The Safeguard
Azriel x Reader
Summary: Anon Requests: "omg i saw ur az with teenager kids with the boys but could you do one with az dad having to deal with his daughter starting to date and being an over protective dad, cause i feel like this would be so cute" and "OMG PLS MORE TEENS"
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,409
Notes: Since you've all put up with the mass amount of answers I just posted 😂😅 Sorry for blowing up everyones feed.
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“I mean, look at that.” Azriel grimaces as he watches his oldest daughter and her cousin talk to the High Lord of Summer. The way they bat their eyelashes at the Lord, a hand placed on his bicep as they giggle over what he says, Tarquins dazzling smile and bright eyes gleaming with joy, his dark cheeks staining red at the females’ antics before him.
There’s a slight pressure inside of your head, the familiar skim of Rhys asking to be let in. You share a glance with your mate, noticing the gleam in his eye he gets when the High Lord contacts him, and you lower your walls as well.
At least it’s not Tamlin. His voice is a grimace and you don’t even have to look over at your friend to picture the look of disgust on his face.
Your gaze slides from Zuzu and Asteria across the party to where Nyx is stationed. He’s speaking to Tamlin’s daughter, Linden, and by the cunning smile on his face and the look she’s giving him from the side of her eye you can tell that there’s something more than the exaggerated dislike between the two of them.
Rhys’ presence leaves your mind, and by the way Azriel’s mouth twitches in the corner you know he must’ve commented something cheeky back to his friend.
“They’re just having a bit of fun,” you respond, looking back towards your daughter when he’s sent a discreet middle finger from the High Lord behind Feyre’s back. Your daughter and niece reminded you so much of what you and your friends were like when you were young, drinking and flirting with the beautiful males you saw, sometimes for companionship, sometimes solely for the fun of it.
“He’s too old for them,” Azriel’s smile falls, hazel eyes locking on the sight again. His loose grip around his glass tightens when Zuzu flips her silky ink black hair behind her shoulder, showing off her full bust to the High Lord in a dress that Azriel would have never let her wear had he seen it before she left the house.
Perhaps that’s why his oldest daughter had gotten ready at her cousin’s house instead.
He’d be having a word with Rhy’s about it later.
“You and I are two hundred years apart, Az, or did you forget?” You ask, giving him a mischievous smile as well.
He glances at you for a long moment, drinking you in. His mate for a century and a half, his better half in every way, blessing him with the love he hadn’t known he needed and six beautiful children after that. His everything.
“I still don’t like it,” he finally responds when you give his hand a gentle squeeze. You know, you didn’t care for it either, as you’d known Tarquin for a long time, but he was a good male, and if Zuzu wanted him, you’re sure she would get him.
One of the perks of being the feared Spymaster of the Night Court meant that all of the High Lord’s had seen just how dangerous he could be when he was bothered. And with the watchful stare Azriel sends the young Lord, eyes gleaming with a spark of malice and intent, the Summer Lord’s smile turns from pleasant to uncomfortable and he quickly excuses himself from the female’s presence.
Azriel’s shadows settle slightly at Tarquin’s departure.
Until the females’ heads swing around, pinpointing the source of the reason the High Lord had so hasilty departed from them.
Her gaze went from glaring to unnerving as she realized exactly what her father had done, scaring the eligible bachelor away. The hair on the back of Azriel’s neck prickles. It’s a look you’d trained her well in over the years, a look that had him knowing just how deep in shit he was for what he’d done.
Although Zuzu hated Summer more than any of the other courts, she would never turn down a good looking, single male.
He’s saved from his daughter stalking towards him by his other saving grace, Malos, who’s dressed in her full Illyrian garb, much to her father’s pleasure. He hated that culture and didn’t like them having to do with that side of him, but he’d rather see his daughter looking like she’s going to slaughter anyone that tries to talk to her than dressed in a highly impractical dress that was clearly not made for fighting.
Azriel knows that Zuzu had at least three weapons on her person anyway, he’d made sure all of his children had kept weapons with them when they were old enough, and you’d think him a bit paranoid but with a sharp blade sheathed at your own thigh, you were not one to judge.
You never knew when something unpredictable might happen.
While his younger daughter distracts the two furious females, he scans the room, keeping an eye on his other children, who aren’t really children anymore.
A few feet away from Nyx and Linden, Maude stands with Gideon and Wren. The wide eyed girl leans in ever so slightly to your nephew as he tells his story, hanging onto every word he speaks, but the male doesn’t seem to notice the poor girl, too invested in telling the story he’s sure his son has heard many times before.
She’s persistent, he’ll give her that, often flocking to the warrior at every event the pair of them ended up at. He’s not sure Gideon’s true feelings about the young Autumn female, a fire sprite much like her father.
His second oldest, Baz, hasn’t talked to a single person within the large ballroom for more than a few minutes, his cheeky smile and cocksure attitude dazzling both the females and the males, and he knew that his son would surely have his pick of the litter should he want.
Jax and Knox stand by the doors, the marble of the balcony reflecting the creamy oranges and plush pinks of the setting sun, waiting until the first rays of darkness cascade across the lush lands so they can slip out into the night.
Azriel can’t help but smirk, those two were every bit of him, stoic faces watching the partygoers as they danced, migled, and drank with no intentions of doing so themselves, though he does see his youngest son’s glimmering gaze linger on a fae female that Azriel has never seen before.
“Heads up, Love,” you chuckle, placing a hand gently on your mate’s shoulder as you pass. His head jerks up, catching the amused look on your face as you depart and Zuzu appears before him, eyebrows raised and arms crossed, a serious look on her beautiful face.
He silently curses, sending a touch down the bond, begging for reinforcements. The tickle he receives in response tells him that you won’t be rejoining the conversation.
So he does what he does best, steeling himself, becoming as his title suggests. Azriel raises his eyebrow in challenge and he watches as his daughter sizes him up, her dark eyes studying him, flickering back and forth between pupils, searching, examining.
Two things could happen in the next few seconds. Zuzu could do as she often does, which is to fight back with her words, which is not what he would prefer with all of these High Lords and partygoers around. He’d have to remove his mask as shadowsinger and put that on of a father, and he’d hate to have to embarrass his daughter in front of everyone. Or she could decide to let it pass, they can talk about it at home, where the both of them can speak their minds without repercussions.
She goes with the second option, a slight shake of her head towards him before she spins on her heel and stalks off, presumably to find you. She understands not to speak illy to her father, whether in public or alone, but his stubborn daughter liked to test the both of you in more ways than one throughout her years, and his shoulders slacken slightly when she slips away.
He can get on about her flirting with High Lord’s eleven times her senior when he gets home.
For now, Azriel drains the rest of the drink in his cup, moving from his spot in search of his brothers, where they can all complain a little about their children growing up too fast for them to keep up with.
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