Adapting to Human Fragility
Pairing: azriel x fem reader (human mate)
Summary: Azriel is used to Fae strength and resilience. Seeing you bruise easily, tire faster, or become ill shakes him—but he steps up to care for you in the sweetest ways.
‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚
The first time Azriel saw you bruise, really saw the way the purpled skin bloomed too easily beneath his fingertips, something in him shifted. He had been tracing absent-minded circles along your arm while you talked, his usually featherlight touch unconsciously pressing just a bit too firmly. When you winced and pulled back, he frowned.
"What is it?" His voice was low, cautious.
You glanced down and sighed. "You didn't mean to, but… you left a bruise."
Azriel’s eyes darted to the soft mark already forming—a faint shadow against your human skin. His jaw tensed, his wings flexing behind him.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, pulling his hand back as though you were made of glass.
You shook your head, reaching for him again, but his shadows curled around his fingers, keeping them locked at his sides. "Az, it’s nothing. I'm human, remember? We bruise easily. It’s not a big deal."
But it was. At least to him.
From that moment on, you noticed a change in him—small things at first, like the way he walked closer to your side when you ventured into Velaris, his hand hovering near your lower back as if he anticipated every uneven cobblestone sending you toppling. Or the way his shadows flickered around your feet when you trained, sensing every misstep before you even realized you might trip.
And then there were the bigger things.
・・・・・⟢
You rolled your eyes at Azriel’s firm tone but didn’t stop climbing the narrow mountain path beside him. "I’m fine."
"You’re not fine," he countered, his wings ruffling in agitation. "You’re winded."
You were. But you weren’t about to admit it. The Illyrian mountain air was thinner than what you were used to, and while Azriel barely seemed to notice, your human lungs burned from the altitude. Still, you pressed forward, determined not to let him baby you.
Azriel sighed heavily behind you. Then, before you could react, his arms were around your waist, and your feet were suddenly no longer touching the ground.
"Azriel!" you yelped as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like you weighed nothing.
"You’re overexerting yourself," he said simply, ignoring your protests. "You wouldn’t last another ten steps without needing a break."
"This is unfair," you grumbled, your cheek pressing against his chest as he flew you up the rest of the trail.
"You say unfair. I say efficient."
Despite yourself, you melted into his warmth. His scent—leather, cedar, and something darker—surrounded you, and the steady beat of his wings lulled your body into reluctant relaxation. He wasn’t wrong. You’d needed the rest. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t complain about it later.
By the time he landed at the overlook, he set you down carefully, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Next time, just tell me when you need a break," he said softly.
You sighed, looking out at the breathtaking view of Velaris below. "Next time, I’ll try."
He hummed, skeptical, but pressed a kiss to your forehead anyway.
・・・・・⟢
The first thing you registered was the warmth.
A heavy weight draped over your shoulders, tucked snugly around your body. The second thing you registered was Azriel’s voice—a deep, soothing murmur—reading something softly into the quiet air.
Blinking, you turned your head to find him sitting beside you, book in hand, eyes scanning the pages before flickering toward you when he sensed you waking.
"You're awake," he murmured, setting the book aside. His shadows swirled near the bedside table, shifting restlessly as if they, too, had been watching over you.
You groaned, burrowing further under the thick blankets. Your throat was raw, your limbs aching with the telltale weight of a fever.
"How long was I asleep?" you croaked.
"A few hours," he answered, smoothing his palm over your forehead. "You were burning up, so I stayed with you."
You glanced at the bedside table—there was a half-empty bowl of soup, a cup of tea that had long gone cold, and another book stacked beneath the one he had just set down. He had been here the whole time.
"You didn’t have to fuss over me," you mumbled, though the affection in your voice was clear.
Azriel gave you a look—one of those unreadable, quiet stares that made your heart flutter despite your miserable state. "Of course I did," he said simply.
Before you could respond, he was reaching for the fresh bowl of soup he must have made while you were sleeping. He lifted the spoon, blowing gently before bringing it to your lips.
"Az," you protested weakly, but he ignored you, tilting the spoon just enough for you to sip the warm broth.
"You take care of everyone else," he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. "Let me take care of you."
Your throat tightened, but this time, it had nothing to do with the fever.
You swallowed thickly, nodding. "Okay."
His lips ghosted over your temple, lingering just long enough to make your fevered skin flush for an entirely different reason.
・・・・・⟢
The fever broke by morning. You woke feeling lighter, though still exhausted, your limbs like lead as you shifted under the covers. Azriel was still beside you, his wings folded neatly against his back, his shadows flickering gently around the bedframe.
"You didn’t sleep, did you?" you asked softly.
You arched a brow. "Liar."
His lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he exhaled and took your hand, tracing idle patterns along your palm. His touch was so achingly careful, like he was afraid you might break.
"Az," you murmured, watching the way his fingers ghosted over your skin. "I’m not made of glass."
His jaw clenched. "I just…" He trailed off, searching for the words. "You're so—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I could snap a Fae warrior’s arm without a second thought, but if I hold you too tight, I might bruise you." His thumb brushed over your wrist, where a faint mark from your last sparring session with Cassian remained.
"You think I don’t know that?" You curled your fingers around his. "I know what I am, Azriel. I know I’m not as strong as you. But I also know I can handle myself. My fragility doesn’t make me weak."
He swallowed hard, nodding. "I don’t think you’re weak." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I just—" He hesitated before finishing, "I don’t want to be the reason you hurt."
You squeezed his hand, tilting your head to press a kiss against his knuckles. "You’re not."
His eyes flickered to yours, and something in his expression softened. A slow, steady exhale left his lips. He didn’t argue this time.
Instead, he shifted closer, tucking you against his chest, his wings wrapping around you in a protective cocoon. You listened to his heartbeat, steady and sure, as his arms curled around your waist.
"I love you," you whispered against his skin.
His hold on you tightened just slightly—still careful, still mindful—but no longer hesitant.
"I love you too," he murmured.
And despite your lingering exhaustion, despite the fragile bones and mortal skin, you had never felt stronger.
