#modern!azriel

The rain was beating down on your windshield as you pulled into the cramped parking spot, you held your phone to your ear and slipped out of the car, ducking your head to avoid water getting into your eyes as you run for the awning on the side of the bar.

“Hey babe.” Your friends joyous voice is almost drowned out by the loud music in the background, some indie band playing.

“I’m here but you have my ticket.” You huff, glancing around the corner and grimacing at the long line of girls waiting to be let in. “And there’s a massive line to get in Fey.”

“Relax, the bouncer’s a friend. Gave him your ticket, you don’t have to que up!” You roll your eyes at a group of girls who pass you, whispering about the lead singer.

“I think it’s very convenient that you wouldn’t tell me what band we’re seeing.”  You already know who will be up that stage, who all these girls were lining up in the rain to see.

“They miss you Y/n, I miss you.” She mumbles, you can hear the pout on her face that makes you swallow tightly in guilt. You didn’t mean to isolate yourself from your friends, they always supported you. But he was in their group, and even after 2 years you still can’t see his face or hear his voice, without breaking more of your ruined heart.

“I’ve been busy with work, and Dec.” You cringe at the name of your current boyfriend. The phone is snatched out of Feyre’s hand with an outraged ‘hey!’

“You mean mister 1 minute wonder who loves rubbing your left flap?” Mor’s laughter rings through the phone, a sound you didn’t realise how much you missed. You scowl at the laughs that follow the question.

“Remind me to never drink with you again.”

“Well, do I need to come out there and get you myself? I won’t be happy babe, I spent an hour on my hair.” She retorts, you can already hear her walking away from the group. Your eyes widen and you quickly turn the corner, walking up to the entrance.

“No no! Just meet me at the door yeah?” You rush out, not wanting the lecture that will follow her hair being ruined. She hums and hangs up right as you reach the bouncer, a familiar face.

“Never thought I’d see your pretty face around here again sweetheart.” Despite the anxiety rushing through you and the never-ending rain, you smile widely.

“I’ve got to give you some entertainment don’t I Luci?” You grin, leaning forward to hug the red head. He chuckles and kisses your cheek, leaning back to unhook the red rope blocking the entrance.

“Give em’ hell Sweetheart.” He winks, you roll your eyes and walk in, shaking the rain off before someone is barreling into you. You smile into her blond hair and wrap your arms around her waist, hugging her just as tightly as she is holding you.

“I’m putting a tracker in your phone next time you disappear on me like that again.” She mumbles into your shoulder. You grin and pull back to look at her, taking in her warm brown eyes. Mor has always been the shining star in your life, her friendship carrying a gentle but strong comfort through your soul.

“Maybe I’ll let you.” You tease, hooking your arm through hers as she turns to lead you to the others. You wince at the jabs she throws at a few girls trying to get through the crowd, the closer to the stage you get, the more clothing seems to disappear from the crowd around you.

“You’d think this was a porn convention.” Mor snickers. You try to hide your laugh in your shoulder when a few of the girls turn to shoot her a dirty look. She doesn’t acknowledge them, just continues to drag you to the front barrier of the stage where Feyre is waving like a madwoman. You can’t stop the wide grin as it grows on your face, rushing forward to wrap yourself in Feyre’s arms.

Your words to each other are lost in the crowd’s applause as the bar’s announcer jumps up onto the stage, taking place before the mic with a few squeals from the crowd. You settle under Feyre’s arm as you both turn to face the stage.

“Well ladies it’s nice to see you all! I won’t beat around the bush as I know you’re all waiting for tonight’s main event!” More screams from the crowd of girls at your back, pushing and shoving each other to try and get closer to the stage. “The next set is by far my favorite, and after travelling all over they’re finally back to remember their roots.” You feel your stomach clench in anxiety, the room around you buzzing in excitement. You hadn’t seen him in 2 years, hadn’t seen his arrogant smirk or messy black curls that always fell into his eyes, hadn’t felt his soft but rough fingers tracing up and down your soft skin in the twilight hours.

“Please welcome to the stage, The bat boys!” The crowd squealed as they came onto stage, drowning out your anxious gasps. Rhysand was always first on stage, smirking and blowing kisses into the crowd like the preening Madonna he was. Cassian was next, his hair dripping down to his shoulders as he twirled his drumsticks around his fingers with a boyish grin before settling behind the drums with a few winks.

You felt your mouth dry as Azriel stepped onto stage.

The girls around you screamed even louder, but you couldn’t hear them over the buzzing in your head. His Hazel eyes scanned the crowd with what you knew to be nerves, his shy but confident smirk as familiar as your own reflection in the mirror.

You always forgot just how beautiful he was, the perfect lines of his face that you used to trace in the morning sun surrounded by soft silk sheets. The soft and messy black curls that draped over his eyes, the crinkles by his beautiful eyes that highlighted his wide grin.

How could you forget, for even a second, how much you loved him?

“Hello Darlings.” Rhys purred into the mic, shooting a wink towards Feyre who was blowing him a kiss from beside you. The crowd screamed again, you missed your friends. You missed sitting in Rhys apartment with pizza boxes scattered around you as the group watched Cass serenading Nesta with half his clothes off. You missed the movies night, the nights spent together tossing lyric ideas around for their next song.

You missed the life you had 2 years ago, before he broke your heart.

Your eyes flicked to Azriel again as he started strumming the tune to the first song on their set. The relaxed grin on his face as the crowd started humming along the tune, the one he hummed to you for months as you laid next to him. You watched his eyes focus on his hands, though you were sure he could perform in his sleep. Your heart was cracking as you watched him play, the song a familiar comfort in the back of your mind.

How many times had you been the one screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs? How many times had you been in this exact position but with a wide grin on your face? Now your lips were pressed together to stop the painful sob forming at the back of your throat. Now your eyes that used to gleam with joy, love and happiness, were misted with years of pain.

You felt Mor’s hand slip into yours from your left, a silent comfort to your mess of emotions. She didn’t offer you a soft smile or careful words, didn’t even turn to look at you, just continued singing along with the crowd. You swallowed the tears, the heartbreak and the longing, and pulled her closer into your side as the song came to an end.

The crowd was deafening as Rhys smirked at them, his white teeth gleaming in the red spotlight above him.

“What a warm up!” He chuckled into the mic, running his hand through his hair as he turned to say something to Azriel behind him. Azriel slung his guitar behind him, shaking his hands out as he stepped up to Rhys side.

“Now for something different. You’ll be the first audience to hear this song, something special for someone special.” Rhys grinned before stepping back to Azriel’s spot, picking up his own guitar. You felt your heart fly up to your throat as he stepped up to the mic, his voice floating over the crowd.

I heard he got you a penthouse On the westside when will he learn That you're afraid of heights? I heard he got you a new Benz With the white wheels, when will he learn That you like to tandem bike?

And I hate that

Azriel’s voice rang through the bar, the lyrics shooting straight to your heart. His smile flashing behind your eyes, his laughter ringing through your mind.

I could love you with my eyes closed Kiss you with a blindfold Figure you out I might hold you with my hands tied Show you I'm the right guy To figure you out na-na-na, na, na

You felt your eyes water, stronger this time. Memories flashing through your mind, soft words pressed into your skin in the early hours of the morning. Kisses interrupted by smiles so wide that you thought your skin would split.

I heard he got you some new friends With some big dreams, when will he learn That you already got your own? Oh, I heard he got you the front row At the rap show, when will he learn That you like The Rolling Stones?

How could you ever get over this type of love? How could you walk away from him again after he broke your heart a second time?

And I've been thinking Of all the little things That you've been missing When will you learn?

Mor squeezed your hand tighter as she watched the tears roll down your cheeks, guilt pulling her brows down into a frown.

I could love you with my eyes closed Kiss you with a blindfold Figure you out (figure you out) (yeah) I might hold you with my hands tied Show you I'm the right guy To figure you out na-na-na, na, na

The crowd around you was swaying with the melody, oblivious to the way your heart was being broken by the very angel before them on the stage. To the lyrics of a broken heart that used to belong to you, that used to beat in your body. To a heart that was singing a melody of stolen love.

How dare he?

I could treat you so much better I've known you forever, figured you out Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh

I could love you with my eyes closed Kiss you with a blindfold Figure you out (figure you out) (yeah) I might hold you with my hands tied Show you I'm the right guy To figure you out na-na-na, na, na

The girls around you screamed again as the song came to a close, cheering for the guitarist that had finally shown his secretive emotions. You tugged your hands out of your friends embrace as you turned away from the stage with a sob.

“I can’t do this.” You pushed and shoved through the crowd, ignoring the calls of your name from your friends. You couldn’t stop. You couldn’t face this again. You couldn’t watch him stand up there and sing like he hadn’t ripped your heart out.

The rain was still pouring when you finally made it out of the bar, making you tuck your arms around yourself to hold yourself together. How were you supposed to shove this away? How does one forget the love of their life?

You stilled as you heard his deep voice call your name. The rain was plastering your hair to your head, running down your face masking the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“Y/n please wait!” He called, his boots thudding through the water on the ground. You whipped around to face him as his hand caught your elbow, anger and heartbreak swirling through your eyes.

“How dare you.” You snarled at him, not caring about the sad look in his eyes. What reason did he have to be upset? He was panting, the rain plastering his stubborn curls to his forehead as he leant forward to wrap a heavy jacket around your shoulders.

“You’ll get a cold.” He mumbled, adjusting the jacket so the hood was covering your already soaked hair. You blinked at him stunned, the anger swirling through you demanding you to shrug the jacket off your shoulders. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t remove the scent of his cologne from invading your senses, a smell that had faded from your pillow years ago.

“What do you want Azriel?” You watched him wring his hands in front of him nervously, picking at the skin around his nails before he opened his mouth.

“I missed you baby and I-”

“You missed me?” You barked out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You cheated on me. You don’t get to miss me and then trick me into attending your stupid gig.” He shook his head and stepped closer, ducking his head to meet your eyes. You took a step back with a frown on your face.

“I regretted it the second it happened.” He mumbled, cringing when he thought back to that night two years ago. The night he had stupidly kissed Elain Archeron. He didn’t miss the way you flinched back and looked down to the ground, as if recollecting yourself.

“You only regret that you were caught.” You said to the ground, not looking up at him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the heartbreak in your eyes, of seeing how fresh it still was.

“No-”

“Don’t lie to me!” You yelled, whipping your head up to him with a glare Azriel felt twist the organ beating in his chest violently.

“You told me I was the love of your life, your soulmate.” You didn’t bother try to hide the agony bleeding into your eyes. “And then you went and spewed the same bullshit into her ear.” You turned away from him again to try and compose yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut to try and erase the image you had seen that night. Of Azriel pressing Elain up against the wall with the same passion he shared with you just hours before, of him kissing her soft lips as if they were his oasis.

Of him kissing her the same way he kissed you.

“You are!” He sobbed, stepping closer. “You are the love of my life! You’re both my favourite dream and my worst nightmare, haunting me every second of every day.” He panted, trying desperately to get you to turn and face him again. He had been deprived of your beautiful eyes for two years and he wanted, no needed, to see their beautiful colour again.

“Is that the same thing you tell Elain?” You mumbled out. He flinched back at how small you sounded. You had always been the centre of the room, laughing and glowing by his side.

What had he done? How could he fix this?

“I’m not with Elain.” He said, clearing the knot from the back of his throat as you turned back around to face him. Your eyes were red from crying, but Azriel couldn’t look away. You were still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a true goddess amongst mortals.

“I don’t care anymore Azriel. I just want you to leave me alone.” He tried to reach for your face but you took several steps back, shaking your head as more tears trailed down your cheeks. His hands shook as he reached for you, his own tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Wait Y/n, please.”

“No more. Please just let me go.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the way your voice wobbled or if it was the roaring agony in your eyes that made his brother step in. Probably both.

“Enough Az. C’mon bunny, I’ll walk you to your car.” Rhys wrapped a warm arm around your shoulders, a familiar brotherly comfort. You shot one last look at Azriel over your shoulder as Rhys started leading you to your car, your heart squeezing in your chest at the pain in his beautiful eyes.

“Goodbye Azriel.” You said softly, offering him a wobbly smile before turning into his brother as you walked away.

He watched you walk away with a heavy heart, knowing that he had lost the love of his life forever.  

And he knows it’s the same one following you around, not only because it’s his job to remember people that might prove to be a threat to you, but because he’d never forget this fucking scumbag’s face.

You duck your head lower, pressing Azriel’s handkerchief tightly to your eyebrow. There’s blood dripping into your eye from whatever it was a fan tossed your way as soon as you’d stepped foot out of your SUV. Azriel had been turned toward you, lending you a helping hand from the vehicle when it struck. He whirled around, but it was too late, the coward had slunk off into the crowd before he could sniff them out like a bloodhound.

And Azriel was livid.

If your father had just hired two bodyguards to protect you instead of one, this wouldn’t have happened.

Not that Azriel isn’t qualified to keep you safe by himself. With six years of training with the Royal Marines under his belt, he’s more than capable. He’s carried injured men across his back for miles when there was no hope of getting out for fuck’s sake. But this is a new playing field entirely. You’re the most well-known celebrity he’s had the pleasure of working with, and when your father didn’t heed his advice that one bodyguard was not enough, he knew he was going to be in for a challenge.

A challenge that he’s failed tonight.

You let him lead you blindly, trying your best to block out your surroundings: the screaming fans begging for a picture or autograph, the stream of liquid you’re desperately trying to blink from your eye and soak up with the rag. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest, breathing shallow pants, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing right onto the concrete outside of your hotel is Azriel’s strong hand at your back, guiding you to safety.  

“Almost there,” he murmurs at your back, and your shoulders slacken slightly at the familiarity of his voice cutting through all the other noises that pierce your ears. “Only a few more steps and we’ll be in the lobby.”

He’s right, the concierge is holding the door open just enough for the both of you to slip through, and when it shuts tightly behind you, muffling off the loud wails and camera flashes, you release a shaky breath.

“Miss, are you okay?” The man asks, concern lacing his tone, like his job is on the line because someone decided to toss something at your face. “Do you need me to call the polic—”

“No, no,” you blurt frantically, waving him off. “That’s not necessary.”

“(Y/N)—” Azriel tries to cut in, and you know that this is something he’s going to have to report to his boss. Concern laces his tone, not for his job, but for you, because you’re injured and shaking in the middle of the lobby, looking like an abandoned puppy left to wilt in the rain. “I think you should—”

“No, Az,” you choke out, finally lifting your gaze from the floor to meet his. The look he wears makes your breath catch in your throat, but looking at him always does. He’s beautiful. And completely off limits.

His thick, straight brows are the only thing that gives his concern away. There’s a wrinkle between them that you want to reach out and smooth with the pad of your finger. His mouth is set in a firm line, not unusual for the stoic man. And his eyes, well his eyes are roiling with anger, hot coals ready to combust.

You don’t even care that you’ve called him the name you shouldn’t. You’re not supposed to address him by his name at all, let alone the nickname you’ve secretly become fond of. Right now, though, you’re much to shaken to realize your slip up, and he’s too worried about your wound to correct you.

“Please,” you beg, tears brimming your eyes. His tall, built frame conceals you from the people still lingering outside, and he spots that fucking paparazzi from the corner of his eye, smirking in the window as he cranes as far as he can to be the first to get a shot at your injury. “I want to go to my room.”

You’re already pulling the cloth from your face, and he’s quick to reach out and press it back, all too aware of the people around. Any one of them could spill the beans, could secretly be listening or recording, ready to make a quick buck off your horrendous night. Fucking assholes, all of them.

“Okay,” he consoles, glaring harshly at the concierge when he opens his mouth to protest. The man’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and he scurries away. Returning his attention to you, one hand pinning yours and the cloth you’re clutching to your face, he urges you toward the elevator. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

The doors chime open, and after getting you on safely and pushing the button to the suite on the top floor of the building, Azriel shoots one last menacing look to the paparazzi that’s still standing out front. He’s going to have a few phone calls tonight, with the hotel security and the local police, because he doesn’t want that fuck anywhere near you ever again.

The sleazy pap has the gall to wink at Azriel before the doors shut between you and the man he knows will be standing in that exact spot come the morning when it’s time for you to leave again.

The ride is long, and with the adrenaline draining from your system, you’re exhausted. Azriel lets you sag against him, and you trust him so fully that you let your eyes drift shut, allowing him to guide you through your room and straight into the bathroom so that he can take care of your wound.

You crack your eyes open when he lifts you to rest on the counter before dropping to his knees and helping you out of your heels. Your feet scream happily, and your body ignites at the sight of him on his knees before you.

Standing, he shoves the sleeves of his thick, black shirt up over his elbows, exposing those strong forearms you’d had the pleasure of peeking at for the last few months. That’s not the only thing you’ve noticed about Azriel. There are scars on his hands, bad ones. You don’t know what they’re from, but you’re aching to know. To learn anything about the man who’s been your bodyguard for the better part of this year.

“I think you should go home,” Azriel says softly. Or, as softly as someone like him can. It sounds harsh, gruff, but you know he doesn’t mean it like a demand. He’s concerned in his own way.

“I can’t pull out of my appearances, that’ll only make me look worse,” you argue, sliding back onto the counter he guides you to. People already hate you enough for the rift that Azriel has caused in your relationship with superstar Tamlin Oleander. Having an attractive man protecting you has not only made the man your team is paying to be with you insecure, but he’s been twisting this story for too long already. Pulling out of your appearances now will only give the fans another reason to pick and tear at you.

He scrubs his hands hard with the bar of soap in the sink before toweling them off and looking at your injury.

There’s a split above your eyebrow. Face wounds bleed a lot, he tells himself, smothering the memory that rises at the sight. Except that that injury was about an inch lower, and his comrade didn’t make it out alive.

“Who cares about looking worse,” Azriel scoffs. This time, he speaks harsher, but his movements against your face are still soft. The sting is barely there because you’re focusing on the buzz his fingertips brushing your skin provide. You’re focusing on the soft spot in his hazel eyes as he examines your wound, his breath against your skin. It’s dizzying. And not from the blood loss. “You should care about being safe.”

Neither of you brings up that it’s his job to do just that, but it sits heavily in the room anyway, sucking all the air from the expansive bathroom.

He swallows harshly, refusing to look at you. He busies himself with plucking a few butterfly bandages from the first aid kit beside him. The split skin above your eyebrow aches when he pinches the slice together to apply the bandage. “I’ll call down to the lobby to see if there’s someplace more private we can meet the car to take you to the hospital. You’re going to need a stitch or two.”

“Azriel, wait,” you call, grabbing for his hand when he turns to leave the room. You know exactly what’s going to happen when he crosses over that threshold. “Please don’t call him.”

He allows you to stop him, but he doesn’t turn to face you. He can’t. Can’t bear to look at you when his failure is staring right back at him. He let you get hurt, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

Azriel’s body is too still, and his tone is too even when he answers. “I have to.”

“You don’t,” you plead, clutching him tighter. If he calls your father and tells him about what happened tonight you know you’ll never see him again, and if you never see him again, you’ll be fucking miserable. You’ve found comfort in Azriel’s presence throughout the time you’ve been working together, and he’s the only one who’s been able to see through the façade you put on, the personality you’ve spent so long pretending to be. He sees you.

“I do.”

“Why?” You don’t care that you’re getting worked up, that you voice is becoming louder with your desperation. That your nails are biting into the skin of his arm because you refuse to let him walk away from you.

Azriel whirls, and you startle back a step. But you don’t let him go, you never want to let him go. You take him with you, and he goes tripping forward with how you’ve caught him off guard.

He stumbles into you and his hands find your waist, steadying you against the counter. His grip on you is tight. His eyes defeated.

“I couldn’t protect you tonight,” he admits, and you can hear the heartbreak in his voice, you can almost see the memories that resurface, threatening to drag him under. “You need someone who can.”

“You can, Azriel! It’s an isolated incident!” You’re desperately trying to get him to see reason, scrabbling your fingers at his shirt, dragging him even further into you. Tears slide down your face, and for the first time of the night, you’re afraid. You weren’t scared when Azriel was the one there, jumping into action, but now, thinking that he might leave you, you’re terrified.

“It won’t be,” he sighs, brushing his fingers softly over yours, trying to calm you down lest you reopen your wound. “Now that it’s happened, other will try, and I can’t have you getting hurt, sweetheart. I can’t protect you like I thought I could.”

Neither of you catch his slip of the tongue, too caught up in the emotions for it to register.

You can’t swallow back the sob. You try to bury your face in his shirt, but Azriel catches you gently around the shoulders, keeping you from hurting yourself.

His hands are calloused and strong, you can feel the ridges of the scarring that paints them. So tender, so cruel, so soft.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” you admit, blinking your tears away to meet his gaze. You don’t care that your makeup is probably a mess with your tears and whatever’s left of the blood, and Azriel doesn’t care because he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Azriel presses his forehead against yours, swiping your tears with his thumbs. “I won’t,” he promises, “I can’t.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and just like that, you’re staring up and him and he’s staring back at you like you’re the most prized possession in this hotel, in this world.

He doesn’t know when he fell for you, if it was the way you tried to find the cracks in his stoic exterior between photoshoots and interviews, or if it’s the way you opened yourself up for him only, showed him the real you.

You’re nothing like the way you’re portrayed in the media. None of those fucking people know how big your heart is, how much you’ve been hurt, how much you care.

And he’d lie down his life to keep you safe and whole.

“Promise me.” You breathe. Your lips brush his as you speak, and the gentle touch sends shockwaves up your spine. You follow their current, lengthening your spine, pushing closer to Azriel. His hands tighten on your hips, and you spread your legs wider for him so slot himself between.

He does with a jagged breath, like he’s trying to hold himself back but is unable. His hazel eyes bore into yours and you see the war there, how he wants to go against everything he vowed not to do with you. He shouldn’t be anywhere near you like this…but he can’t help himself.

“Hit the gym before breakfast. Not all of us are hangover”

“Tell that to the other half of the campus or your roommates. Rhysand spent the night with Feyre in the rooftop”

Your roommate hadn’t appeared last night, and you had found a very cryptic text that morning that led you to the rooftop – where both her and Rhysand were fast asleep with the bottle still uncorked.

As soon as you were within reach, Azriel pulled you closer by your waist and smashed his lips against yours. He tasted like coffee and mint, and erased any trace of drunkenness from last night. You tangled your manicured fingers between his locks, shamefully scratching the nape of his neck with your long nails.

They differed from Azriel’s bitten ones. Your short dress from his baggy clothes, and your dyed hair from his untamed ones. While you liked to shine in the public, to dress up and party, Azriel preferred to be quiet, thrift clothes and study. To the campus, you were the bimbo, and he was the nerd.

But you were his bimbo and he was your nerd.

“How was the party?” Azriel asked between kisses, his lips not staying for too long on yours.

“Good. Missed you” you almost whined when he pulled back too soon, and he chuckled.

“Missed you too. Did you have fun?”

You hummed as his hands lowered until they cupped the edge of your ass. The dress was short enough he could pull it up until anyone could see your panties, but neither of you cared. He had to lean down to do so, and you took advantage to deepen the kiss.

On the outside, Azriel might have looked like the shy, nerdy student, but he was freaky. You had been surprised when a hook-up with your assigned tutor turned out in the best night of your life, and there was nothing that could unhook you from him.

His hands were big enough to squeeze most of your ass, kneading it just like you loved it. Roughly, you were pushed into his body. Azriel was always semi-hard when you came to view, and you always took care of choosing the shortest and most provocative dress in his presence.

Few things were better than a good night out and a good morning fucking.

“I’ve got a surprise for you. Can I take you to my room?”

“You don’t have to ask”

But he did, breaking away your heated kiss. Azriel pushed the bridge of his glasses up and gave you a crooked smile, offering you his hand. You gladly took it and let him guide you to his room. The farthest, the darkest, but also the neatest. Azriel spent a good part of his time in there, and you loved it. He had incorporated you slowly in it, from the spare clothes in his closet for you to the stupid crafts you did together when you were bored.

“And what did you do last night? Started studying for the next semester?” you teased him, and he gave you a sideway look.

“I could, but I was busy with Mor”

“What were you doing with Mor?”

Your frown was instant, as the jealousy that rose to your chest. Morrighan was his friend, and you respected that, but you knew he had liked her in the past. That the woman was gorgeous, brilliant and smart in ways you didn’t complement Azriel. You liked her enough to be kind and maybe envious, but the notice of her with Azriel left you with a sour taste in the mouth.

Azriel chuckled at the edge of your tone and didn’t answer. If anyone had reasons to be jealous, was him, yet he never was. You had quite the reputation in college, and dressed to impress. More than once, you had been walking with Azriel and received not so subtle glances. You had even gotten the barista’s number when you asked for his order. And through all of that, Azriel had just shrugged and told you he trusted you.

So, for his sake, you tried to do the same.

During the longest seconds in your life, you were quiet. You sat on his bed and crossed your arms across your chest. Azriel closed the door behind him, just as you heard the first groan from his roommate, and turned around so he could face you.

The height difference, the size difference, warmed you in every place of your body. Azriel loved the gym just as he loved his books, and there was not a part of his body that he didn’t work. You liked the difference, liked his big form and how it towered over you even standing. As you sat in silence, you bit the inside of your cheek to control yourself.

“We went to the tattoo parlor, since she knows the owner. I wanted something done” he watched your frown with diversion, and continued when you said nothing. “So, you can be jealous of her, who has a girlfriend now, but I’m supposed to be fine with guys drooling over you last night?”

“I didn’t look at them”

“I didn’t look at her” he answered back, and took off his tee.

The sleeveless piece of cloth didn’t hide much, but you still lost your breath when it hit the ground. His muscled, tattooed chest came to view, and that was enough to make you get up. It wasn’t Mor’s lips that had left marks two nights ago on his left shoulder, or who had bitten his pierced nipple until he had come into his pants in the library’s bathroom.

It was you who had caused the tent in his pant, that caused his eyes to darken when you stepped closer. You placed your hand over his right thigh, the muscles tightening underneath. His boner hit your stomach and you pushed yourself against it, opening your mouth to apologize, or maybe to suck the life out of him.

“Don’t you want to know what I got?” he asked, sounding on edge.

“I don’t understand half of your tattoos. Whatever you got is hot and perfect, just like you”

“Look down, princess” Azriel groaned when your nail touched his dick.

“On my knees?”

You were ready to do so, or let him bend you over the table. He could do with your body as he pleased, but you were caught off guard when you noticed the reddish, new ink wrapped in invisible paper. It looked delicate against the rest of his tattoos, new and beautiful. Right between his hips, where the dark trail of dark hair had just been removed, was a new tattoo.

In his v-line, that you licked and adored and stared at so much. With the nickname he had gifted you since he met you and the stupid, childless heart you drew on every notebook of his.

Princess ♡

Your breath came out shaky as you traced the letters with your finger. If it wasn’t for the make-up, you had so carefully put on that morning with a killing headache, you would have burst into tears. His own hand covered yours and helped you trace the missing letters, and the heart.

It should have been distracting to look at it while his dick demanded your attention inches lower, but you couldn’t look away. Not when you felt a hard clench on your heart that left you lightheaded.

“Do you like it?” it was a whisper in the dark room, a spark of doubt that made you look up.

How could you not like it, not like anything about such a perfect man? You nodded enthusiastically, your other hand searching blindly for his.

“Why did you get that?”

“Because I love you, and I want to carry you with me always” Azriel’s eyes were kind, and soft, and loving – and they were making you dizzy with desire.

“Did it hurt too much?” you asked, looking down again at the tattoo. You, who had smooth and unmarked skin, couldn’t phantom the pain of a nursing needle to draw blood. “It must have”

“Worth every second. Lay in bed, princess. I need to be between your legs”

He didn’t let you take the initiative and threw you on his bed with a quick move. Azriel towered over you for a second before kneeling between your already open, wide legs, and leaving his glasses on the. He smirked with no doubts as he pulled the hem of your dress over your panties. His fingers were rough, pressing hard enough to leave red marks on its way.

You only bit your lower lip when he rose your dress to your waist and sneaked his hand beneath, the edge of his fingers pressing over your breasts.

With the idea of that outcome, you hadn’t bothered with a bra, and his eyes darkened even more at the discovery. You watched his throat work around the new information as he rose his body higher, now covering your breasts with his hands. He squeezed them, keeping them trapped in his palms as he lowered where you needed him.

“I’m gonna erase all those looks from last night” he promised, hands retreating following your curved. “Whose got you this wet, hm?”

“Azzie, don’t be mean”

Azriel was in your hands the moment his nickname fell from your lips, and at your mercy when you used that whiney, flirty tone. He didn’t even bother taking off your panties – he tore them off. Like a sheet of paper, like a piece of cake. You moaned his name, and it came out like a yelp when he dug in without reservations.

His tongue was feral as he licked a long stripe between your entrance to your clit. He pressed it against your clit and actually trapped it between his teeth for a moment. The barrier between pain and pleasure was hard to tell when he snuck his hands under your ass and lifted you a few inches for him to devour.

“Love this so much” you spoke with a content smile, as he massaged your ass in silent appreciation. “Love you”

One of your hands reached to his hair, pushing his face closer to your center. He agreed and pushed one finger inside you. Your mind emptied when he began pumping it in and out, curling it just in the right spot before pulling out and replacing it with his tongue.

Cassian pounded on the wall and yelled at you to be quiet, and Azriel pounded back harder as a fuck you response. You didn’t have it in you to care about him as Azriel pulled you closer by the ass, your legs laying boneless against his wide back.

His nose brushed your clit, up and down, and you weren’t sure he could breathe from how passionate and hard he was eating you out. You called his name wordlessly, your mouth emitting only broken noises.

“So good for me, princess. My beautiful princess” his voice was guttural, so primal it made you lock his head between your legs. “Give me one, come on. Give me the first one so I can wreck you from behind”

“That sounds clinically dangerous!”

Azriel growled against your clit and parted your folds with his chin. He ran his lips through all of them, and by the time he pushed his finger back in, you were cumming on his face and screaming so loud his name you could have woken up the rest of the campus. He caressed your lower regions as you came down from your high, accompanying your orgasm with lazy, long stripes through your folds.

When Azriel came back up, his chin and mouth bright from your juices and his hair sticking in every direction, you were already ready for round two. He didn’t need to be told, and he rose leaving a trail of bites up your body.

He briefly stopped to leave two twin marks between your breasts, so round and perfect and purple you were squirming under him again.

“Azzie” it had been the only word you were capable of saying, and your mind cleared down for a second

“Was that good? Worthy princess treatment after a night out?” Azriel asked, leaving wet kisses on your neck.

“Perfect”

You hugged his back as he pulled himself above you, and your nails left angry, red marks across his lower waist. You pulled the band of his sport shorts and underwear down, and squeezed his hard ass just like he had been doing to yours. His dick sprung free with little effort, and he rubbed himself against your side as you caught your breath.

It wasn’t a one-time thing with Azriel, and you heard Cassian muttering about calling 911 before turning on the music. It took Azriel at least three of your orgasm to be content, and he could cum another three before he let you go. He always stopped, for your sake, when your legs couldn’t hold you up anymore and you had tears ruining your perfect make-up.

Few things turned him more on than being the cause of that ruined make-up.

Before he could empty your mind again, you quickly brought up the only coherent thought that kept pounding your head.

“I want your name too. On me”

“A tattoo?” he raised a brow.

Azriel didn’t stop rubbing himself slowly but tightly against your thigh. His hand was over your sore cunt, in a possessive manor he only showed inside the bedroom. At your petition, he pressed his finger tighter.

“Here. Between my breasts, with your name” you quickly explained. “I want Azzie between my breasts, so each time someone looks at me, he knows these are yours”

“You are mine”

None of your relationships had lasted as long or had been as deep. You were the type of girl who would have his ex-name tattooed, but truth was you were wary of tattoos, and Azriel knew that. He had tried to get you into a simple one, something he could draw for you and hold your hand through it.

His body was a map of ink and drawings, some of them goofy and some of them deep. He liked your innocent, smooth skin, but he found himself breathing harder at the thought of his name on your chest. Thinking of how many kisses, how many marks he would leave there every given moment.

Azriel recalled not a month ago pulling down your cleavage between classes to kiss your nipples sore, the hand he always sneaked to unclasp your bra and touch you beneath the lace. His name, the nickname that brought him to his knees, decorating that skin.

“Are you sure?” he didn’t want to get his hopes up, not when he was ready to tattoo you himself right then and there. With Cassian playing loud classical music in the next room.

“And a crown drawn by you on the top” you rose a teasing eyebrow at his lack of movement, given the discussion for finished. “Are you going to wreck me from behind or do I have to ask Cassian for help?”

Azriel broke into a loud laugh before smacking your cunt loudly, then manhandling you around. With his left arm holding you by your waist, he pressed himself against your back. His dick brushed all the right spots between your bodies, but your hands were trapped under you and you couldn’t touch him.

Complaining would only make him take out those beautiful handcuffs you knew he owned so you only bit your lip and whined like the good girl you were for him.

“I’m gonna tattoo my name between your breasts, if that’s what you want” he whispered against your ear, his other hand appearing around your throat. “I love you so much, princess. So fucking much”

Azriel squeezed your throat at the same time he entered you with a rough, only thrust. It avoided the moan that died in your chest, that had you rolling back your eyes in pleasure. It didn’t stop Azriel from moaning your name out loud, loud enough for Cassian to turn up the stupid music.

The headboard banged against the wall and his glasses fell to the ground, as he left you no room to breathe, to recover. Maybe he had managed to shut you down, but he was doing nothing about his own sounds. You were vaguely aware of Cassian slamming the door of the apartment after screaming some profanities, but you didn’t acknowledge him.

Not when Azriel seemed to be trying to tattoo his name deep into your body and soul.

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Your jaw drops open, hands flying to your mouth as you nearly stumble back a step.

He’s down on one knee, presenting a slim, golden band in a simple velvet box, hazel eyes intent and nervous. Slightly jittery as his chest rises and falls.

Your lower lip wobbles, vision blurring, small sobs already wracking your chest. He waits patiently, anxiously, as you try to get the words out, pushing tears away, wiping your nose as you sniffle.

“Yes…!” You cry. “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

Relief sweeps through his body, and he’s wrapping you up in his arms, raising you into the air as he swings you around before lowering you again to the floor, pulling you tight. You cry harder, trying to wipe your nose on the scratchy cuff of your navy jumper, thankful you’d decided to put that wash on a few days ago.

“I promise I’ll be good to you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion, and you squeeze into him tighter. “You won’t regret it,” he swears, managing to pull away long enough to cup your jaw, pressing a kiss to your tear-stained cheek. “I’d never regret it,” you mumble out, still sobbing heavily, trembling with happiness and that rush of joy. Your whole lives together. That feeling of wanting it to be always; forever—requited.

“I’ll be a good husband to you,” he murmurs thickly, gently holding your hand in his larger one, pulling away long enough to slide the thin band around your ring finger.

Fresh tears drip down your cheeks as you raise it up to the watery sunlight, crying at what it symbolises. “I’ll make a good wife, Az,” you manage, turning to look at him with a wide, wobbly smile on your lips. “We’ll make this work. Together.”

Hazel eyes gleam, able to see your reflection in their glassy surface as he nods, still holding you close. “Together.”

—

You’d moved in together after college, happy and engaged, feeling on top of the world. Like nothing could get you down.

You were going to spend your lives together, how could you ever be sad?

It was tricky in places, but you’d found someone renting their garage, a basement attached, fully equipped with a bathroom, working plumbing, and an in-built kitchen. Sure, it was tight, but it was affordable, and most importantly, temporary. It was okay to start small, to build your way up to a family. Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all.

The basement was dingy, one small window in the far wall of the open-plan room, the bed pushed into the corner beneath it. A sink was along the other wall leading to the door, some counter space available along with a washing machine, hob, and oven. The fridge was kept at the far end of the raised surfaces, adjacent to the bed, squeezed in to fit.

The only slight problem was washing. The bathroom was tiny, the only private space in the basement, hidden behind a waterproof curtain in swimming-pool blue, containing a sink and toilet. No shower or bath. You’d have to hand wash.

But it was fine. The two of you couldn’t be happier living together, having your own space and privacy. A place to start building your home.

It took a while to get on your feet after graduation, but Az had managed to get a job in IT, working to keep things functioning at a local law firm, while you managed to snag a spot as a receptionist at a nearby motel. The hours were difficult, with your shifts constantly being moved around, sometimes working double over a day, sometimes called to be in overnight, switching out at two in the morning to make your way back to the cramped basement.

Azriel’s hours were set, but they were long and tiring, often he would get back exhausted, having to explain the same thing over and over to big-wigs who couldn’t care less about how specialised he was in his area of expertise.

A year later, and you’d gathered enough savings to buy a computer, so Az would be able to work from home in the events of…something happening.

That talk had been had late one night, after he’d gotten back from his shift and you were headed out for your own, how it might be a good idea to start thinking about what the future will hold. Who else might be joining your lives. The conversation had ended with a giddy smile on your face, Az’s eyes practically glowing with happiness, the dimple at the edge of his mouth making its rare appearance at the possibility of a future baby.

And now that safety net was in place, the hunky piece of equipment having taken up a valuable spot of counter space, a bar stool bought so he’d be able to work.

You’d become more relaxed after that. A air of electricity between you, charged and excited, yet neither of you dared address that elephant in the room. The shared desire neither of you had the courage to yet voice. Confined to the dark hours where naked bodies would press together, and he’d go slower, rolling his hips deeper, more tenderly that you were accustomed to, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was you were together, together and in love. So intense it was like wildfire.

The first time that subject had been broached was entirely accidental. He’d been kissing down your throat, your nipples sore from the attention of his touch and teeth, hands gripping your hips firmly with your thighs spread apart. You’d both been so near that edge, shared heat passing between you when he’d brushed a spot inside of you, having you squeeze him so deliciously.

“Fuck,” he’d panted, skin flushed with colour, inky hair flopping over his brow, swept across to one side, curling at its ends from sweat. “So fucking good,” he’d praised, bucking his hips, angling so he’d hit that spot again. “Gonna knock you up. Fill you to the brim.” The orgasm had found you right then and there, crying out as you came, fluttering around him, mumbling how badly you wanted him to take the condom off, to finish inside of you.

It had been the morning after the two of you had finally sat down and discussed those secret thoughts, all you’d needed was the others confirmation, and you were ready. It could take a while to conceive, and you wanted to take action before your fertility began decreasing, chances slipping away.

The process had been draining, with you taking a test each month, wondering if that time would be different, if maybe this time he’d taken root inside of you, instead of your cycle being late. But the cramps started again and again, kicking in a mere few days after you having taken the test, as if to spite you. And each time he’d comfort you, wrapping you in his arms when you opened the the small curtain, shaking your head sadly, with him reminding you there’s still time. You’re in no hurry to conceive; this is why it was good you’d started early. You had more leeway.

But then it had been two years since you’d initially gotten engaged, and still no signs of life.

It wasn’t as if he was lacking either. He was thorough in his attention, making sure to keep his hips pressed tight with your own in the minutes after you’d both found completion, keeping release tucked away inside of you.

Slowly, you began worrying—if it wasn’t him, it had to be you.

So you’d made an appointment, searching for any kind of sign to continue trying. There’s be no point if you really were infertile. What could you do then? How could you build a family if your body was wrecked irreparably. But there had been nothing wrong with you that the doctor could find, so you’d gone home, lost and confused. Why wasn’t anything happening?

Azriel had suggested maybe it was hormones—neither of you could deny you were stressing over the lack of development. You weren’t seeing friends as frequently anymore either. In fact, it had been weeks since you’d last hung out with anyone other than your fiancé, so a trip had been arranged. It had been messy, with constantly changing plans, but eventually you settled on a day. Az, Rhys, Cass, and Nesta would be heading to the theatres, while you, Feyre, and Elain spent a girls day together—likely shopping, listening to music, preparing a dinner for when the others returned.

Your own plans aside, most of the confusion had centred on Az’s end, struggling to find a film they’d all be happy to watch. The decisions had been so tiring and seemingly so endless they’d decided to split and see two separate ones instead—much to Cassian’s grumpiness. Az and Rhys would get to see The Dark Knight—a movie you know he’s secretly been desperate to see ever since the villain’s actor’s unfortunate passing earlier that year. Meanwhile Nesta would be dragging her boyfriend to a film adaptation of a book series she’d been subtly obsessed with for years—Twilight.

The day came, and you had kissed your fiancé on the cheek before heading out, making your way to the bus stop to take you to Feyre and Rhys’ place, where the three of you would be spending most of your time. It had been good getting to see the two of them again. It almost felt like you were back in college, chatting away in the cafeteria, slouched on sofas while the radio blasted out whatever was in the charts.

All three of you had gotten into their truck, Elain the only one with a licence so she took the wheel while driving you to the shopping centre. It was all so exciting! It really had been so long since you’d done something like this, having taken out some money beforehand as a precaution, in case you saw something you really liked. Az had insisted, despite the tight budget you managed to make work.

Elain had grabbed a large ceramic mug, small flowers growing up the sides, while you and Feyre had taken an interest in a pretty pair of ruby red heels, the silver buckle contrasting with the popping colour. There was no way you’d be able to afford them, but it didn’t stop you from dreaming, nor did it stop you from encouraging Feyre to buy them, seeing how her eyes twinkled, her mouth pulling up into a wide smile as you spoke about what to wear with them.

Eventually though, the two of you had left the storefront, finished ogling, Feyre having ultimately decided to leave them be. You couldn’t help feel she knew you wanted them, but were unable to buy them, choosing to move on and pick something else—a matching mug with her sister, insisting on grabbing another for you and a forth for their older sister. If it hadn’t been for the black mug with a howling wolf on the side they’d insisted on getting for Nesta, you wouldn’t have accepted their gift. Though that’s likely why they did it in the first place.

The day came and went, cheeks aching from smiling all day, your new mug kept in your bag, precious and exciting, your heart skipping each time you subtly peeked down to catch a gleam of the glazed surface.

Az, Rhys, Cass, and Nesta had gotten back later as you’d anticipated, and while she made no explicit comment about the film, she’d had an excited air about her, Cassian keeping his arm wrapped around her the rest of the night. Az had given you a happy smile, dropping a kiss to your forehead, asking how your day went, and you’d mentioned the heels before you’d proudly shown him the mug in the privacy of the hallway of Rhys and Feyre’s home. Carefully leaving out the gift part. It had been an act of kindness on their end, and you knew Az would insist on paying one of them back if he knew, so you kept it as your secret.

—

Life resumed its normal pace, but you were feeling happier, more uplifted since having gotten out of the cramped and slightly smelly basement, spirits raised from spending a day with your friends.

And then a few months later, you’d missed your cycle.

You’d hardly dared hope, having rushed to a nearby pharmacy to purchase three tests, shakily handing over the money before hurrying home and drawing the swimming-pool shower curtain to a close to give yourself some privacy.

Az had gotten back a while later, calling out for you as soon as he’d stepped foot in the basement, but had been greeted with silence. Then quiet sobs coming from the bathroom.

You remember it so clearly. How he’d hurriedly strode over to the small washroom, calling out for you, making sure you were okay, concern heavy in his voice. It had been then you’d appeared, a positive pregnancy test held preciously between shaky fingers.

“You’re—…” His eyes had started gleaming then, hot and wet, and he’d wrapped you up in his arms, your feet raising off the ground and he lifted you up, your hands locking over his shoulders as you’d managed a tearful nod. “It’s happening, Az,” you’d cried softly, sniffling, wiping your nose on the worn sleeve of your top. “We’re going to have a baby. It’s really happening.”

He’d squeezed you tighter, before setting you down on the floor, hands lightly gripping your upper arms as you pushed wetness from your cheeks. You hadn’t cried like this since your engagement.

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” He’d asked, brows curved as he searched your face. “You’re happy with this?”

A fresh wave of tears had started all over again, a croaky laugh creaking from your throat as you’d nodded. “Over the moon, Az.”

—

The pace had changed all over again, and you’d noticed how he kept the fridge fully stocked, even if it strained on your budget. More expensive foods had made their appearance, no longer cheaping out to scrape by. If you were eating for two, Az had reasoned, he wanted you to be as well-fed as possible. A good diet was important, and you needed more than pasta with the occasional vegetable cooked in.

It wasn’t soon after that you’d noticed the coffee smell fading from his shirts, becoming fainter and fainter after each big clean. When you’d brought it up to him however, he hadn’t minded, reasoning he’d been needing to drink less of it anyway, and now was as good a time as any to start waning off it.

Parenting books had begun cropping up around the place, briefly making an appearance beside his robust computer before being read thoroughly, and returned to the library, moving onto the next one. You couldn’t help how your lips tugged upward at the edges each time a new title appeared, glancing down at your stomach, no noticeable bump yet showing. Though that never stopped either of you from laying hands over your abdomen, pressing close, treasuring the gift.

You’d told your parents, and Az had broken the news to your friends, and you couldn’t have been happier. Finally, three years into your engagement, things were coming together. Hard work paying off.

He’d been trying to get you to rest more often, but you knew you couldn’t afford to take time off before your maternity leave started. Money was still tight, and you savoured every cheque you received, steadily adding to your savings pound by pound. You knew Az had been working overtime more often, taking every chance he could to bring in some extra cash—every little counted now, and you both knew it.

The evenings you had alone together grew further and further apart though, and while you tried not to fret, you missed spending time with him. Eating together, lounging atop a lumpy mattress before sleep, one of you washing the dishes while the other dried and put away.

But routine had shifted: more frequently you would cook, eat supper, and leave his in the oven to keep it warm for when he eventually made it back. It wasn’t everything, but physical intimacies were rarer too, having a few minutes of conversation and hugging, before he was passed out. In those moments guilt weighted in your gut—he was working himself to the bone, the slight darkness he’d always had beneath his eyes becoming more pronounced as the weeks had worn on.

At one point you’d begun timing your schedule with Feyre’s, catching the bus over to her place whenever she had a gap in her shifts—usually a Wednesday, sometimes a Thursday. Weekends had still been precious though, when Az would be back by five instead of ten or eleven, and Sundays when he wouldn’t be working at all.

Between chatting about your lives, future plans, where you’d like to go on holiday to, the topic pf your baby had come up. It had been a surreal experience, but you’d crumbled a little, admitting how much you were missing him. Feyre had sat quietly and listened to every confession, nursing her tea, contained in one of the matching mugs.

“He isn’t around as much, Fey,” you manage, peering into your tea, tucked up on one of her sofas. “He’s running himself ragged, and I don’t know what to do. It’s dark when he leaves and it’s dark when he returns. He leaves early and comes home late, and I know we…it’s difficult…but I need him,” you admit softly. “I need him to be around, so we can do this together.”

Tears had splashed into your tea then, and you’d both discarded your mugs as she’d shuffled closer, arms wrapping around you as you’d cried into the soft cashmere of her jumper. “Am I being selfish?” You’d mumbled out, throat aching from how you were trying to be quiet. “I know he’s doing it for us, but, I just…”

“You aren’t selfish,” she’d whispered, hand stroking up and down over your back. “It’s difficult, like you said. But it will pass, remember? It’s a difficult patch in your life, but you have to trust it will pass. Things will get better.”

You’d sniffled, nodding into her shoulder, pulling back to dry your teary eyes. Guilt tightening around your throat, constricting across your chest as you felt your heart throb with strain.

“You can always come round here, too,” she’d reminded gently. “If you need to get out, I can move some things around, okay? You’re not alone. I know you’re head over heels for one another, but you’ve got us, too. Whenever you need us.”

The sobs had started afresh, but you managed a wobbly smile, playing with the golden band on your finger—an anxious habit you’d fallen into.

“Thanks, Fey.”

—

Christmas had rolled around, and it was the first time in months—years—you’d all been in the same place at once.

Mor had made it back from the states, Amren joining her on the trip back to meet up with everyone and celebrate.

Rhys and Feyre had hosted, and you couldn’t help but hope this would become a tradition of sorts. You’d missed them all acutely, easy days of college long in the past.

You’d all chipped in one way or another, and an agreement had been made to not do presents all around this year. Just spending time with another, with gifts permitted to be exchanged between couples.

The night had started, and straight off the bat you’d noticed the absence of any sort of alcohol, the sharp scent surprisingly noticeable in its absence, and your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness. You kept tight to Az most of the night, treasuring the minutes you spent together with him, and from the way his arm remained around you in some way, you got an inkling the distance might have been waring on him, too. More than you had thought.

Food was put together, and you’d taken the time to appreciate the scents, how much there was to consume—there’d definitely be leftovers. Pudding was brought out, non-alcoholic fruit cake, as well as some biscuits and other little treats.

Then the small gifts made their appearance, and you’d handed Az the small parcel you’d snuck into your bag earlier that night. He’d given an inquisitive look, a suspicious smile curving his mouth, but you’d grinned, nodding your head for him to hurry up and open it. His brows had risen in surprise when he saw the small guitar picks inside, coloured black, blue, and grey, then one with a flaming skull on.

Hazel had practically glowed as he’d smiled, pulling you tight, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. There hadn’t been much time for him to play in recent years, but you’d noticed how his eyes would sometimes flick to the discarded instrument, kept sealed away, leaned against the grey walls of the basement.

“Thank you,” he’d murmured, pulling away to look at you, before pressing another kiss to your forehead. “I hope you get more time to play this year,” you’d whispered back, hands greedily taking in his heat, memorising his feel while you had the chance.

His throat had rolled, then he’d stepped away, pulling something out from his pocket. “It’s not as good as yours,” he’d admitted thickly, almost nervously, “but I thought you might like it.”

You’d cocked your head, holding your palm out when he’d extended his closed fist, dropping something into your hand. It had been a small bracelet, and a smile had curved your lips when you’d noticed the slightly shoddy clasps, stray thread hanging out on one side. Along the string were some small square beads, the type with letters on you could purchase at a craft store, and you held the bracelet up to read the tiny name he’d spelled out.

“Mama bear?” You read aloud, eyes gleaming with heat as your mouth had stretched wide, a grin broadening your lips as you had beamed up at your fiancé with unabashed adoration. A relieved smile had played on his mouth then, nodding his head, affection clear on his features. “For the strongest person I know,” he’d whispered, hazel eyes soft at the edges.

You’d laughed then, shaking your head, but he’d kept that smile on his mouth, like he could see something you couldn’t, until you’d lightly patted him on his arm, telling him to stop spewing nonsense.

A gasp had drawn your attention away from him, turning to see Feyre opening what looked like a neatly wrapped shoe box, and you could make out the shock on her face. Your smile had broadened, happy she’s happy—Rhys was usually good when getting her presents, a twinge of joy that she’s also found someone who cared so deeply for her.

“What d’you get?” You’d asked, keeping tucked into Az’s side.

Panicked eyes had flitted to you before she covered it up, smiling as she shook her head, as if to say ‘oh, Rhysand’. But then you’d moved forward to see what he’d found for her, and you spotted those ruby heels in the box. Silver buckle gleaming beneath the kitchen lights.

Feyre had stiffened, but a smile had broken across your features, hugging her excitedly. “I’m so happy for you!” You’d whispered as you’d embraced, squeezing her tight and you felt as she began relaxing. Her arms had tentatively squeezed you back, leaning into you. “Thank you,” she’d murmured, before you’d both pulled away, Feyre glancing at your smiling face before reflecting the expression.

She’d pulled back after that, and you’d returned to Az’s side as you watched Feyre hug and kiss Rhys, how he’d smiled like he was the luckiest man in the world, and you couldn’t help the warmth that had spread across your face. You’d glanced up at Az, but his expression was unreadable, hazel eyes watching them intently. The open box on the table.

You’d nudged his side, linking your hand with his, guiding his attention back to you. “Want to get out of here?” You’d whispered, grinning, free palm over your abdomen. He’d swallowed thickly, but pulled together a faint smile, nodding.

The ride home had been quiet. Unusually so.

But sometimes he liked his peace, so you’d been happy to play with the bracelet around your wrist, smiling as you‘d looked out of the window into the dark streets outside.

“Those were the shoes you’d mentioned, weren’t they?” He’d asked into the silence.

You’d stiffened, fingers stuttering over the beads, turning to look at him, but he’d been staring ahead. “They wouldn’t have suited me anyway,” you’d said quietly, trying to push some humour into your voice to comfort him. “When would I have even worn them?”

In the low light you could make out how his jaw had worked. “They were.”

You’d lowered your head, peering down at the bracelet he’d given you. “Yeah.”

There’d been a tense silence, then he’d sighed, running a hand through his hair. “One day,” he’d murmured heavily, nodding to himself. “One day.”

You’d looked at hime again after that, wanting to squeeze his hand. “Together,” you’d added, quietly.

—

Winter had been harsh, and the heating had shut off throughout the basement, though it had been fixed within the week.

You’d kept closer those seven nights, and you’d secretly enjoyed the apparent misfortune. He’d been more attentive during that week, making sure you were kept warm, covering you in various jackets, though neither of you could really afford something tough enough to keep the chill out. But it hadn’t mattered when you were lying together, your back pressed to his front, his arm around your waist, hand settled over the noticeable bump in your stomach.

To this day, you can still remember the first time you’d felt her kick.

How you’d been together in bed, on a cold Sunday morning, and you’d felt something. A few moments later you’d felt it again, and had nearly started crying, gripping for Az’s hand to guide it over your abdomen, excitement glowing in your eyes as your baby had kicked again.

Azriel had smiled wide then, a look of awe on his face, gazing at you before returning his attention to your stomach. You’d watched him then, how his face had lit up each time he’d felt a kick, and that giddiness had warmed you up.

Proud of the father he’d already begun to change into.

—

Eight months in, and morning sickness had been running you thin.

It hadn’t been every morning, but more often than not you’d wake, been allowed a few minutes of peace to enjoy with him, then nausea would be creeping up your throat. You’d give a resigned groan, before rolling (actually rolling) out of bed and wobbling to the toilet to throw up.

Azriel had been there for you at first, holding your hair out of your face, soothing your back, reminding how well you were handling the pregnancy, but as you began staying up later waiting for him to come home, with nothing to do throughout the day, you’d begun sleeping in too. He’d never wanted to wake you—wanting you to have as much rest as possible—so had quietly gotten up and headed off to work before the sun was up, letting you sleep in.

Consequently, you’d be alone through the morning sickness, heaving into the toilet bowl, legs trembling. Sometimes having to spend the first hour of your day changing the sheets after having vomited all over them.

It had been getting harder to cope, without him around. But you knew he was working hard—and you needed the money.

The strain hadn’t been helped when one evening he’d brought the bracelet up. You’d never taken it off, since without a shower or bath, there was no reason to, as a flannel could move around it.

“Did you wear that to work?” He’d asked, when you’d been laying on the bed while he washed and dried the dishes. You were too large to reach at this point, so it made more sense for him to do them. Sound reasoning you had detested as it was just more work for him to do while you lazed around, unable to help or contribute.

“Yup,” you’d replied, smiling again as you’d glanced down at the handmade gift. Your heart had always warmed whenever you read his little message, gradually allowing that possibility to take root. Maybe he really did think you were strong. Maybe you actually were. “Never take it off.”

He hadn’t looked at you as you had anticipated, no smile thrown over his shoulder as he’d continued washing the dishes.

Your brows had narrowed then, worry tightening your throat. “Why?”

Azriel had been silent for a bit, putting the plates away on the drying board. “And your work didn’t mind?” He’d asked. “They didn’t think it was unprofessional? Or distracting?”

“No,” you’d laughed quietly, “they thought it was a wonderful gift, and thoughtful. Nancy complimented it endlessly.” His posture had gone a little rigid, spine stiffening when he moved onto drying. “You showed it to everyone?” He’d asked quietly, and worry had hollowed out your ears. “It’s precious, Az,” you’d replied, “of course I did.”

He’d gone silent then, choosing to focus on rubbing off the water with the dish towel.

“Az?” You’d shifted on the bed, heaving yourself into a more upright position. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he’d replied lightly, carefully putting your special mug aside.

Your chest had tightened, and you’d swallowed thickly before setting your slightly swollen feet on the floor, walking to be beside him. “Az…” you’d murmured, hands wrapping over his forearm, pulling him to a halt as hazel eyes had at last swept over you, dark and exhausted. “Please talk to me,” you’d requested quietly, fingers linking with his damp ones. “What’s bothering you?”

Moments had ticked by, then his eyes had grown hot and wet, brows pulling together as tears had escaped down his cheek. “I’m sorry it was such a shit present,” he’d whispered, hands moving to grip yours when he’d turned to face you fully, crying. “I’m sorry I can’t do more for you. I should’ve gotten you something better, something you deserved.”

Your heart had ached painfully, struggling to keep your own tears at bay, as his head had lowered with shame, hands shaking lightly as he held onto you. He hadn’t needed to bring the shoes up for you to know that’s what it was about. His perceived insufficiency, and inability to care for you.

“Az, I…” You had cut yourself off, trying to choke down tears to comfort and reassure him. He was perfect, how could he ever feel like he wasn’t enough, when he was almost singlehandedly keeping all three of you together and looked after. “Az, I don’t care about presents,” you’d managed, “this?” —you’d nodded to the bracelet— “This I love, because you made it for me. Between all your work, and cooking, and caring, you found the time to make me something I could have on me at all times,” you’d said, tears dripping down your cheeks as you’d stared at one another.

“It’s so important to me, because of you,” you’d cried. “You do so much to look after us, working yourself to the bone… I love you, Az. You’re everything to me. The whole world and more.”

“You don’t—… You don’t regret it?” He’d managed thickly, keeping his hold on your hands. “Being with me?”

You’d shaken your head, trying to get the words out as your throat constricted. “No…no I don’t,” you’d cried, peering up at him. “A thousand times yes, remember?”

His brows had pulled together then, pain gleaming in that swirling cosmos of hazel as he nodded, breathing heavily, leaning over you as his arms had wrapped over your shoulders. You could feel his shudders, your hands gripping the back of his shirt—one of his favourites, a comfort item of sorts, with one of the bands he likes printed on the front.

“I love you, Az,” you’d whispered, shaking together. “I love you for you.”

—

Looking back, things had improved for a bit. Until he’d tried to give more of himself.

That had been when you’d begun crumbling.

He’d pushed himself harder, and had managed to get a part-time job in a car-repair shop, having already been familiar with the maths of engineering and having had a fascination with mechanics when he had been younger.

Just like that, the weekends had been taken too.

He’d leave for work before you woke, stop at six, then help out for a couple of hours after dark, returning when you were asleep. Saturdays and Sundays were no longer spent with him—he’d sold them off. Bargaining his time for your future.

He’d work all day, weekends the busiest as it was when folk with regular nine-to-five jobs would have the time to take their cars round for a checkup, or to be evaluated and told where to go if they were unable to fix the problem. You’d hardly seen him in that final, tiring month of pregnancy.

Would he stop once you gave birth? Somehow you’d begun to doubt it.

You’d admired his conviction, his drive and determination to see something through to the end, until it had ultimately taken him away from you. All when you’d most needed him. No amount of talking had been able to convince him otherwise, so set on being useful. On proving to himself he wasn’t insufficient—that he could look after you.

It had been then that you’d left him. Leaving a sticky note on the oven handle telling him you’d gone to Feyre’s, and that you’d needed space.

And he’d given it.

It hadn’t been unusual to chat through notes, but with his long working hours, you’d treasured the new form of communication. Reading and rereading each one he’d left, memorising his handwriting, the tiny hearts he’d added, or the lopsided smileys he’d doodled before heading out. But that hadn’t been enough for you, so you’d reached for help elsewhere.

A few days had gone by before the landline had rung, your fiancé having become too worried to leave silence for any longer, even if you had requested space. He couldn’t leave you like that.

Not soon after, you’d moved back in with your parents, and the guilt you’d felt when Rhys had offered to be the one to tell Az had nearly had your legs giving out. Shame so crushing you’d felt faint. Especially upon accepting.

God knew you wouldn’t have been able to handle that pressure of explaining it to him. Not when you had been on the verge of giving birth. It would have been any day then, and you’d been under enough stress you’d been worried for the health of the baby.

It had worked out in the end though.

—

The knocker thuds thrice against the hardwood door of your parents house, and you instinctively glance over to little Valerie, but she remains soundly asleep.

Your mother smiles as she passes by, heading for the door since you’re still struggling to walk after being discharged from the hospital on the condition that you rest.

You pull Val closer, wanting to keep her as nearby as possible, the pressure in your chest easing as you look over her, quiet and peaceful—for the moment, at least.

Minutes later your mother returns, a gentle look on her face. “It’s Azriel,” she says hesitantly. “Are you feeling up to speaking with him?” At his name alone you feel your eyes grow hot, but you push the feeling away, glancing down at Val. It’s been five days since you gave birth, and he’s yet to see his daughter in person. He deserves to meet her. So you nod.

Your mother watches silently for a little, before reciprocating the gesture. “Do you want to be alone?”

Your throat rolls, but you manage to answer, “yes…we’ll be okay.” She nods again, before turning to leave, “your father and I needed to get some more shopping in anyway—good a time as any, right?” You smile, before she disappears out of sight, and you breathe deeply, holding Val slightly closer, groaning as you straighten on the sofa.

Footsteps scuff in the hallway, and you brace yourself.

He’s messy tidy. Clearly having made an effort, but unable to conceal the circles beneath his eyes, the exhaustion on his features. Hair a little disheveled, likely from playing with it out of stress as you sometimes used to catch him doing.

“Hey,” you manage, pushing a faint smile to your lips.

Hazel eyes scan you carefully before settling on the bundle in your arms, unable to conceal the emotion that flashes through his face. His throat rolls, raising his gaze to yours. Licking his dry lips. “How are you?” He asks thickly, entering the living room, boots having been discarded at the door.

“Good,” you reply, hoarsely. “Still aching in places, but, you know…”

“Staying strong,” he finishes, voice slightly raw. He nods to himself, “you’ve always been good at that.”

There’s a pause in the conversation, and you look at one another.

Then tears are spilling out from both of you, and you’re trying to hold your sobs in to not disturb Val, while Azriel rubs at his face, trying to get himself under control.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes raggedly, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I just—… I wanted to look after you. I want you to be secure—for us to be secure, but in doing so I left you all alone, and I’m so fucking sorry. I was so stupid.” You sniffle, wiping your nose while trying to dry your cheeks. “Az, it’s fine. I, I get it. You were just trying to—”

“It’s not fine,” he breathes rawly, hand over his face as he rubs his eyes. “You needed me, and I wan’t there. And I can’t make up for that time. Fuck, I shouldn’t have left you like that. I’m so sorry.”

“Az…” you cry softly, trying to cover Val’s ears so she doesn’t wake.

He looks at you, hazel eyes glassy and red rimmed as he tries to pull himself together, to recompose himself for you. “Can you…do you think you can forgive me? I swear I won’t— I’ll never make such a stupid mistake again.”

“Az,” you sob, “I get it. Fuck, it hurt that you left like that, but how can I be mad when you were doing it to look after us?” The tears drip down your face, breathing in wet gasps as you try to pull it back in, wiping away the tears. “Of course I…of course it was difficult, but it came from a good place, Az. I won’t fault you for trying to look after us. I just— I just wish this hadn’t happened now. During the pregnancy, I mean.”

Azriel swallows thickly, grief clear on his face, looking more wrecked than when he’d first entered. “I’ll be better,” he manages quietly, still stood near the doorway, not wanting to impose if you don’t want him there in that moment. His heart simultaneously fractures and heals when he spots that stupid bracelet still kept around your wrist. He wonders if you’ve taken it off since he gave it to you.

“Az…” you sigh, tears still hot on your cheeks, not wanting to say what you have to. He stiffens at the tone, and it feels like you’ve already told him, hazel eyes devastated.

“Az, I think…I need some time.”

He holds completely still, but you’re practically able to see the world falling apart around him.

“It’s not…I don’t think it’s forever, but…for now. I can’t go back there. Into the basement,” you manage, lower lip wobbling, tugging down at the corners. “I’m sorry.”

“What does that mean?” He asks quietly, hardly a whisper. “Are we…do you not want the ring anymore?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know Az,” you cry, “I need time to think about it all. To figure how to go forward.”

He manages a slight nod of his head, breathing shallowly, then his eyes dip to the baby in your arms. “Can I…can I hold her?” He asks, brows curved desperately.

You nod, sniffling again, managing a small smile. “Yes. Yes, you can,” you breathe, trying to shift to make room for him as he walks over, and you turn Val over to face him.

Azriel settles on the sofa beside you, and you revel in that familiar dip of cushion, deprived of his familiarity for so long. It’s a subconscious shift for both of you, how he’s turned slightly toward you on the sofa, with you leaning into him as he holds your baby with reverent care, wincing at how his hands confront her youth.

“You can’t see them at the moment, but she’s got your eyes,” you murmur, moving closer to him still, taking in his familiar scent, nestling into his body, aching to feel him at your side again.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, eyes growing glassy, and your smile becomes real and alive again. “She’s in good health too. The doctor’s said she was born at the expected weight, and they had nothing to be concerned over so long as she’s taken care of,” you add, head leaning against his shoulder.

Azriel glances over to you, and your breath catches. The proximity at last returned, alone and together in peace. “You did so well,” he whispers, hazel eyes swirling with emotion. “I’m glad you think so,” you whisper back, fighting off tears.

You settle back into quiet, both of you watching as Val continues sleeping, her little face calm and void of disturbance.

Neither of you really know how you end up holding your baby again, tucked into Azriel’s lap with his arms wrapped around both of you. Your head rests on his shoulder, fast asleep with Val comfortably held between you, both her parents at her swaddled fingertips.

Azriel holds both of you close long after his legs go numb, relieved he hasn’t entirely messed things up. He can’t have, if you’re allowing this. Allowing him to see the baby you made together, even after you had to make her practically on your own.

His arm shifts, thumb swiping over the beads of your bracelet, doubting it knows a surface other than your skin. You held onto it through the uncertainty, through the turbulence he unknowingly subjected you to. Never again.

He’ll never leave you on your own again. Especially not now you share a child.

Azriel’s lips brush against your temple, dropping a long, soft kiss to your skin.

He’ll be better this time. For both of you.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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Which meant that you had to find alternative transportation to make it to Chicago before the gala, which meant that Azriel had to arrange safe travel for you to get there on time, his job already on the line from his mistake only days ago.

Not the kiss. Not the weak fucking moment he had in the bathroom of your suite after a passerby tossed an unknown object at you that split the skin above your brow.

Your parents don’t know about the kiss. You tried to convince Azriel that it wasn’t worth telling them, and he tried to convince you that it couldn’t happen again.

His eyes had been hard. He’d been wearing that same stoic mask he showed up on his first day with. “We can’t do that again,” he’d said, like the kiss was transactional. Like he didn’t feel the passion that lit your entire body up, the wanting in your bones.

No kisses have happened in the days since.

Your eyes connect with Azriel’s through the rear-view mirror and the sight of your infallible bodyguard has you relaxing against the warm leather seat, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Azriel says softly. His rough, gravelly tone sharpens his apology.

“It’s fine,” you brush off, but it’s not fine. Nothing that has anything to do with you is ever fine.

Silence takes over the car. He hasn’t even turned on the radio to keep him company while you slept. You frown at the thought, then realize that silence is probably what Azriel is used to, what he prefers.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you admit.

Azriel’s gaze stays focused on the road, not another vehicle in sight. “You needed it,” he defends, and you shrug.

“Where are we?”

“A few hours away from the Ohio border,” Azriel answers. You glance at the neon glow of the clock. It reads just past one in the morning, which means that you still have seven or so hours of driving to go, depending on how bad the road conditions are.

You’re supposed to be in Chicago by ten a.m. for brunch with your parents and the charity director for the gala, but with all of the delays that have happened since New York, you’d much rather spend as much time as you can away from the crazy normal that is your life. This unexpected road trip feels like a breath of fresh air that you didn’t know you needed.

You squint, peering around the passenger seat. The roads are clear from snow, piled high on the sides of the highway, but that doesn’t mean that there can’t be patches of black ice to look out for.

You decide to keep Azriel company. You don’t want to be sleeping the night away peacefully while he navigates through four states to get you back to your parents. You know for a fact that he’s gone days without speaking a single word nor getting an ounce of sleep, but right now, with the dark of night blanketing the car, it feels cruel.

Azriel protests when you unbuckle and climb over the console, claiming the front passenger seat. His hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel and he tries to keep his focus on the road, though you do catch him sneaking a protective peek over at you more than once. It makes you want to snort with amusement, there’s no threat here, unless he hits a patch of aforementioned black ice, but you trust Azriel with your life, so you should be fine.

And you are. Azriel’s shoulders don’t lose a strand of tension until your buckle slides locked with a click. Even then, he can hardly relax. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“And you shouldn’t be driving this late at night,” you retort easily, kicking your feet up on the dash. Azriel’s hand comes down over your knee before you can fully prop up your legs, guiding you in a gentle yet stern matter to keep your feet on the floor. You follow his command so that he doesn’t banish you back to the back seat.

He hardly acknowledges you, focusing on the task at hand. Delivering you in one piece to Chicago in time to arrive at all of your scheduled meetings. He will not fail your family a second time.

With his focus pinned on the road, you drink your bodyguard in. His eyes flicker from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the windshield in meticulous rotation. You trail your gaze down the straight slope of his nose to his pink, plush lips. You haven’t stopped thinking about his mouth on yours since the desperate kiss you shared in your hotel room two nights ago, and a warm heat coils low in your stomach at the memory, waking you up.

“You look tired,” you murmur, distractedly. He does. The gray circles under his eyes aren’t the only thing giving Azriel’s exhaustion away. It’s in the way he blinks slowly, but forces his eyes wide. It’s in the way he drums his fingers against the steering wheel for something to focus on other than the road. It’s in the empty cup of coffee stacked on his old ones. He’s stopped thrice tonight for a caffeine boost and you slept though them all. He’d be jonesing for another if you hadn’t climbed up into the seat beside him. His entire body is tightened with alert now that you’re here.

He isn’t tired, he’s wired. Three large black coffees might have been too much, but it’s your presence that has Azriel more alert than anything. His skin heats at the feeling of your eyes on him, can feel every movement you’re making from across the console.

He taps his fingers against the wheel to expel the nervous energy. You wonder what’s going on because Azriel’s resolve never cracks like this. Everything was fine when you were in the backseat, asleep. He didn’t have to interact, possibly mislead you. He was free to dig into his mind, overthink every little thing that’s happened between the both of you since this little journey began.

He knows you too well. He has to. He’s read your file, like he does with all of his clients. Somehow, you’ve managed to worm your way into his mind, deeper than a flesh wound.

“I’m fine,” he assures. He rubs a hand down his jaw, the short stubble tickling his skin. He needs to shave.

“We should stop for the night,” you protest, catching glimpse of a sign on the side of the highway that shows that you’re only a few miles away from a town to get gas and sleep.

“We need to be in the city early,” Azriel refutes. He chances a glance over at you. Your arms are crossed over your chest and you’re wearing that stern, determined look on your face that makes his cock twitch in his pants. He keeps himself carefully still. “We don’t have time to stop.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that we stop for the night, Azriel,” you reply. “I was telling you that we are going to stop for the night.”

He should protest, he knows that he should. He doesn’t know anything about this town, if it’s filled with lunatics or people who’d try and harm either one of you for your expenses. The decked-out, expensive SUV is a sign screaming rich.

You don’t remove your glare from him until he veers the vehicle onto the exit ramp.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I’ll take the chair,” Azriel says, eyeing the single bed in the room. “I won’t be sleeping anyway.”

Your nose scrunches. You stare at the chair for a long second and return your gaze to Azriel’s. The entire point of stopping for the night was to rest, to let the storm that caught up to you play out and hopefully finish the drive with clearer conditions.

Something clenches in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s your heart or your stomach or both.

He won’t sleep because there is only one bed.

“So, you’re going to sit in that chair,” you repeat like you don’t understand. You don’t, and you point to the faded green armchair. The rests are made of a blonde wood and the back of the chair sits so straight that there’s no chance anyone could actually fall asleep in it. “And do what? Watch me sleep?”

His jaw sharpens, the muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth. His hazel eyes follow the point of your finger for a fleeting second before returning to yours.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s watched you sleep.

“I’ll turn the chair toward the window,” Azriel answers like this is a solution. If it makes you uncomfortable, he will even wait in the car.

The real solution would be for him to get in the fucking bed with you and sleep for a few hours. You saw the stack of empty coffee cups in the car. You saw the strain in his posture, the way he was forcing himself from giving into his exhaustion.

A disbelieving noise crawls up your throat. He’s so fucking stubborn. It’s not like you’re both eighteen and the prospect of touching looms over you. No, you’re both adults. You’ve seen him sans clothes, even if it was an accident, and Azriel has been in the room with you during fittings with designers your father fully didn’t trust. He may have been turned toward the window, you toward the mirror, but there was always the thrill that maybe he’d peek over his shoulder, give you a long once-over, that maybe some sort of want would infiltrate his hard, hazel eyes.

You’ve imagined it more than once.

“Azriel,” you scold. You busy yourself with moving your luggage to the empty desk in the corner. The table wobbles as you set your things on it, but it stays upright. You quickly move back toward the bed and tug the blankets back, doing your best to reign in your cringe as you think about the possibilities of what could have gone on in this dingy motel room on the side of the interstate. You’re used to luxurious, five-star hotels catering to your every need, not rundown motels that reek of mothballs and crime.

Ghosts. Are there ghosts?

“We stopped here specifically so you could sleep,” you try to argue, but you sound distracted, and Azriel’s gaze snaps to yours, his shoulders straightening like he’s going into protective mode.

He catches you staring dazedly at the bed. Your fingers are curled tightly into the blankets, lips pressed together tightly. Your chest is rising and falling more quickly, and he rounds the bed, coming to your aid.

Azriel knows the life you’re used to living. What you must be thinking about a place like this. He could say something mean, mention how spoiled you are, how it’s just like the hotels you usually stay in, minus the amenities. He wants to tell you that people have done worse things in nicer rooms, especially the ones you tend to stay in, but he knows that your frozen features are due to something else, a dark memory that edges up every once in a while.

“Let me get you some fresh blankets,” he murmurs. His hand comes down around your wrist gently, drawing you slowly from your daze. The heat of his body sears through the thin fabric of your pajamas, and you latch onto that as you squeeze your eyes shut and force the memories away.

“No,” you choke, sounding much more put-off than you’d like. Azriel knows your past, you remind yourself, he knows everything about you, this isn’t you looking weak. You’re only human. “It’s fine, I—” you swallow roughly as a smatter of red conjures behind your eyelids. You try hard not to flinch, but it’s there, the blood on the walls like some fucking mural.

You look down at your hands, painted with the same crimson. Your clothes, and as you drag your eyes up to the bed—

“Hey,” Azriel snaps, hand planted firmly on your cheek, tearing you from the awful memory. You blink and your eyes latch onto his worried hazel ones. You didn’t even notice Azriel turning you around, how your hand went from clutching the sheets to fisting in his black button down. “You’re not there, you hear me?”

You nod because your throat is too tight to do anything else. Tears brim your eyes and Azriel wipes an escaped drop that drags down the apple of your cheek. His touch is too soft, too tender.

You pull away, ripping yourself from his hands. You turn toward the bed and don’t allow the dreadful recollection another thought. You slip between the sheets and try to hide your trembling movements by tugging the blankets all the way up to your chin.

You can feel Azriel’s presence behind you. You always can, whenever he’s in the room. It’s like the two of you are magnets. There is an attraction to him that you can’t place.

He knows that you won’t be sleeping now. That the harrowing memory of what you’ve been through lingers in the surface of your mind and if you should fall asleep, it will only haunt you worse.

Azriel’s known about your past, the terror that you’re trying so desperately to run from, to forget. It chases you like death is on your heels, ready to grip you with its bony fingers and drag you into the dark. He’s been briefed on how you might respond when the trauma inevitably claws its way back, but this is his first time experiencing it happening to you. How it grips you around the throat and threatens to consume you.

His jaw aches from grinding it so tight. The one thing that he can’t protect you from is the one thing he wants to protect you from the most.

He has a job, and this is part of it, he tells himself as he kicks his shoes off.  

“Shove over.”

“What?” You ask, confused. You peer over your shoulder to see Azriel shrugging off his jacket. It leaves him in a black t-shirt that clings to his body exactly the way you want to. You never thought you’d be jealous of a piece of clothing, yet here you are. You carefully tear your gaze away.

“You need to sleep and I know your stubborn, spoiled ass isn’t going to do it if I’m not doing it with you” he pauses. That sounded so fucking wrong, but Azriel trudges on. “So, shove over.”

You fight the smile that threatens to curve your lips at his comment. If it was coming from anyone else, you’d be offended, but you know that Azriel doesn’t mean it as anything other than a joke. You scoot further toward the edge of the bed, shivering at the cool sheets. Your goosebumps only prickle further when Azriel’s weight hits the mattress, and the warmth of his body washes over you.

You try not to let your breathing shallow as he settles himself in. He’s not even touching you, for Mother’s sake, and yet you’re responding as if you’re a teenager lying beside her childhood crush.

“Don’t think about it,” Azriel’s voice startles you.

You might smile at the rough demand in Azriel’s tone if you weren’t feeling like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to come up behind you and shove you off.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter. When the light flickers out, your body locks, and the memory explodes in your mind like a fucking gunshot wound.

“I said, don’t think about it.” Azriel’s voice is a gruff command in your ear, snapping you back into reality. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, and you can hear the struggle in your lungs as you try to gulp down what little air makes it through your constricting esophagus.

Hands wind their way around your waist and you don’t have a second to struggle before Azriel tugs you back into his chest, molding his body against your back. A warm, heavy arm is draped across your side, and his hand finds your shaking ones beneath the blankets, offering you a lifeline.

You clutch onto him. Azriel murmurs softly in your ear but you can’t make out the words. They’re in a different language. French or Italian or Spanish, you think. You sure that if he was speaking English, you still wouldn’t understand with the way that you’re focusing on fighting past the demons in your head.

The room is pitch black. You always sleep with a light on, even if it’s just the screen of your phone lighting up the darkness. You haven’t been in a blackened room like this since that night, and Azriel knows it, which is why, with some maneuvering, he turns on the flashlight on his phone and sets it on the bedside table, illuminating the room in an awful white light that has you all but melting into his body.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It sounds much too loud in the quiet of your motel room.

“Go to sleep,” he answers plainly. His bluntness almost makes you smile.

But you can’t go to sleep, and not just because of the lingering aftershocks of your memory. As those slowly eke away, you focus on the feeling of Azriel’s body pasted tightly against yours.

You swear you can feel every muscle that is packed onto his hard body through your clothes. Your ass is nestled against his front, and you want to wiggle oh-so badly, to writhe against him in the hopes of feeling what he’s working with down there.

He’s still fully clothed, you notice. Didn’t think twice about climbing into the bed behind you to console you. You wonder if he’s uncomfortable before realizing that with his military trained past, he must have slept in worse conditions than this before.

Which makes you cringe. Here you were, freaking out about a fucking motel when there are people who are going through much worse. Embarrassment flares your body and you squirm uncomfortably.

Azriel’s arms lock tighter around you, and he tugs you closer. You didn’t think there was a closer, but there is. His breath fans across your ear when he speaks. “If you keep moving like that, we’re going to have a lot more than a blizzard and stiff fucking sheets to worry about.” He sounds callous, but there’s a strain to his tone, one that has all of the fiery feelings in your veins converging between your thighs.

Your movements halt immediately. “Sorry,” you say, but there’s no sleeping now. Not when his words are out there, hanging in the air. That if you kept moving, you’d have a different kind of stiffness to think about. One that you’re much more interested in than the starchy sheets.

You close your eyes anyway, trying to fight off the interest stirring low in your gut. The image of Azriel naked, rolling on top of you drifts into your mind. Your pussy clenches when he slowly parts your legs and flashes you a devious smile before lowering himself between your legs.

Movement has your eyes jolting open. You’re holding your body so tightly that Azriel would be terrible at his job if he didn’t know that you weren’t asleep like you should be.

“Sleep,” Azriel reminds you brusquely. His hand splays across your stomach, his thumb stroking across the soft fabric of your shirt in a soothing motion, or what would be a soothing motion if you weren’t three seconds from creating the foulest dirty thoughts about him or two seconds away from actually doing something about it.

“Okay,” you breathe, trying to force annoyance into your words instead of the arousal that slips out anyway. Azriel’s thumb falters and you swear you feel something against the curve of your ass twitch. Your breath catches in your throat and now you know that the movement against your hind wasn’t a part of your imagination.

The noise you let slip has blood pooling into Azriel’s cock. He refuses to move, refuses to do anything except squeeze his eyes shut and practice the techniques he learned in the Royal Marines to keep himself in fucking check. He promised that after the kiss in the bathroom that he would keep away from you, that this relationship would stay professional only.

Professional feels so fucking far away from this.

You find the courage to whisper. “Azriel?”

He grunts in response, to let you know he’s awake and listening, and you like the sound all too much. “That doesn’t sound like sleeping.”

“I’m not sure that I can,” you admit.

Azriel sighs softly, his breath tickling your neck. “You didn’t even try,” he answers simply, but his fingers begin tracing a soft, soothing pattern across your forearm. You latch onto his hypnotic touch, wishing it would move further south. “Just think of better things. I’m here, and you’ll be alright.”

I’m here, and you’ll be alright. Because he’s your bodyguard, your protector, and he won’t ever let anything happen to you, mentally or physically.

“Come on, Azriel,” you mutter, wringing your fingers together. It’s said a little in disappointment and a lot in encouragement. It’s tough to watch; a player on the Springview Wolves had checked him into the glass. It hadn’t been a nice check either, all but shoving Azriel’s face into the boards. His eyes had gone dark in a millisecond, spinning on his skate and chucking his stick to the ground, his gloves following.

The player had already turned away—Warrick, number 22, the back of his jersey reads—when Az had spun around to give him a taste of his own medicine, and the hit looked dirty on your boyfriend's side because of it, hitting a player who seemed unassuming. Tamlin, number 22’s name is, you know this because Azriel and a few of his teammates had been complaining about the blond haired player all week, saying how the coach only puts him in to start fights, the rest of the time he’s usually a duster, collecting cobwebs on the bench.

Gods, you hope Azriel doesn’t lose any teeth this time.

The pair seem to mostly be wrestling right now, trying to keep their balance as their skates slide against the slick ice and the referees try to tear them apart. But once players start tussling, there’s no breaking them up until one of them hits the ice.

The benches of both teams are going crazy, shouting and hitting their sticks against the partitions. You think you saw the team captain of the Velaris Bats, Rhysand, trying to jump onto the ice to join, but the coach had held him back by the scruff of his uniform.

Cassian had already been on the ice, a winger like Azriel. The pair were nearly untouchable on the ice. It’s as if they had twin telepathy, always scoring points off of one another. He shucked his own gloves off and started a fight with another player for the hell of it, living up to his nickname ‘bloodshed.’ It looks like he’s taking on one of the Vanserra brothers, the younger, Lucien. 

You don’t know what the hell their mother ate when she was pregnant with them, three of her seven sons in the NHL. Eris, the eldest, plays on the Auburn Foxes, while her second born, Pyrolas, has been with the Badgers. That is always a team you dread watching the Bats play. With the amount of fights Pyrolas starts and finishes, it’s a surprise the hot-headed player is still welcome on any team.

Azriel knocks one of Tamlin’s legs out from under him but his competitor doesn’t go down yet, keeping himself propped up on a knee. They’re punching wildly, hitting more helmets than skin, but crimson paints the ice from split knuckles.

You chew on your lip, praying that it ends soon. It’s gruesome, and now that Cassian has joined in, grinning feral with bloody teeth, other players have joined the fray. The referees are useless, and they can only watch the onslaught of Bats players fist-fighting with the Wolves.

The coaches are screaming their heads off from the benches, but there’s too much testosterone in the air for any of the players to hear, let alone take their threats seriously. You know Cassian’s going to be punished in practice for starting a team-wide brawl, and you hope Azriel won’t be added to that punishment.

Tamlin gets in a good hit to the face, cutting the bridge of Azriel’s nose on his helmet. You sigh sadly. You love his nose, all straight and perfect. Something low in your stomach twists, thinking about a scar cutting across the bridge of it. 

Azriel retaliates not with words, but his fists. He tugs the back of Tamlin’s lavender jersey over his head and pummels him, hands moving so fast the blinded player can’t keep up. His fingers scrabble for purchase, clawing into Azriel’s black jersey, but it doesn’t seem to make the man falter at all. 

Finally, Tamlin takes the fall, sliding the rest of the way to the ice. Azriel has his hand pressed to Warrick’s back, keeping him pressed to the ice, his left hand cocked, ready to deliver another blow should he need to. 

A referee skates in, pulling your boyfriend away from the felled player. He ushers Azriel to the penalty box while someone else collects his stick and gloves. Miraculously, his helmet sits on his head, and he’s handed a towel to wipe the blood from his face and knuckles, and Azriel looks beyond pissed off.

Cassian’s ejected from the game, but it doesn’t look much like he cares, receiving pats on the back and friendly shoves from his teammates. He thrives on the bloodshed, Mother help whoever locks him down. They’ll be dealing with eternally busted knuckles and missing teeth. 

The few minutes Azriel has to spend in the sin-bin are long, but at least you can take a moment to calm your racing heart, knowing he can’t start a fight while he’s in time-out for his actions.