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michaeladawnxx-blog · 5 months ago

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Hey everyone! 💙

First off, thank you so much for reading! Chapter 2 is where things really start to pick up—more tension, more longing, and of course, more stolen moments between Michaela and Azriel. This chapter is all about the build-up, the slow realization that something between them is shifting, even if neither of them is ready to admit it yet.

Michaela still doesn’t know about the bond, but she can’t ignore the pull she feels toward Azriel—or the way his shadows always seem to reach for her. And Az? Well, he’s struggling between wanting to protect her from the truth and wanting her in ways he can no longer deny.

This is the beginning of the unraveling. The moment where everything changes.

I hope you love this chapter as much as I loved writing it! Let me know your thoughts—I’d love to hear your reactions. 💙✨

Enjoy!

word count: 4.1k

warnings: suggestive stuff but nothing happens

Chapter 1

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Chapter 2

The night had fallen quietly over the Night Court, the stars glittering above like scattered diamonds in a velvet sky. Michaela stood at the balcony of the House of Wind, her gaze fixed on the horizon, though her mind was far from the beauty before her. She had felt it—the presence of Azriel. It was a constant, deep and heavy, like a shadow that never quite left her. She couldn’t shake the way her heart raced when he was near, but she didn’t understand why it happened. She couldn’t let herself.

Her wings, still a reminder of the price Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel had paid to keep her safe, twitched uneasily at her back. The weight of them was comforting, but tonight, they felt like a chain.

She had known Azriel for years. Cassian’s best friend, Rhysand’s most loyal Shadowsinger, and a figure who had always stood just a little too close, a little too far from her reach. But that bond—the one that had snapped for Azriel months ago, the one that now hummed quietly between them—hadn’t registered in Michaela’s heart. At least, she didn’t know it for what it was. But lately, it was hard to ignore the way the air thickened when Azriel was near, the way the pull between them had started to feel like something more.

Why now? Michaela thought, pressing her hands against the cool stone of the balcony. Why me?

The question hung in her mind, heavy with doubt. She felt something between them, a connection she couldn't explain, but how could it be real? How could it be anything but her imagination when Azriel had always been so close with Morrigan? He’d been by her side for centuries, and their bond was something everyone could see. She couldn’t help but wonder—Why would he be interested in me when Morrigan is right there?

What if I’m just a distraction for him? The thought cut through her like a knife, and she quickly pushed it aside. No, this couldn’t be real. She couldn’t let herself believe that Azriel could ever feel the same way for her.

A soft movement behind her broke her from her thoughts. She didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Azriel’s presence was like a shadow that wrapped around her, familiar yet foreign, comforting yet dangerous.

As if in response to his arrival, Azriel’s shadows stirred, naturally gravitating toward Michaela as they always did. The dark tendrils of shadow, like wraiths with lives of their own, swirled around her, as if they had an understanding that she found comfort in their presence. Michaela didn’t notice it at first, but the shadows, as they often did, moved to envelope her in their quiet, soothing embrace. They had always done this—always found their way to her, whether Azriel was near or not. She had never fully understood why, but it felt familiar, calming in a way that nothing else did.

“You’re still out here?” His voice was low, soft, almost hesitant as he approached her, his silhouette merging with the night.

“I needed some air,” Michaela said, though she didn’t know if she was lying to him or to herself. She had known the truth for weeks, and yet, she hadn’t dared speak it aloud.

Azriel stood beside her now, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence, the tension that always lingered when they were near each other. She could feel it in her chest—like something was pulling her toward him, like the pull of the moon on the tides. She swallowed hard, unwilling to look at him, afraid that if she did, it would shatter the fragile control she still clung to.

“I’m not blind, Michaela.” His voice was soft, but there was an underlying tenderness in it. He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening.”

“I’m not pretending,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the whisper of the wind. She finally met his gaze, and in the darkness, his eyes burned with something deeper than she had ever seen before—an understanding, a knowing that both terrified and comforted her. Too deep, she thought, her breath catching.

Azriel blinked, a shock running through his expression as he processed her words. For a moment, he froze, his face momentarily betraying his surprise. Michaela had never mentioned it before, never acknowledged the weight in the air that pulled at them both. She wasn’t supposed to know, not yet.

“You... you feel it?” His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with disbelief. He hadn’t expected her to acknowledge it so openly—too soon, he thought. He’d assumed she would remain unaware of the bond, just as he had. But now, the realization hit him hard: Michaela had felt it, sensed something, but she didn’t understand what it was.

Michaela looked away quickly, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know what it is,” she muttered, her voice trembling slightly. “But when you’re near, it’s... hard to breathe. It’s like something’s pulling at me, but I don’t know what.”

Azriel’s heart pounded in his chest. He had known this moment was coming, but the weight of her words struck him harder than he anticipated. She had no idea what it meant yet, but he did. She doesn’t know she’s my mate.

He exhaled slowly, a sense of relief and dread washing over him all at once. The bond was there, undeniably real—but Michaela was still in the dark. And as much as he wanted to tell her, to explain everything, he couldn’t—not yet. She wasn’t ready for the truth.

“Michaela, this... whatever this is, it’s not something you need to understand right now,” Azriel said gently, his voice soft but filled with an unspoken weight. “You don’t need to know everything. Just... don’t push it away. Please.”

But Michaela, still unable to fully grasp the depth of what she was feeling, couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at her. Was she imagining things? Was it just him, or was something else happening?

“I just don’t get it, Azriel.” Her voice faltered, a tremor running through it. “Why does it feel like this? Why now? I don’t want to ruin what we have... whatever this is. You’re my friend. I can’t lose that. Not with you.” She whispered the last part, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.

Azriel’s gaze softened, and there was a quiet pain in his eyes that she couldn’t miss. He knew the fear in her words—he felt it too. The bond between them was a silent promise, a tether that neither of them could fully comprehend, but neither could they ignore.

“You won’t lose me, Michaela,” he said gently, stepping closer to her. His voice was low, and for the first time, there was a vulnerability in it that he rarely allowed anyone to see. “No matter what this is, you won’t lose me. Not now, not ever. We’ll figure it out together.”

Before Michaela could respond, the familiar shadow of Cassian appeared, his voice cutting through the tension in the air.

“What’s going on out here?” Cassian’s tone was light, teasing, cutting through the heavy silence with his usual ease.

Azriel’s eyes flicked to Cassian, then back to Michaela. The air was thick between them, but Cassian, as always, seemed blissfully unaware of it, his usual jovial self.

“We’re just talking,” Azriel said, his voice steady, betraying nothing.

Cassian grinned, his usual playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Talking, huh?” He took a step closer, giving both of them a knowing look. “What, no sparks flying? No dramatic confessions?”

Michaela opened her mouth, but no words came. Her heart was still pounding, but Cassian’s teasing brought some lightness back to the moment.

Azriel let out a quiet breath, rolling his eyes at Cassian’s antics. “You’re incorrigible,” he muttered.

“Hey, it’s my job as your best friend,” Cassian shot back, his grin widening. “You two are spending an awful lot of time alone together. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to flirt.”

Michaela could only stare at her brother in disbelief, a blush creeping up her neck as she glanced at Azriel, who was trying hard to suppress a grin. Cassian was completely oblivious—totally unaware of the undercurrent that had shifted between them.

Cassian threw his arms wide in mock exasperation. “Just kidding,” he added, his voice exaggerated. “There’s no way you two would be together. I know better than that.”

Michaela’s breath caught at the words. The joke should’ve made her laugh, but it only deepened the ache in her chest. How could we be together?

“I think it’s time we head back inside,” Michaela said quickly, eager to end the conversation before Cassian said anything more. “You’re starting to get on my nerves, as usual.”

Cassian laughed and slapped Azriel on the back. “Come on, then. Let’s leave the guy to whatever brooding he’s doing.” His tone was joking, but Michaela could sense the comfort he took in their easy banter, the way it kept things normal.

As they walked back toward the house, Michaela felt the weight of something unspoken lingering between her and Azriel. Her heart was heavy, unsure of what the future held. Could she really risk everything—her brother, her friendship with Azriel—for something that might break them all?

Azriel’s POV

Azriel watched as Michaela left the sparring ring, her shoulders tense despite the ease in her stride. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over her, catching in the strands of her brunette hair, illuminating the sweat on her skin from the intense training session with Cassian. His eyes followed her without thinking, the way they always did.

His shadows stirred, restless. They curled toward her instinctively, slipping across the ground, wrapping around her legs and the edges of her wings like they always did. He told himself they did it because they knew she found comfort in them, that they recognized something in her that made them gravitate toward her warmth. But deep down, he knew the truth—his shadows responded to his emotions. And he was losing the battle of keeping them away from her.

He exhaled slowly, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain where he stood. Why her?

Azriel had always wanted the bond. He had spent centuries watching as others found their mates, as warriors and lords alike discovered the missing piece of their souls. He had yearned for that kind of connection—for someone to be his in a way that was undeniable, unbreakable. A mate. He had dreamed of it, had hoped for it in the quietest corners of his heart, had wondered when it would be his turn.

But never, not once, had he thought it would be her.

Michaela. Cassian’s sister. The girl he had known for centuries, who had trained beside them, who had been protected by Rhysand’s mother before she was taken from them too soon. The one person who had always been there, woven into the fabric of his life before he even realized what she truly meant to him.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

He had always assumed his mate would be someone outside of their world, someone unexpected. Someone who wasn’t so close. He had spent so long watching Cassian and Rhysand protect Michaela, looking after her as if she was something precious, something fragile, that he had forced himself to do the same. To see her as just that—Cassian’s sister. Untouchable. Forbidden.

But the bond didn’t care about what was easy. It had snapped into place months ago, and it had been a slow torture ever since.

Because Michaela didn’t know. She had no idea what was happening. No idea that every time she was near, his entire body reacted as if drawn to her by some invisible force. That the shadows, his most loyal companions, had long since decided she was theirs just as much as she was his.

A Few Hours Later

The night was quiet as Azriel flew over Velaris, the wind cool against his face, but his thoughts remained restless. No amount of distance from the ground could quiet them, no matter how fast or high he flew.

Michaela had been on his mind ever since she walked away from training. He had spent hours replaying the way she had looked at him, the way uncertainty clouded her expression. The way she had said nothing at all but had felt everything.

His shadows whispered around him, urging him downward as he neared the House of Wind. Then he saw her.

Michaela stood on the balcony, her wings tucked in tight, her arms braced against the railing as she gazed at the city below.

Azriel should have turned away. He should have let her be.

But he didn’t.

He descended silently, his landing so soft that the only thing betraying his presence was the way his shadows immediately stretched toward her. They wrapped around her like they always did, like a living thing seeking her out. She didn’t react, didn’t push them away. She never did.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his boots silent on the stone floor. Michaela’s wings twitched slightly, as if she could feel him even before he spoke. He hesitated, just for a moment, before finally saying, “Michaela.”

She turned at the sound of his voice, her brown eyes searching his face, unreadable. His shadows curled tighter around her, their presence as natural as the air between them.

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I needed some air.”

Azriel nodded, even though he knew it was more than that. He could see the tension in her posture, the thoughts spinning behind her gaze. He could feel the way she was wrestling with something, though she didn’t seem to realize that he was doing the same.

“I’m not blind, Michaela.” His voice was quieter than he intended, but there was a raw edge to it. “You can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening.”

Her breath hitched—just slightly, just enough for him to notice. And then, to his utter shock, she whispered, “I’m not pretending.”

Azriel stilled.

For a heartbeat, he thought she knew. That she had somehow figured it out, that the bond had finally revealed itself to her.

But then she shook her head, exhaling roughly. “I don’t know what it is,” she admitted, avoiding his gaze. “But when you’re near, it’s... hard to breathe. It’s like something’s pulling at me, but I don’t know what.”

Azriel barely stopped himself from closing the distance between them. His heart pounded against his ribs, his shadows tightening their hold on her. She felt something. She wasn’t blind to it.

But she still didn’t know.

And he wasn’t sure whether that made this easier or so much worse.

The bond thrummed beneath his skin, pressing against his restraint, demanding to be acknowledged. But Azriel couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell her. Not yet. Not when she wasn’t ready. Not when the weight of it might break her.

“Michaela, this... whatever this is, it’s not something you need to understand right now,” he said carefully, though it felt like a lie. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to let the truth spill out, to finally explain. But his voice remained steady, unwilling to give away what was truly at stake. “You don’t need to know everything. Just... don’t push it away.”

A flicker of something crossed her face. Fear. Confusion. Doubt.

“I just don’t get it, Azriel,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Why does it feel like this? Why now? I don’t want to ruin what we have... whatever this is. You’re my friend. I can’t lose that. Not with you.”

Azriel’s chest ached.

You won’t lose me, Michaela. He wanted to say it, wanted to swear it to her, but the words stayed lodged in his throat.

Instead, he let his voice soften, let himself offer her some form of comfort. “You won’t lose me,” he murmured. “Not now, not ever.”

The sound of footsteps interrupted them.

Cassian’s voice rang through the air, completely oblivious to the tension still thick between them. “What’s going on out here?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. His shadows retreated slightly, though they refused to fully leave Michaela. She glanced away quickly, using Cassian’s arrival as an excuse to put distance between them.

Azriel forced his expression into something neutral.

“We’re just talking,” he said smoothly, even though it felt like a lie.

Cassian raised a brow, his smirk playful. “Talking, huh? What, no sparks flying? No dramatic confessions?”

Michaela groaned, rolling her eyes. “I think it’s time we head back inside before you say anything else.”

Cassian let out a bark of laughter, completely unaware of what he had just interrupted. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Azriel forced a breath through his nose, keeping his expression unreadable.

As they walked back toward the house, he could feel Michaela’s presence beside him, feel the invisible thread that kept pulling them closer. The bond wasn’t going anywhere. And no matter how much he tried to bury it, he knew—deep in his heart—that this was only the beginning.

Because no matter how much he fought it, no matter how much he told himself she wasn’t supposed to be his—

She was.

And sooner or later, Michaela would know it, too.

A Few Weeks Later - Michaela’s POV

Michaela had tried—gods, she had tried—to ignore whatever was happening between her and Azriel.

For weeks, she had forced herself to act normal, to pretend nothing had changed. She trained with him, ate meals with him, talked with him like she always had. She convinced herself that if she just ignored it long enough, the feeling in her chest would go away.

It didn’t.

If anything, it only grew stronger.

Every time he was near, every time his shadows coiled around her like they were alive, every time his golden eyes flicked to her lips when he thought she wasn’t looking—Michaela felt herself slipping further into something she couldn’t name.

And she was so damn tired of fighting it.

Which was how she ended up here.

It was late—far past midnight—but she hadn’t been able to sleep. The stars above Velaris glittered like scattered diamonds, the night air cool against her skin as she stepped out onto the balcony of the House of Wind.

She wasn’t surprised when she sensed him before she saw him.

Azriel always found her.

A soft rustle of wings, the whisper of his shadows curling through the air, and then he was there—landing silently at the edge of the balcony.

Michaela exhaled slowly, watching as he folded his wings in, stepping toward her with that same unreadable expression he always wore. But tonight…tonight, there was something else in his eyes.

Something hungry.

“You couldn’t sleep either,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question.

Michaela shook her head, gripping the railing to keep her hands steady. “No.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

It had been like this for weeks—this charged silence, this unbearable pull between them that neither dared acknowledge. But tonight, something felt different.

Michaela’s fingers curled tighter around the railing as Azriel stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, close enough that his scent—night-chilled wind and cedar—wrapped around her like a phantom touch.

“Az,” she started, barely recognizing the way her own voice trembled.

He exhaled sharply, his wings rustling as if he was barely holding himself back.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” she admitted, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

Azriel stilled.

His golden eyes searched hers, his expression unreadable. “What are you saying, Michaela?”

She hated how vulnerable she felt, hated how exposed this moment made her. But she couldn’t keep this inside anymore.

“I don’t know what this is,” she whispered. “I don’t understand it. But I know I feel something. I know that every time you’re near, I can’t think straight. I know that when you touch me, I feel like I can finally breathe.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his entire body going rigid, as if he was fighting some unseen battle within himself.

Michaela, stop me, something in his expression seemed to beg.

But she wouldn’t. Not this time.

So instead, she stepped forward, closing the space between them, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenged, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Tell me I’m imagining this.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his breathing uneven. His shadows writhed around them, thick and charged, as if they, too, were waiting for what would happen next.

“You’re not wrong, you’re not imagining this.” he admitted hoarsely.

And then she was moving before she could second-guess herself, before she could talk herself out of it.

She reached for him, hesitantly at first, her fingers brushing over his chest, feeling the rapid, uneven beat of his heart beneath her touch.

Azriel let out a shuddering breath.

And then—

His lips were on hers.

The world stopped.

They had both been with others before. Both had kissed, touched, wanted. Michaela had known passion before, had felt the rush of someone pulling her in with desire. And Azriel—he was a male who had lived for centuries. He had surely tasted hunger, had surely felt bodies press against his in search of pleasure.

But this—this was nothing like that.

This wasn’t just hunger. It wasn’t just heat.

It was devastation.

Michaela wasn’t sure who moved first, whether it was her pulling him closer or him finally breaking, but none of it mattered. Because every other kiss she had ever experienced paled in comparison to this.

This was claiming. This was ruined. This was everything.

Azriel kissed her like he had been waiting for this moment, like he had been starving for her. His hands gripped her waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, pulling her against him until there was nothing between them but heat and breath and want. His lips moved against hers with a slow, aching reverence, like he was memorizing her, like he didn’t dare rush a second of it.

And gods—Michaela melted.

Because this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t just a kiss.

It was the beginning.

Azriel kissed her like she was something he had been starving for, something he had been waiting for. His hands found her waist, firm but hesitant, as if he was afraid she would disappear if he held her too tightly. His lips moved against hers with a slowness that was almost reverent, like he was memorizing the feel of her.

And gods, she melted into it.

Her hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, drinking in the warmth of him, the taste of him. His shadows curled around them both, wrapping them in darkness, in secrecy, as if this moment belonged to them alone.

Azriel groaned softly against her lips, his fingers digging into her waist as he pressed her back against the railing.

And fuck, she wanted more.

More of his touch, more of his mouth, more of the feeling of his body pressing into hers like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

She arched against him, a sharp gasp slipping from her lips as his hands tightened on her waist, his grip firm, possessive.

Azriel pulled away just enough to look at her, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning. “Michaela,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, pleading.

She didn’t let him speak, didn’t let him talk himself out of this.

Instead, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back down to her.

Azriel snapped.

A sharp, needy growl rumbled from his chest as his hands slid up her back, fingers splaying against her bare skin, searing her. His mouth was on hers again, harder, deeper, more desperate.

Her head spun as he devoured her, as his tongue brushed against hers, as his hands mapped her body like he had been waiting centuries for this moment.

His name was a broken gasp on her lips as his mouth left hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, her throat. She tilted her head back, baring more of herself to him, and Azriel groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

His teeth scraped against her pulse point, and she shuddered, gripping his arms, feeling the hard muscle beneath her fingertips.

And gods—when she felt the sharp edge of his canines graze her skin, when his breath came hot and uneven against her throat—her entire body trembled.

Azriel’s lips hovered over her skin, his breath ragged, his body taut with restraint.

“I—” He broke off, as if he was struggling to find words. As if he was trying so damn hard to hold back.

But she didn’t want him to.

She wasn’t sure who whispered it first, whose voice was more wrecked, more ruined.

“More.”

And then—

Azriel gave in. And Michaela knew—deep in her bones—that there was no turning back.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel #cassian #azriel shadowsinger #rhysand acotar #forbidden love #mating bond #love #azriel x oc #cassian acotar #feyre archeron #night court

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michaeladawnxx-blog · 5 months ago

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Same Blood, Different Rhythms

Chapter One

Hey everyone, and welcome to this story! I’m really excited to share it with you all. This is a friends-to-lovers story featuring Ashton Irwin and an original character, Michaela. Michaela is an indie pop artist, and while she’s been in Ashton’s life for years, their friendship is about to change in ways neither of them expected.

A little fun fact: Michaela is actually based on myself—so, writing her story has been a really fun and personal experience. I used to write stories on Wattpad when I was younger, and it feels amazing to be back sharing something with you all. This story is filled with emotions, stolen moments, and the struggles of navigating a relationship when the timing feels off.

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a comment anytime. I hope you enjoy the story!

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none

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Michaela Clifford had spent most of her life being known as Michael’s twin sister. Not younger, not older—just his twin. The second half of a pair. A packaged deal. It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. She and Michael had always been close, their bond stitched together with childhood memories of late-night video game marathons, sneaking into concerts they were too young for, and harmonizing to whatever song blasted through their shared, busted-up speakers. But sometimes, it felt like she was just a footnote in his story.

That was, until music changed everything.

Michael had found his path in 5 Seconds of Summer, skyrocketing from a suburban Sydney kid to an international rockstar. Meanwhile, Michaela had carved out her own space in the industry—an indie pop artist with a cult following, known for her dreamy vocals and hauntingly raw lyrics. If Michael was loud guitars and anthemic choruses, Michaela was melancholic synths and whispered confessions. Same blood, different rhythms.

And that difference had never felt more obvious than tonight.

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The sun filtered softly through the windows of Luke’s house, casting long, warm shadows across the living room. The house was quiet, a calm before the storm of the evening’s performance. Michaela was getting ready for her show later, but for now, she sat casually on the floor, one leg crossed over the other, absorbed in her phone as the others chatted quietly around her.

Her hair, soft brown with natural waves, tumbled freely around her shoulders, catching the light in a way that made it look like it was glowing. Today, it was loose, not styled with any particular effort, and yet it seemed to frame her face perfectly. A few strands had escaped her messy bun, falling gently across her forehead, and Michaela pushed them back behind her ear, revealing the delicate curve of her jaw and the graceful line of her neck.

Her face, beautiful in its simplicity, was framed by the soft light of the room. There were faint freckles across her nose and cheeks, the kind that deepened when she spent time in the sun, but she never bothered to hide them. They added to her effortless charm, making her seem like someone who didn't need to try to be beautiful—she simply was. Her skin had a warm, olive tone, a natural glow that didn’t need makeup to shine. Today, there was only the faintest hint of mascara on her lashes, a touch of lip balm that made her lips look full and soft. She was the picture of understated beauty.

Her eyes, those deep brown eyes, were the centerpiece of her face. They were warm, expressive, and endlessly captivating. Right now, they were focused on her phone, flicking through messages, but when she looked up, it was impossible not to be drawn into their depths. Her gaze had a quiet intensity, as if she was always seeing more than she let on. Whether she was listening to someone else or lost in her own thoughts, her eyes seemed to absorb everything around her, and when she smiled, they lit up, turning her whole face into something unforgettable.

Michaela’s lips were full and natural, their soft pink hue creating a contrast against her skin. Her smile was one of her most captivating features, subtle and knowing, like she held a secret just beneath the surface. She didn’t need to smile wide for it to reach her eyes and make her presence felt in the room. It was a quiet, inviting smile, one that made everyone feel like they were in on something special.

She wore an oversized sweater today, the soft fabric draping over her figure casually, paired with well-worn jeans. Her outfit was nothing extravagant—simple and comfortable, but it only added to the aura of effortless beauty she carried. There was a kind of grace in the way she moved, even when doing something as simple as shifting to make herself more comfortable on the floor. Michaela wasn’t someone who demanded attention, yet she always seemed to have it. She had a quiet confidence, a grounded energy that made her both approachable and undeniably captivating.

Despite the casual atmosphere, there was an undeniable air of purpose about her, something that was always present when she prepared for a performance. The way she carried herself, the way she could settle into a quiet corner or stand at the front of a crowd—it didn’t matter. Michaela seemed to have the ability to adapt to any situation, owning every room she walked into, whether it was on stage or simply sitting here with her friends.

There was a strength in her, one that had nothing to do with appearance but came from the way she held herself in the world. Michaela was grounded in a way that few people could match, and yet there was a softness to her, an openness that made her both approachable and magnetic. She wasn’t the loudest in the room, but when she spoke, everyone listened. Her quiet presence seemed to speak louder than words ever could.

As she shifted to stand, preparing to get ready for her performance, the others around her watched with admiration. Michaela wasn’t just a performer. She was a force, and tonight, she would command the stage with the same effortless confidence that made her unforgettable in any room.

A few hours later..

Michaela paced back and forth in the green room, her fingers toying with the edge of her setlist. She had played dozens of shows before, but tonight felt bigger. More important. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, all four of the boys were here—not as performers, but as her personal cheer squad.

Michael lounged on the couch, scrolling through his phone, but every so often, he shot her a reassuring glance. "You’ve got this, Micki. Stop pacing before you burn a hole in the floor."

Calum leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "She’s just making sure we all feel the tension. It’s very dramatic."

Luke chuckled, tossing a stress ball in the air. "That’s what makes her a great artist, though. She actually cares about the performance."

Michaela groaned, plopping down beside Michael. "You guys are so annoying."

Ashton, who had been quiet up until now, was watching her closely. He was sitting on the armrest of the couch, tapping his fingers against his knee in an unconscious rhythm. "You nervous?" he finally asked, his voice softer than the others'.

Michaela hesitated. "A little. It’s weird having you guys here. Usually, I can pretend I’m just singing to strangers, but now… you’re watching me."

Ashton smirked. "We’ve been watching you for years. This is nothing new."

Calum snickered. "Yeah, especially Ash. I think he might know your setlist better than you do."

Luke grinned. "Might as well make him your backup singer at this point."

Michaela shot them both a glare, but her stomach flipped at their teasing. Ashton, on the other hand, simply raised an eyebrow at them, unimpressed. "Real mature, guys."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Ashton and Micki? That’s ridiculous. He’s practically my brother. That’d be weird."

Calum gave an exaggerated sigh. "Denial is a hell of a drug."

Luke nodded in mock seriousness. "You hate to see it."

Michaela groaned, covering her face. "Can we not make this about me and Ashton? I have an actual concert to do."

Ashton, however, seemed unbothered. He leaned forward slightly, voice just low enough for only her to hear. "But seriously, Micki. You’re gonna be amazing."

She let out a breath, trying not to focus too much on the way his voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Thanks, Ash."

Michael shook his head, muttering, "Unbelievable," as he returned to his phone. But Calum and Luke exchanged knowing looks, grinning like they had just discovered the biggest secret in the universe.

Michaela rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The teasing might never stop, but somehow, with all of them here, she felt like she could actually do this.

Ashton leaned against the wall backstage, the hum of the crowd outside filling his ears, but tonight, the energy in the air felt like it was too far away. He should have been excited, should have been pumped for the show, but all he could focus on was Michaela, standing near the side of the stage, adjusting her mic, her eyes darting around like she was double-checking everything. Her focus was intense, but Ashton couldn’t help but notice the subtle fidgeting of her fingers, the way her lips pressed together in that small sign of nerves that only he could read.

It wasn’t the usual pre-show jitters. There was something else in the air between them tonight, something that had started a few years ago, on their first world tour.

At first, Michaela had joined them just to support. She’d always been a part of their crew in some capacity—someone they could count on to bring humor and warmth when the endless days on the road got too draining. But that first world tour… that was when everything changed.

They’d been in a small, dimly lit dressing room between sets. Michaela was there, as usual, offering her quiet support while the rest of the band did their usual pre-show rituals. But that night, as they sat around, talking about the show, Ashton had noticed her in a way he hadn’t before. She was laughing with the crew, her energy light and effortless, and in that moment, she wasn’t just the girl who had always been there for him, who knew every little thing about his life. She was someone different. There was something about the way she carried herself now—more confident, more alive—that had caught him off guard. The people who were around her noticed too.

But it wasn’t just the way she looked that changed everything. It was the way she made him feel.

It was the way, at the end of the show, after they’d all been exhausted and sweaty, she was the first to step forward with a water bottle and a tired grin, offering it to him without any words. Just that soft smile, that one smile that always seemed to melt any frustration. It was in the way she’d stayed late that night with the crew, helping them pack up, not because she had to, but because she genuinely wanted to be there.

And that was when it hit him.

How long had I been feeling like this? He hadn’t asked himself that before, hadn’t put a name to it. But every time he saw Michaela, every time their hands brushed as they walked side by side, his heart beat a little faster. She was so much more than his best friend. She was someone he couldn’t imagine being without.

But he couldn’t admit it—not then, and certainly not now. He’d tried to bury the feelings. She was part of the team, part of the band’s extended family, and his feelings for her would just complicate things. So, he did what he did best—he ignored it, tried to focus on the tour, on the shows, on the fans. But every glance, every moment where their eyes locked across a crowded room or backstage, sent a rush of heat through him, an ache in his chest that he couldn’t shake.

When they got to their next stop, he’d found himself leaning a little closer when they sat together, laughing a little harder at her jokes, his heart racing a little faster when she was near. But what really made him realize how deeply it had affected him was when they had a quiet night off in the middle of the tour. Everyone else had gone to bed early, but Michaela had invited him to join her for a walk. They’d talked for hours—about everything, about nothing—until the moon was high in the sky. And when she’d smiled at him, just a little too close, he could no longer deny it.

This isn’t friendship, he’d thought to himself. This is something else.

But he kept it to himself, because he couldn’t let it go further. He was Ash, the guy who made jokes, the guy who was always there for her, the guy who didn’t want to ruin their easy camaraderie. But now, here they were, backstage again, and it was all too much to ignore.

As he watched her now, fiddling with the mic, her brow furrowed slightly as she prepared for the show, all he could think about was how much he’d fallen for her during that first tour. She’d stood by him, supporting him through every tough show, and yet, it wasn’t until that tour that he truly saw her—not just as the girl he had grown up with, but as someone he wanted by his side. And the deeper his feelings grew, the harder it became to be around her without wishing he could tell her how he felt. How much he wanted to be more than just friends.

But now, all these years later, standing here backstage, he knew he could never admit it. Michaela was still that same person—the one who had always been there for him—but the feelings inside him had changed. They had become something else. Something deeper. And Ashton was afraid to find out what would happen if he said it out loud.

“Hey, Mickey,” Ashton said, trying to keep his voice casual, but failing. He watched her glance over at him, the brief moment of eye contact making his chest tighten. It was all too easy to fall into old habits—old comforts—and for a moment, he let himself enjoy the normalcy of their interaction.

“Hey,” Michaela replied, the word slipping out almost as a breath, as if she were still trying to steady herself. Ashton could see it. He could always see it—how the nerves always crept in just before she took the stage. It made him want to reach out to her, pull her close, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“You okay?” he asked, though he instantly regretted it. He was trying not to hover, trying not to make this worse.

She nodded, her lips curling into that tight smile he knew so well. “Yeah. I’ll be fine,” she said, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

She’s incredible, Ashton thought, forcing a smile. She always is. She’ll kill it out there. But his heart didn’t calm. Instead, it beat faster as she walked toward the stage, the distance between them suddenly feeling heavier than ever and as he walked to the front row of the show.

The venue was packed, the air electric with anticipation. Michaela had played her fair share of shows, but this one felt different. Maybe it was the fact that the crowd was bigger than ever, or maybe it was the pair of hazel eyes watching her from the side of the stage—eyes she had tried so hard not to fall for.

Ashton Irwin. Drummer. Rockstar. Best friend. And the one person she knew she could never have.

He stood with his arms crossed, his usual confident smirk replaced with something unreadable. He had always been supportive, always cheered her on, but tonight, there was an intensity in his stare that made her fingers tremble against the microphone.

She cleared her throat, gripping the guitar slung over her shoulder. "This next song is called Unsaid," she announced. "I, uh… wrote it about something I couldn’t say out loud."

The words were barely out of her mouth before she realized what a mistake that was. Because now Ashton was paying attention. Really paying attention.

The first chords rang out, delicate and aching, filling the silence. The crowd swayed, caught in the slow pulse of the melody. Michaela closed her eyes as she sang, letting herself drown in the words she had written alone in her apartment at 2 a.m.—words that had spilled out when she couldn’t sleep, when her heart felt too heavy in her chest.

“I could stand right next to you, feel the space like an open wound.You’re close enough to touch, but miles away from mine to lose.”

She didn’t have to look to know Ashton was still watching her. She could feel it. The weight of his stare pressed against her skin, the way it always did when he was deep in thought.

The song carried on, every lyric peeling back the layers she had spent so long trying to keep hidden. By the time she hit the final note, the crowd erupted into cheers, but Michaela barely heard them. Because when she finally dared to lift her gaze, she found Ashton’s eyes locked onto hers.

For the first time, neither of them looked away.

#5 seconds of summer #5sos #ashton irwin #michael clifford #calum hood #luke hemmings #ashton irwin x reader #imagine #oc #friends to lovers #forbidden love

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michaeladawnxx-blog · 5 months ago

Text

A Bond Forged in Shadows: Chapter 1

Hi everyone!

This is my first fanfiction, and I’m so excited (and a little nervous) to share it with you all! ACOTAR has been one of my favorite series, and I wanted to explore a story that stays true to the original world while introducing Michaela—a character who I shamelessly based on myself. :)

I’ve poured so much love into this, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for taking the time to check out my work—I’d love to hear your thoughts! ♡✨

I do not own the A Court of Thorns and Roses series or any of its characters. They are the property of Sarah J. Maas. This is a work of fanfiction created for personal enjoyment, and no copyright infringement is intended.

word count: 3k

warning: none !! (Let me know if I should add any.)

This one is very cutesy and calm. Just some slight swearing but nothing new.

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Michaela was striking in a way that wasn’t obvious at first. She wasn’t the kind of beauty that turned heads the moment she entered a room—no, hers was the kind that lingered, that made people do a double-take once they truly saw her. Her dark brown hair, cut to just past her shoulders, framed her face in soft waves, her wispy bangs often falling into her eyes no matter how many times she brushed them aside. They were a shade of deep, warm brown—the color of rich earth and aged mahogany—but in the right light, flecks of gold and honey could be seen within them, glinting like embers.

Her features were delicate but expressive—full lips that often querked into a knowing smirk, high cheekbones that flushed easily when she was flustered, a sharp yet graceful jawline. She was neither imposing nor fragile, existing in that effortless in-between where strength and elegance met.

Her Illyrian heritage was unmistakable in the wings that stretched from her back—large, powerful, yet perfectly proportioned to her smaller frame. They were sleek and midnight-dark, the membranes catching the light just enough to reveal faint hints of deep violet and indigo. They had once been a symbol of protection—of Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel ensuring she would never be left defenseless. But now, after years of training, they were fully her own.

She carried herself with quiet confidence, moving with the kind of deliberate grace that came from both battle training and scholarly discipline. She was a contradiction in the best way—both a warrior and a thinker, a fighter and a dreamer. She could be deep in study one moment, her fingers smudged with ink as she unraveled an ancient text, and then be on the sparring field the next, moving like a storm, a blade in hand, wings flaring behind her.

But perhaps the most defining thing about Michaela wasn’t her appearance at all. It was the fire in her spirit. The way she laughed too easily when she was comfortable, but locked down her emotions when she felt vulnerable. The way she loved fiercely and protected those she called family with everything she had. The way she didn’t just exist in the Night Court—she belonged to it, and it belonged to her.

Velaris had always felt like home to Michaela.

Even before she had the words to describe it, before she knew what safety truly meant, she had understood—deep in her bones—that this was where she belonged. The warmth of the city, the towering mountains, the sound of the Sidra rushing through its heart. The way the stars shone so clearly above, like the universe itself was watching over them.

She had found peace here.

And yet, there were days when she still remembered the past too clearly.

The long, dark years before Velaris. Before Cassian had found her.

Velaris had always felt like home to Michaela, the only place where she had ever truly felt safe. After everything she had been through—losing her mother, being thrust into a world of danger, uncertainty, and darkness—Velaris had been the light. The beauty of the Night Court, its ethereal streets bathed in the glow of moonlight, had become a sanctuary for her. It wasn’t just the city itself, though—it was the people. Rhysand, Feyre, Azriel, Cassian, Morrigan, and Amren had woven themselves into the fabric of her life, their presence a constant source of strength. Despite everything she had endured, Michaela had found a place where she could truly belong.

Her wings, though smaller than Cassian’s, were strong and capable—a gift from the protection of Rhysand, Azriel, and her older brother. They had granted her the ability to soar through the skies, a symbol of the strength they had helped her find within herself. But they were also a reminder of her past—the years spent hiding from danger, running from the violence that had claimed so much of her family. The scars of those years lingered beneath the surface, even though her wings had grown into something beautiful.

Michaela often marveled at her wings. They were not as grand as the wings of some of the other warriors, but they were hers, and they worked. Every time she took flight, she felt free, and for a moment, it was as though the shadows of her past no longer held sway over her. Yet, the trauma was always there—lingering at the edges of her thoughts, always reminding her of what had been lost.

She had always known her bond with Cassian was special. He had been the one to find her, to pull her from the wreckage of their old home when their mother had been taken. Michaela had been just a child, alone, hiding in the remnants of their shattered world. The trauma of losing everything had shaped her, but it had been Cassian who had kept her alive, who had kept her from losing herself entirely. Cassian had become her protector, her guide, and her closest friend. His presence was a constant—steady, unyielding. He had given her strength when she had none, had fought alongside her to survive, even when she had no idea how.

Cassian had brought Michaela to the safety of Rhysand’s mother’s house during a time when the boys were still training to become Illyrian warriors. It had been a time of uncertainty for Michaela, but she had found solace in the quiet care of Rhysand’s mother. Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian had all been in their training years, learning the art of war and protection, but they had never forgotten about Michaela. Rhysand’s mother had become a second mother to Michaela, offering her care and stability while the boys trained, before Rhysand took his place as High Lord.

The days spent in that house were some of Michaela’s most peaceful memories. Rhysand’s mother, though not yet a formal part of the Night Court's leadership, had been a source of kindness. She had taken Michaela under her wing, teaching her the ways of the world and offering guidance as Michaela navigated the loss of her family.

Even though Rhysand's mother had been a quiet, steady presence in Michaela’s life, the pain of their losses was something they shared. Michaela had never truly understood the weight of the darkness Rhysand carried with him, not until years later. Rhysand, though he had not yet assumed the title of High Lord, had always carried a burden of grief—grief for the loss of his mother and sister, both of whom had been killed long before Amarantha’s reign. Their deaths had left deep scars on Rhysand that never truly healed. During his training, Michaela could see that darkness in his eyes, though he never spoke of it. His watchful, protective presence was always felt, even from a distance.

And yet, despite the quiet grief that weighed on him, Rhysand was a figure of strength. His determination to protect Velaris, to protect Michaela, had never wavered. His bond with Cassian and Azriel was one forged in the fires of war and hardship. As Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian completed their training, they became full-fledged warriors of the Night Court, their bond unbreakable. It was then that Rhysand, after having assumed the title of High Lord, returned to Velaris, leading the Night Court with a strength only he could provide.

When Rhysand became High Lord, the dynamics of the Court shifted. But Michaela’s bond with the Inner Circle had already been formed. She had been a part of their lives for so long, though her role had never been clear to her until much later. She was part of the family, even if she didn’t always understand where she fit in.

Feyre, the mortal girl who had changed everything for the Night Court, entered their lives soon after Rhysand's return. Feyre’s bond with Tamlin had been formed long before she entered the world of the Night Court. Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court, had found Feyre in a time of great vulnerability. Feyre, in the beginning, had been content in the Spring Court. Tamlin had protected her, sheltered her from the harsh realities of their world. But as Feyre’s understanding of the world grew, so too did her bond with Tamlin. Yet, even as their relationship had deepened, it had frayed under the weight of the truth Feyre was coming to understand.

When Feyre had broken the curse that had bound her and Tamlin, she was thrust into a world of uncertainty and danger, but also strength and power. Rhysand, whose role as High Lord of the Night Court was now solidified, had become her rock. The bond between Feyre and Rhysand was undeniable. It was fate. They were mates, and their connection was unbreakable.

Amidst all of this, Michaela’s connection with Azriel had grown. Azriel, the silent spy of the Night Court, had always intrigued Michaela. He was the one who moved in shadows, always observing, never speaking unless necessary.

Michaela adjusted the weight of the books in her arms, her grip tightening slightly. She forced herself to exhale, steadying herself as she turned her gaze toward the sparring ring ahead.

Before heading to the training grounds, Michaela had spent the morning in the archives, surrounded by the scent of old parchment and ink. The quiet hum of the library had always been a comfort to her, a place where she could lose herself in ancient texts and forgotten knowledge. She had been deep in study, trying to decipher a passage about protective wards when the sounds of sparring from outside had drawn her attention. It was a routine she had come to expect—Cassian and Azriel testing their limits, pushing each other to new heights.

She had lingered longer than she intended, tracing the delicate script of a centuries-old book, her mind racing with possibilities. But despite her dedication to her studies, she couldn’t ignore the pull of the training grounds.

She wasn’t just a scholar, after all. She was a warrior too.

Taking a final glance at the book, she carefully shut it, tucking it under her arm as she made her way outside. The cool air of Velaris greeted her, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the archive chambers. As she approached the sparring ring, she could already hear Cassian’s booming laughter and the rhythmic clang of blades clashing.

Cassian and Azriel stood at the center of the training grounds, their forms locked in a precise, calculated dance of battle. Their movements were effortless, honed over decades of training. It was a fight of brute force versus lethal precision, of raw strength against deadly efficiency.

And even though Cassian was formidable, even though his strength alone could level mountains, Michaela knew exactly how this fight would end.

It always ended the same way.

Michaela had spent the past ten minutes trying not to look.

And failing.

The sun hung high over the training grounds, casting long shadows over the sparring ring where Cassian and Azriel moved in a blur of muscle, power, and precision. Their bare chests glistened with sweat, muscles flexing and shifting with every movement as they struck and countered, parried and evaded.

She had seen them train a thousand times before. And yet, it never failed to make her stomach flip.

More specifically—Azriel never failed to make her stomach flip.

Michaela quickly averted her gaze, burying her attention in the book resting on her lap. You’ve seen him shirtless before, don’t be ridiculous.

And yet, her traitorous mind whispered back, but have you ever actually allowed yourself to appreciate it?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the ancient text before her. The words blurred together. Damn it.

It had been this way for years—this quiet, stupid, hopeless crush.

She had never told a soul. Not even Feyre. Not even when the feelings had first bloomed all those years ago, when Azriel had become her closest friend, the one who understood her silence, the one who trained with her under the stars when she couldn’t sleep.

But she had never once entertained the thought that Azriel could feel the same.

Because everyone knew who he truly wanted.

Morrigan.

Michaela’s chest tightened, and she glanced up again—just in time to see Azriel land a brutal strike against Cassian, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Cassian let out a booming laugh, shaking his head as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I swear you fight harder when Michaela’s watching, Az.”

Azriel’s head snapped toward Cassian, shadows curling slightly at his back.

Michaela’s breath caught. What?

Cassian, ever oblivious, just smirked and rolled to his feet. “Don’t deny it.”

Azriel didn’t deny it.

Instead, he turned, barely sparing Michaela a glance as he muttered, “Again,” signaling for Cassian to continue the fight.

Michaela’s heart was pounding.

That had meant nothing, she told herself. Nothing at all.

Because he liked Mor. He had always liked Mor.

She had seen the way his eyes lingered on her when she entered a room, the way his expression softened when she laughed. Mor, with her golden beauty and effortless confidence, with the way she shined like the sun itself.

And Michaela? She was just Michaela. The scholar. The warrior who had always been seen as Cassian’s little sister.

She clenched her fists in her lap, forcing herself to exhale. It doesn’t matter. It never had.

But then—

Azriel’s gaze flicked toward her again.

It lasted only a second. A breath.

But it was there. That intensity. That quiet, restrained something that made her entire body go still.

And for the first time in years, a traitorous thought slithered into her mind.

What if I was wrong?

What if it had never been Mor?

What if, all this time, it had been her?

Cassian lunged, aiming a brutal strike at Azriel’s ribs. But Azriel anticipated it—sidestepping at the last possible second before twisting Cassian’s own momentum against him. Cassian barely had time to react before Azriel disarmed him completely, sending his blade flying across the field.

Michaela pulled out of her thoughts hearing Cassian.

Cassian stumbled back, blinking down at his empty hands. Then he groaned. “Damn it.”

Michaela smirked.

"Still got it," Azriel said smoothly, stepping back and offering Cassian a hand.

Cassian took it, shaking his head as he pulled himself upright. "One day, Az. One day I’m going to actually win."

Azriel raised a single brow. "Highly unlikely."

Cassian let out a dramatic sigh, brushing dirt from his tunic before turning to Michaela. "Did you see that? My own sister stood there and just watched me get my ass kicked."

Michaela tilted her head. "I mean... I could have given you advice. But I didn’t want to embarrass you."

Cassian gasped, clutching at his chest in mock offense. "Et tu, Michaela?"

Rhysand’s smooth voice interrupted. "As entertaining as this is, we do have more pressing matters to discuss."

The High Lord of the Night Court strode forward, Feyre at his side. A king and queen in their own right. They moved like they were made for each other, power and elegance woven into every step.

Feyre’s gaze flickered between Michaela and the training ring, a knowing smile on her lips. "Are you going to jump in, Michaela? Or are you just here to observe?"

Cassian grinned. "She wouldn’t dare."

Michaela arched a brow. Big mistake.

She moved in a blink. Fast.

Cassian barely had time to register what was happening before Michaela had knocked him off balance, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a solid thud, his sword flying from his grip.

Feyre laughed. Rhysand grinned. Even Azriel let out a rare chuckle.

Michaela smirked down at Cassian. "Still want to talk, big brother?"

Cassian groaned from the ground. "Where the hell did you learn that?"

Azriel, arms crossed, simply said, "She’s been paying attention."

Their eyes met.

And there it was again—that look. That unreadable expression that had been haunting Michaela for weeks. Azriel was always difficult to read, but lately...

Lately, it was like he knew something she didn’t.

Before Michaela could dwell on it, Rhysand spoke again. "We have bigger concerns than Cassian’s wounded pride." His gaze flicked to the books Michaela had left on the bench. "What have you uncovered?"

Michaela exhaled, rolling her shoulders before picking up the nearest book. "There’s a passage in one of these texts that speaks about protective magic—wards that could reinforce Velaris’s defenses. But it’s ancient, and the wording is frustratingly vague."

Rhysand’s expression turned thoughtful. "Any leads?"

Michaela hesitated. "Maybe. But I’ll need more time."

Feyre stepped forward, resting a hand on her arm. "You’ll figure it out. You always do."

Michaela smiled. "I hope so."

Cassian finally dragged himself off the ground, shaking his head. "Well, since I graciously allowed Azriel to win, what’s next?"

Azriel let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Michaela rolled her eyes. "Cassian, you didn’t allow anything. You lost. Badly."

Cassian threw an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her a little too tightly. "You wound me, sister."

Michaela shoved him off. "I’ll do more than wound you next time if you keep touching me when you reek of sweat."

Feyre laughed. "You two really are siblings."

Cassian grinned. "Tragic, isn’t it?"

Rhysand shook his head fondly. "If you’re all finished, we should head inside. We need to discuss our next moves with Amren and Mor."

Cassian sighed dramatically. "More planning. Less fun."

Michaela nudged him. "You just lost a fight. How much more fun do you need?"

Azriel, silent as ever, simply turned toward the House of Wind, his shadows curling around him as he walked.

Michaela hesitated.

Something about the way he moved, the tension in his posture—it wasn’t just exhaustion. It was something else.

Something she couldn’t quite place.

For years, Azriel had been her best friend. Her confidant. The one who understood her in ways no one else could. And yet...

Something was different now.

She just didn’t know what.

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Chapter 2

#cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel x oc #feyre archeron #azriel shadowsinger #cassian #rhysand #night court

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