lemonabouttodrop

[lemonabouttodrop]

Somewhere, There Was Love

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel meets you on a Saturday. He loses you on one, too.

Warnings: angst, some hurt/comfort, slow burn in reverse, bittersweet ending, love and everything broken it brings

Word Count: 3k

For @sjmxreaderweek Day 1: Beginnings/Endings

re-read one of my fav works of mine and got tempted to write in present tense again. enjoy this last min work <3

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Some poets argue that the greatest stories end in the same place they began.

Azriel is’t sure what he thinks about that— what he thinks about poets, and poetry, and pretty words in general. 

He only knows this: He met you on a Saturday. And he lost you on one, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s evening when Azriel sees you for the first time.

He’s trailing behind his family, half-listening to Cassian grumble about something or other as they stroll through the River District. His wings ache, the sky’s too blue, and he’s already planning how to disappear before dinner even starts. That’s when his shadows twitch, a subtle ripple of attention tugging him slightly off course.

Your eyes lift at the same time his do. You meet.

You’re standing across the street, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. Your hair catches in the wind and your sleeves are rolled up past your elbows. There’s a smudge of dust on your cheek.

For one, suspended second, you hold each other’s gaze. There’s nothing dramatic about it, not really—no lightning bolt, no crackling bond. Just a glance. But it hooks something in his chest.

He thinks, absurdly, that you must be a dream. 

He almost asks if you need help. Almost. But Cassian shouts his name, and by the time Azriel turns back, you’re gone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You arrive with Feyre a week later.

She introduces you as her friend. A traveler who’s decided to settle in Velaris—for now.

“She’s been all over,” Feyre says. “Autumn, Day, even parts of the mortal lands.”

“I like movement,” you explain. “The idea of not belonging anywhere.”

Azriel watches the way you speak. The way your eyes flick toward him sometimes, like you remember him from that moment in the street. Like it meant something to you, too. 

After what feels like forever, Feyre steers you straight to him.

You smile at him like you know exactly what she’s doing. There’s amusement behind your eyes, mischief curling at the corners of your mouth. “Hi.”

Azriel’s shadows still. And his heart—traitorous, stupid heart—stutters. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling back until Cass elbows him.

“Azriel,” he says, holding out a hand. He’s never done that so naturally. “Nice to meet you.”

You shake his hand and hold his gaze. “I saw you when I was moving in.”

Azriel nods, caught. 

“You didn’t offer to help.”

“I almost did.”

Your smile deepens. “Almost doesn’t lift boxes.”

He’s never felt his shadows this interested in anyone before. They lean forward, curious. So does he. He’ll think about this later. How simple it all seemed. How dangerous it already was.

He knows, deep down, that he’s a goner.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You start showing up more.

Azriel considers you a friend, even. 

Dinner invitations. Walks. Late nights spent sitting near each other while everyone else is loud and laughing. You tease him, lightly at first, then with more confidence. Azriel isn’t used to someone challenging him like that. You laugh at his dryness, at the way he reacts. He finds himself smiling more than he ever has.

One night, you brush your foot against his under the table. A test. He doesn’t move away. You tilt your head. He mirrors you. There’s a private smile between you, and Azriel feels young. Reckless. Seventeen again.

That night, he tells you you’re beautiful.

He means it like a prayer.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first kiss comes two weeks later. Azriel isn’t sure if thats fast or slow for him. Time doesn’t really exist when it comes to you, he’s noticed. It never feels real. 

You’re sitting beside him on the roof of your apartment. 

You talk about the world. About places you want to go, cities you want to see. Azriel listens like he always does—with everything he has.

“It’s fun,” you say, tipping your head to rest against his shoulder. “To think about all the places you and I can go.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. "It is."

He turns to look at you. Your eyes are already on him, and there's something soft there. Something he thinks might be meant just for him.

He kisses you then. Slowly. It feels like he’s beginning to learn the language of you.

And when you pull away, breathless, you whisper, “You taste like rain.”

He kisses you again. 

You make a small noise of contentment and curl your fingers in his shirt. He thinks, for a terrifying, beautiful second, that he could love you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You redecorate all the time. Az thinks its funny—how unattached you are to furniture, how quickly your possessions cycle out of your hold. 

He helps you carry a shelf upstairs, and you thank him with a crooked smile and a story about the city you lived in before this one. You always talk like you're halfway out the door, like everywhere is temporary. But still, you stay for now.

He flies with you one night. You giggle against his chest at the way the wind tickles your skin. You land on the roof of a nearby apartment, your knees brushing as his shadows curl protectively around your shoulders.

You talk about traveling again. How you want to see every court, every continent. You tell him about the sea-glass beaches of the Summer Court, the northern stars in Winter, the caves in the wilds.

You want to see everything. “Even the places no one thinks are beautiful,” you say. “Because I think they are.”

Azriel listens. Nods. Smiles when you do.

You don’t notice that he never once says he wants to go.

He doesn’t know if you’ll ask him to come.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say if you do.

It’s all a fantasy anyway.

So he just says, “Tell me where we’d go first.”

And you do.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He finds a small bag in your closet one night. Just sitting there. Like it’s been packed for a while.

“You going somewhere?” he asks.

“I always keep one ready.”

“For what?”

You shrug. “In case I wake up one day and the air feels wrong.”

Azriel doesn’t ask if you’ve ever done it before. He doesn’t want to know the answer. But it sits with him for days, like some sort of warning. Some sort of promise.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall asleep on the couch beside him. Head tipped toward his shoulder.

Azriel doesn’t move for a long time. Not even to breathe too deeply. As if the whole room might shift and you’ll wake. Or worse—vanish. 

His shadows curl toward you and brush lightly against your hair. One of them flicks your wrist like it’s counting the beat of your pulse.

You don’t stir.

You trust him. That knowledge sits heavy in his chest.

Azriel gently reaches down, brushing a hand over your temple. He’s going to miss this moment. It’s already a memory.

He thinks—not for the first time—that he should leave. Walk away before it means something he can’t undo. Before you mean something more.

But his shadows refuse.

They’ve already decided.

And Azriel is starting to think he has, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall into a rhythm. Slow mornings. Rooftop evenings. Shared coffees. He reads journal entries you’re too shy to show anyone else. You sketch him once, from memory, and it unnerves him how well you capture the softness he tries to hide.

He tells you that you smell like smoke and sweet things. You kiss him in the quiet of his room. He starts keeping your favorite fruit in his kitchen. His nightstand looks like you.

“I’d like to disappear,” you say one night, sprawled across him. “Just pick a direction and keep walking until it feels like enough.”

“You’d get tired,” he murmurs.

“Maybe. But I’d get free, too.”

He falls asleep to your breathing, only to wake up an hour later. You’re still lying on his chest, fingers trailing across his exposed skin. His shadows are asleep and he can barely pry an eye open.

It’s funny how exhausted he is around you. In a good way. He’s never slept this good.

You trace shapes—stars, maybe. Then words.

“What are you drawing?” he murmurs.

“Nothing important.” He feels the pull in your cheeks as you smile against his skin. A teasing, little thing.

He tugs you closer, closes his eyes, and welcomes sleep again. 

Before he succumbs to the darkness, he focuses on the pattern of your fingertips. You’re writing something. Words. He can’t help it. He decodes them.

I love you.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, afraid to breathe, afraid to say it out loud and shatter it. But he feels it. Deep in his bones.

And the feeling already hurts.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s an early morning when he says something dry and sarcastic. You roll your eyes and call him a liar. He doesn’t deny it. You lean forward and say, “You’re not nearly as mysterious as you want everyone to believe.”

And then you kiss him.

He smiles into this kiss, as he always does now, and his hands come up, fingers curling around your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His shadows wrap around you both like instinct.

Later, he tells you that being with you has made him afraid in a way he’s never been before. You frown and ask him why. 

He tells you the truth. He’s never had anything of his own to lose.

You tell him, “Yeah. Me too.”

You make love that night and Azriel finds himself memorizing every part of your body— every sound, every movement. Like he knows, somewhere in his bones, he is bound to lose you. 

Azriel has always loved like this—as if time is already running out. He holds joy like it’s a ghost.

That night he says, “Stay.”

You blink. “I am. I’m spending the night.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are wide and pleading. He’s sure he looks like a hopeful child. “No,” he says, “You know what I mean.”

Your brow furrows. You still. Think. Then answer, “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Just—stay.”

You stare at him for a long time. Then nod.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The cracks start small.

You ask him where he’s going. He says he doesn’t know. Just a lead. Just a hunch. You tell him that it worries you. That he can’t expect you to be okay with these constant missions. 

He says, “I’ll be fine.”

You say, “You don’t know that.”

He tells you he’d never leave you. You say, “You do. Every time you walk out that door. And I’m not always going to be here when you come back.”

Azriel pretends he doesn’t hear it. For both of your sakes. He goes on the mission anyways. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Still, you stay. Because when it’s good, it’s so good. Azriel cooks you breakfast. You read to him while he sharpens his blades. He writes little notes and slips them into your journals.

You teach him how to write poetry. He never lets anyone else read it.

One night, Azriel props himself up on one elbow. 

“Okay,” he says, grinning proud and pink-cheeked. “I think, if we had a daughter, she'd be dramatic. Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Tiny. Stubborn. Would boss me around.”

“She sounds amazing,” you say, a little breathless.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I’d marry you, you know.”

You swallow hard enough for Az to track the movement.

“I’d marry you tomorrow.”

The wine is burning in his chest. He doesn’t look away. “We could do it barefoot. Somewhere stupid. I wouldn’t care. I just want—”

You kiss him before he finishes. Az keeps his eyes closed, floats in this dream of a life, as you murmur against his lips, “The Autumn court has beautiful chapels.”

You’re happy like this, Azriel thinks. Even when there’s a slight fantasy to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You don’t go to dinner with his family. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t realized it before Rhysand brings it up. 

Azriel asks, “Are you coming tonight?” while pulling on a jacket.

You don’t look up from the book in your hands. “No, I’m alright.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for you to feel it settle. Then—

“You don’t like them,” he says. Not a question.

You sigh. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

You close the book. “They’re your people, Azriel. Not mine.”

“I thought you were friends with Feyre.”

“I’m friendly with Feyre.”

He frowns. “That’s different.”

“I know.”

Az studies you.  “I’m not trying to be cruel,” you say. “But this isn’t my home.”

Something shifts in him — not all at once, but a tilt. A slow dawning. He realizes, maybe for the first time, that you don’t want it to be.

Later, in bed, he turns toward you and whispers, “I used to think I liked being alone, too.”

You smile at the ceiling. “You don’t.”

Silence again.

“I need them,” he says eventually. “I need my family.”

“I know,” you whisper. 

He wants to ask if you have anyone like that. Wants to ask why you don’t need anyone the way he does. But he already knows you won’t answer. Not out loud.

So he doesn’t ask. It’s probably some answer about how you’re bound to leave, anyways. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re concentrating awfully hard,” you muse, propping your chin in your hands. “It’s just a silly report, baby.”

“It’s not just a report,” Azriel mutters, still focused, his eyes never leaving the paper. “And you’re in my light.”

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “In your light? And here I thought I was the light of your life.”

Azriel doesn’t respond, eyes narrowed as he shifts the paper to the side. But his lips twitch, just slightly. He likes when you say things like that. When you acknowledge that, maybe, you have an important place in his life. Somewhere you fit.

You shift closer. “It must take an incredible amount of focus,” you muse, “I mean, what if you get distracted?”

“Won’t happen.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head, considering. “You don’t get distracted?”

“Never.”

“Even if I do this?”

You lean in, tracing your fingers over the ridges of his spine. Your fingers wander further, brushing over the sensitive base of his wings.

A slow inhale escapes him, but still, he doesn’t falter.

You lean closer, close enough that your lips nearly graze his ear as you whisper, “What about now?”

Azriel’s movements still.

Without warning, he turns, his wings flaring slightly, blocking your view of the table as he cages you in with his body.

His duties are long forgotten as he pushes you back onto his bed and devours you for the night. The way you say his name makes him shiver. Tonight, though, it also makes him sad. He’s mourning, he realizes. He’s preparing himself for a loss. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Az traces the beginning of the end back to a stormy Thursday night. 

It’s two in the morning when he comes back home. To your apartment. Not his. He stops in the doorway. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket still on, staring at the floor.

You don’t look up. “Were you going to tell me?”

Azriel hesitates. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“It was a suicide mission.”

“I knew I’d make it out.”

“But what if one day you can’t?”

Silence.

You let out a quiet laugh. “How can you be so sure of yourself and still hate yourself like this?”

He flinches. He doesn’t think that’s a fair thing to say. “You’re angry.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then come to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I’m not that kind of tired.”

Azriel kneels. Reaches for your hand. You pull away.

“You keep doing this,” you say. “Throwing yourself into these dangerous missions, acting like it’s no big deal.”

“It’s what I’m meant to do.”

“No. It’s what you’ve convinced yourself you’re only good for.”

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at you like he’s hearing it for the first time.

“Love’s not enough if you don’t want to stay alive for it. What's the point of staying for a ghost?”

Azriel apologizes. You send him on his way and, for the first time in months, he lays awake in his own bed. Alone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There’s a lull. You try. You both do. He brings you dinner. You sit on his lap and kiss his cheek and he murmurs that he loves you before making love to you like you’re something holy, something divine, and he’s desperate for salvation.

But he’s always leaving. And you’re always waiting. Azriel knows it can’t last. Waiting is not in your nature. Not really. You’ve been inching toward the door for weeks. He’s been pretending not to notice. Pretending not to feel it.

Until one day, you sit across from each other, knees barely touching. And neither of you has the energy to lie about it anymore.

You say, “This isn’t working.”

He nods. There are tears in your eyes and he’s not sure if he’s allowed to wipe them when they fall. 

Azriel says, “But I love you.”

“I know,” you say. “I love you too.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because love wasn’t enough. Because it was love. So much love. And still—

He thought heartbreak would be louder. More cinematic. Shouting or slamming doors. But it’s this: A quiet room. Your knees touching. And the terrible understanding that you both meant it—all of it.

Azriel doesn’t cry.

He just sits there, blinking. Wondering why his chest feels cracked open and hollow and free, all at once. How grief and relief can sit beside each other like old friends.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s Saturday evening when Azriel sees you again.

It’s been weeks since that night.

He’s walking beside his family—shoulder to shoulder with Cassian, wings stretched and taking up space as they pass through the River District. The sky is a perfect, boundless blue. His shadows drift lazily in the sunlight.

He’s already smiling. It's a family dinner night. They’re having his favorite —Nyx’s favorite now, too. The boy has begged to help make it, and Azriel is going to let him, even if half the sauce will end up on the floor. Az is excited for his hands to smell like basil and roasted garlic for the rest of the night.

Then his shadows stir—not with warning, but recognition.

Azriel glances across the street.

You’re standing there, sleeves rolled up, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. There’s a smudge of something on your cheek. You laugh at something someone says, head thrown back in that way he used to love. Still does, maybe. A little.

Your eyes lift and meet his. A quiet ache settles in Azriel’s chest. Not the sharp kind it used to be. Not grief that grips the ribs or hollows him out. Just something soft. Lingering.

For one suspended second, he sees you as you are — happy. Free. You smile at him, and he breathes through it. He smiles back.

Cassian calls his name. Azriel turns, says something back, distracted. And when he glances over again, you’re gone. Just like the first time.

He never sees you again.

Eventually, he stops searching for your face in crowded streets.

But sometimes—when the air is quiet and the night feels like a memory—he lets himself think of you. Wonders where you are. If you found a place to settle. If you're happy.

He hopes you are. And he hopes he never hears about it. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: it feels diff when i write in present v past tense. like past tense is my usual writings, fun little stories with fun lil plots. present tense always makes me sad and nostalgic, strangely enough

i'm a bit scatter-brained rn bc of some family issues, but yall best believe ill post all my random wips soon!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻 

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@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

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[lemonabouttodrop]

I've got an exam tomorrow. this better flipping work y'all. I haven't studied so may the potato lords stand with us in these trying times

[lemonabouttodrop]

Say what now?

Part 2 of 'How could you?'

Azriel x f!Reader

Summary: Azriel came with apologies stitched into his silence, but when his gaze met yours, the words slipped away. What he offered instead wasn’t quite what you'd hoped, but for him, it was a tether, a reason to keep you a little closer, a little longer.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, insecurity, kinda crack?, mentions of Irish forms of art, scars? (sorry y'all, still haven't exactly figured how to write warnings yet)

Note: Probably has mistakes but I'm re-using my 'first fic' card again since this is still a part 2 of my first one. thxthx.

part 1 linked here.

Azriel didn't remember how to stand. Where do his hands go? Behind his back? Too child-like.

In his pockets? Too casual.

Should they dangle? Probably not.

So he just stood there frozen with his hands flailing around unsurely and his wings fighting against twitching as he processed what just happened.

You'd spoken. Albeit uninterestedly, like you wanted nothing to do with him. He'd never heard you sound so- well, dull. He hated that he was the cause of that. It had been a week since he heard you properly. And oh, how he wished he could turn back time.

But he couldn't, so he'd just take a tiny bit of joy from what just happened.

You'd spoken .To him. To him.

He'd been in the kitchen, the place where his suffering first started, boiling tea when you'd walked in and not immediately turned around, instead you'd spoken. To him. Hell, you were even looking at him so he clearly wasn't hallucinating. He hadn't even heard what you'd said, he'd just heard your voice again and his heart had done its best to lurch out of his chest.

"Huh?", he said and immediately cringed at how dumbfounded he sounded.

"I said I'm done with the mission report. It's on your desk." You repeated blandly. The report.. about the mission after which he'd ruined it all. His face fell, once again reminded of what he'd caused.

It seems you recollect it too, for you turned around to leave

"Wait!", he says, slightly too loudly to be anything but desperate.

Shit. The plea had left his throat before he could stop himself. Now what? He hadn't thought this through at all.

You were looking at him, now facing him again, with a brow raised and arms crossed.

He was looking at you, with his hands suspended mid-air and his eyes slightly wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm- Can we.. talk?", Mother above he needed to get it together. Stop this stuttering.

"About?"

Good question. That's a really good fucking question that he does not know how to answer.

His shadows twirled mid-air as if taunting him, and he knew that if they could speak his tongue, they'd most definitely be doing just that. Infact, they'd probably be cursing him out right about now.

Though they were attached to him, they'd always taken every available opportunity to be next to you, to side with you, to take care of you. Even now, most gravitated in your direction no matter how strongly he held them back.

You must have realized this silence meant he had no goddamn clue what to say to you. He saw it in your eyes and as he anticipated your departure, you stepped forwards and sat at the island, looking at him patiently.

His heart, which happened to still have been doing the Irish jig in his chest, seemed to just about stop and skip multiple beats. Because he had no clue, no clue how you let him be anywhere around you after what he'd said.

How you hadn't yet punched him or tried to in any shape or form. He deserved that at least. What he didn't deserve was this kindness.

But he'd be foolish to refute it, and so he sat down too and he knew what to do.

He'd get you back.

His shadows seemed to nod resolutely.

A mission. A gods damned mission?!

You'd expected anything but another fucking mission.

Then again, you assume your emotional instability due to the words of an overgrown bat cannot surmount to enough reason to put the court politics on halt.

You thought back to the whole encounter just hours ago as you packed your bags for tomorrow.

When he'd called out to you like that, you'd thought he'd apologize. You would have accepted it, you would have brushed off how hurt you truly had been, you'd definitely have found a way to convince yourself that an apology was enough. That whatever he said next was enough. Instead, he'd said nothing. He'd just stood there awkwardly, and yet you hadn't wanted to leave again. Gods, could you be any more desperate? Probably not.

One last chance. You thought to yourself.

Your mind told you to uphold your dignity and get the fuck out of there while you still had the chance, keep some semblance of self-respect. But a very tiny part of it still fought back and reminded you of all the quiet, beautiful moments you'd had with Azriel. How you'd surely never get any more if you left, but if you stayed? There was a possibility. The very tiny part made good points.

So you'd sat down and watched him patiently, hoping he wouldn't make a fool of you and leave you there. But he'd taken a seat as well, too clumsily, too fast. What was wrong with him? You wondered. You'd never seen him act so... disoriented.

He still didn't say a word. Just stared. It had been a while since you'd allowed yourself to look at him, to not turn around and flee at the sight of him.

He was beautiful, always had been. You couldn't help but give him a once-over. His sharp cheekbones seemed sharper, his hands were gloved. His hands were gloved? Why-

Oh.

Realization dawned on you like a brick on your face. It was winter, you'd massage his hands and relax the tense muscles of the scarred appendages everyday in this cold season. Or else his hands would cramp up. Badly.

How absorbed had you been in your self-pity to forget such a thing?

Cringing, you promised yourself to help him as soon as possible.

You looked up at him again to find him already staring, now catching your expression. You schooled it and looked him in the eyes.

Gods, his eyes.

They were more sunken than usual. Had sleep not been good to him lately? Who were you to talk? You knew you didn't look any better. And was it really bad that it felt good to assume you were the reason for his sleepless nights, like he was for yours? Yes, yes it was.

His shadows curled over his wings, as though peeking at you. Some slithered over the table in soft curves, inching over to you. They were always nice to you, you thought, smiling softly at them as a few wrapped around your wrists on the wood.

You'd wondered how long this whole game of silence would last.

And just as that thought passed your mind, he'd spoken.

And you'd just about had an aneurysm.

You looked at your stuff, mentally checking your list of essentials. It was a mission to the mountains. Nowhere near the camps, thank the Mother for that. He hadn't told you why it was a two person job and you hadn't asked. He also hadn't told you how long it would take and you hadn't asked. Turns out there's a bunch of stuff you should have asked.

Are your hands okay?

Did you go get Madja's soothing oils?

What kind of crack are you on to think that taking me, of all people, on this mission would ever end very well after what happened?

Who's hosting my funeral if I throw myself off a cliff in the duration of this business trip? Do I get insurance?

You laid down on the bed, content with your preparations. You'd done your best to not let your insecure thoughts plague you during the day but it was the night that was hard these days. Thoughts of inadequacy would rise every single breath you took. Mind would overflow with different interpretations of every interaction with him.

Heart would pace as thoughts of him took over your very being, until the world faded away and the pacing stopped. Until even the sounds of the wind dulled, until the magic in your veins fell into slumber and so did you.

Only to wake to a new day.

A new beginning? A better one?

Y'all, i got zero clue where i wanna take this. Still love that i have the ability to take this any which ways but would def def def love some suggestions. Thank you for all the likes pookies, thought no one would read my stuff but OMG are y'all sweet or what.

currently preparing for a big big big test that def decides the course of my life so i just do this when im stressed. Prolly not consistent but yuhpp. thank yewww.

and if you haven't noticed yet, i love commas,,,,,

@saradika-graphics for those gorgeous dividers. IN LOVE.

[lemonabouttodrop]

How Could You?

Azriel x Reader fic

Summary: Azriel’s sharp words cut deeper than either of them expected, leaving a silence heavy with unspoken feelings. You walk away, heart aching, while Azriel is left alone with regret he won’t yet let himself address.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt no comfort (for now?). No use of y/n.

Note: As you'll probably realize after reading this, yes indeed, this is my first fic ever. I've been reading- fangirling over- the scarily talented writers on here and just thought to give it a try. So, by all means, lemme know if i should stop trying.😭

[part2] linked here.

He didn't realize what he'd said until it was too late. Until they stood there in utter silence. Until you walked away. Until his very being was telling him to go after you and his shadows had moved to the corners of the room as if disgusted by him.

He hadn't meant it, of course he hadn't meant it. But he'd said it anyways and so he sat, in the kitchen of the House of Wind, with his head in his hands as his mind replayed the moment your face fell. The moment you registered his poisoned words.

It had been a stupid fight to begin with, he realized. You'd ignored his orders of simple observation and instead jumped into battle. Typical. You'd gotten the job done, sure. Yet he couldn't help but panic at the thought of your identity being revealed. You didn't even live in the House of Wind for him to keep an eye on you and your safety. And so, one mistake could cost you your life.

And that scared him more than he'd ever admit.

Yet, for him to shout like that? He'd practically cornered you the minute you'd winnowed back, still battered and bruised from the fight. And he couldn't fathom why he'd lost control like so.

Or that is what he told himself at least.

But he'd been pissed and scared.

Now he'd probably messed up the one good thing in his life.

The one joy.

It had been 3 days 2 nights 7 hours and 18 minutes since you'd talked to him.

It had been 1 days and around 8 hours, still counting, since you'd even looked at him.

He. was. losing. his. goddamn. mind.

His shadows seemed to be just as revolted by his words as him. They reached out to you constantly, even if you were no where near him.

That was the problem. You didn't want to be around him at all.

Every single time he tried to talk to you, tried to get you to even look at him. You managed to find ways to avoid him.

You weren't even trying to hide that anymore. Everybody knew something was up but nobody dared question what happened considering how Azriel looked like he'd smite the first person who talked to him.

He was distracted constantly these days. He used to always schedule a few hours of doing nothing so that he could talk to you, train you, have lunch with you, go shopping. Whatever your heart desired.

Now? Now he'd spend those hours training, to get you off his mind and yet, thoughts of you plagued his every waking moment.

He must've thought of a hundred different scenarios of how he would apologize to you. Hundreds of scenarios, most of which ended with him begging and pleading yet none seemed enough. None seemed worthy of the hurt he'd caused.

Nothing seemed worthy of you.

You were his spy, of course he'd taught you well. And now you were using his own teachings against him it seemed. You were anywhere he wasn't, and though it hurt you to blatantly avoid him so, it hurt more to know what Azriel really thought of you.

To know that the worst things you thought of yourself were exactly what he thought too.

To know that when he would take care of you after missions, he was probably just coddling you.

And when he would listen to you as you opened up to him, under the stars, in the darkest hours of the night, all he might have been doing was taking pity on you.

To know that you might just have been another project to him. Another thing to fix.

To know that the one person who truly fully knew you, also saw the ugliest parts of you and also considered them as weaknesses.

And so you did the one thing you knew to do best, you hid and you shut down.

You weren't a very quiet person but every time you would come to the House of Wind, which wasn't very often now, the reminder of his words seem to just pull your tongue out, tie it into a tight knot and shove it somewhere deep in your heart.

Because although you were a spy of the Night Court, fierce and unyielding. Though you held up your centuries old carefully crafted facade of the strong fearless faerie, he'd seen through it all and it scared you how much his words seemed to affect you.

How close to heartbreak this felt.

part 2 linked here aswell.