehead, holding him close.

“They bind you to that deal until it’s completed,” the shadowsinger tells him, “If you make a promise on a bad decision, there’s no forgetting it. Not even the Mother can spare you.”

Your son clutches your arm tightly in his own, scared of the repercussions that could happen should he make another bargain.

“You won’t make any more promises until you’re older, right?” Azriel asks, soothing a thumb across Wren's cheek to catch a tear that had escaped.

“Yes daddy,” your son nods his head in agreement.

“Good boy,” your mate praises the little boy and you finally relax, loosening your grip around your son who slides off of your lap and into Azriel’s.

“Can Nyxie and Giddy stay for supper?” he pleads, not quite ready for his cousins to leave yet. They look like they’re getting similar lectures to the one you gave your own son, the little boys nodding eagerly at their parents' words, Gideon sniffling into his fathers chest.