#but when he first met Gwyn

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

Part Two

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

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

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254

@secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows

azriel tag list 🫶🏻:@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder  @mortqlprojections @ushijima-stits @honethatty12

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 2)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3122

(Part 1)

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“When you said you got me a t-shirt,” you sigh, once again adjusting the hem of the jersey Mor provided you. Notshirt; jersey. The bottom of the Velaris Bats uniform has been trimmed—startlingly low. Or is it cut too high; you wonder with a swallowed curse. The damned thing nearly shows off your entire midriff. “I thought you meant, like, a normal fucking shirt and not whatever this is.”

Mor scoffs, shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she weaves her way through the throng of people towards your seats. Her long strides in her black heels hard to keep up with. “That is a Mor Original, and I only made it cuter,” she huffs indigently, like your discomfort is the sole inspiration behind her “designs.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve allowed Mor to pick out your outfit, but it’s definitely going to be your last, you try to remind yourself. The handful of times you’ve thought this exact thing before is laughable, and you’ve never once remembered. She’ll continue to cut the hems of shirts and alter skirts into even shorter skirts until the end of time, probably.

She’s been the crafty type since you first met her. Anything that she could add personality to was subject for a good old shot of “Mor’s Touch:” clothing, home décor, even the cocktails she mixes—which often go from something as simple as a Dirty Shirley and turning it into a cherry-passionfruit with a hint of lime drink, mixed with tonic instead of Sprite and garnished with a frilly umbrella stuck through three Maraschino cherries because “one is simply not enough.”

You agree, and you’d never admit to your eccentric roommate that it’s the most delicious drink you’ve ever had. Goes down like lemonade and has you going from a corner-stander to someone in the center of the dancefloor in two drinks flat.

You wish you had one right about now to get you through the night.

Your mind wanders to Gwyn back at the dorms, wondering what she’s going to be getting up to tonight. You don’t need to wonder, you know how your red-headed roommate prefers to spend her nights, curled up on the couch beneath a thick blanket, a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels within reach, and her laptop in her lap, creating fantasy worlds for her characters to live in some day.

A surge of pride for your roommate fills your energy tank. Sometimes people truly do find exactly what they were made for in life, and Gwyn was born to write. You’ve only read a few snippets she’s been willing to share, but you can’t fathom forming sentences the way she does, creating worlds and characters from her mind alone, seeing a vision in your mind so clear that it would be a crime not to share it with the world.

You’re not sure you’ve ever loved something that much, but Sports Medicine is pretty damn close. Psychology, is not.

You shiver as the cold of the arena hits the sliver of skin that’s exposed itself once again while you were taking a sip of your drink. Goosebumps pebble in response, coursing over the entirety of your body within seconds, causing you to shiver.

You should’ve fought Mor harder about bringing your jacket, but at least she left you sleeves, her shirt has been cut into a tank that hardly reaches the bottom of her ribs, and there’s a deep cut down the collar, creating a perfect ‘V’ that shows off her incredible tits.

You’d know, you’ve seen them before.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You two look so good,” a girl gushes, steps into you and Mor’s path, halting you from your first steps down the stairs to your seats. She’s chipper, a camera poised in her hands, the thick strap around her neck. He shiny, chestnut hair is braided into two tails, draped across her shoulders.

Behind her thin-framed glasses, her bright blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she peruses you and your roommate up and down, admiring your outfits.

“I told you,” Mor murmurs, elbowing you in the side before raising her voice to answer. “Thank you so much! I spent all day on these, and this one doesn’t appreciate my hard work at all. It’s a refreshing change of pace to hear a compliment instead of ‘Mor, don’t you think this is a little too much?’” You scrunch your nose at Mor’s terrible impression of you. Too nasally, too annoying.

The photographer laughs like it’s her full-time job, and you scowl.

Way to throw me right under that speeding bus, Mor.

“Do you mind if I take your picture for the team’s social media account? You two would make a great first slide in a carousel for school spirit,” she gets this faraway look in her eyes as if she’s picturing it now. “The interaction you’d get us,” she sighs dreamily. “I might even get promoted.”

You groan internally when Mor perks up even further. “I think I love you,” she blurts, pupils heart-shaped. “Do you want to sit with us? We have an extra ticket.” She’s bought one for Gwyn, hoping she would join in on this sporty girl’s night, but your other roommate had been adamant about her dislike of the sport, and had gotten a pass while you were dressed up like a doll and dragged out of the dorm.

The girl’s laugh is like a windchime, soothing and melodic. “I wish I could, but duty calls,” she waves her camera around in answer. “Maybe I’ll catch you at one of the after parties, though. Here, you can give me your Instagram and I’ll DM you after tagging you in the photos.”

She and Mor exchange socials and names. Feyre. It’s unique and suits her well.

After adding your own Instagram on her phone, you hand the phone back, posing with Mor. Of course, knowing your roommate as you do, it’s not just one picture that Feyre takes. They’re both beaming, and one picture turns into ten. Ten poses, nine sips of your drink because you don’t know what the hell else to do. Eight frantic smiles, seven internal sighs, and six side-eyes from passerby, trying to find their seats. Five giggles from friends, four embarrassed blushes, three warnings that you are so done with this, two people ignoring you, and one announcement overhead signaling the start of the game in a few minutes.

“So nice to meet you, Feyre,” Mor calls as you begin guiding her away. You have no clue where you’re going, but any movement closer to any empty seat is better than the photoshoot you just had in the middle of the walkway. With a parting smile at the photographer, Mor continues, like she’s all for standing there all night instead of supporting her cousin on the ice. “Message me!”

“Clingy, much?” You grunt at the poke to the arm that gets you.

“Oh, come on! It’s not like I’m going to replace you,” she scoffs with a brush of her long blonde hair over her shoulder. You swear, the guys sitting in the front row swoon. “Besides, you can never have too many friends. It’s not possible.”

You’re pretty sure it is possible to have too many friends, but you keep that thought to yourself. You suppose you have one more spot in your life for a friend, but if the pictures turn out terrible and are blasted on the Bat’s Instagram, that spot might disappear. You’re already feeling mortified enough from the public display of taking photos.

“Yeah, yeah,” is what you decide to go with. “Now, where are our seats?”

“I don’t like the look of that,” you mutter wearily, squinting to see what’s happening on the ice. You might not know anything about hockey, but you know malicious intent when you see it. It’s in the way that the Penguin’s player leans closer to the Bat’s center, nudging his shoulder as he speaks, his slimy grin growing with each jab.

The game’s been fun so far, much to your surprise. The crowd surrounding you is all for the team, chanting songs that you need to learn immediately because they’re so much fun. The music that blasts around the stadium during every break is on-point, not too old of songs and not too overplayed like at the one football game you’d been dragged to last year (also by Mor, but not because of a family member on the team, because of an entirely different member.)

“Is that my cousin?” She asks, brown eyes sharp as she examines the players. Their fronts are to you, no seeing the names painted across the back of their jerseys. You refrain from mentioning how Mor should at least know her own cousin’s number—since their written on the sleeves—but you keep that thought to yourself when her red painted nails tighten around the box of popcorn, crushing the flimsy cardboard. The strain of the muscle in her jaw matches the boy on the ice’s, you notice with a fleeing glance at your roommate.

Tension coils your gut. You find your fingers wrapping around the edge of the seat you’re perched in, gripping the bleachers so tightly that you swear you feel the cool metal warming and warping.

You’re not the only two who have noticed the shift in the moods of the players on the ice, parts of the crowd are beginning to rise from their seats, cheering growing from a low rumble to a thunder of screams, caws, and jeering.

The puck is barely a millimeter from the referee’s hand before sticks are thrown to the ice, gloves following as the two players slowly begin to circle each other. It looks like something out of an animal documentary: two predators about to snap at each other’s throats in a fight for the territory.

The anticipation of them going blow for blow lights a fire deep within your belly, your core perking up for attention.

You shouldn’t be thinking like this, shouldn’t get getting turned on by the idea of two boys about to knock each other’s teeth out. Should be thinking about your best friend’s cousin like this at all.

Shooting a guilty glance at your roommate, you breathe a soft sigh of relief that’s swallowed by the shouts of the crowd when you see that Mor hasn’t picked up on your sudden shift in mood—both mentally and physically.

All the players on the ice slide back to make room for the brawl that’s about to break out and a sick feeling bubbles in your stomach, almost overpowering the arousal as you wonder why no one is attempting to stop them.

There isn’t time to voice your concern, isn’t time to do anything except bolt to your feet with a gasp so harsh it sears your lungs when the Penguin’s player is the first to swing. Your heart is lodged in your throat, your breathing holding in your throat as you watch in anticipation. He lashes out with a curled fist so fast that by the time you blink, it’s over.

His hit doesn’t land.

There’s no time to feel the relief trying to rush through your veins because the Bat’s center is retaliating, throwing himself forward after swiftly dodging the attack. He grabs the other boy by the collar of his ice blue uniform and hauls him into his closed fist.

His opponents helmet goes flying off with the snap of his head backwards. He stumbles, but manages to stay upright, snagging a handful of the Bat’s jersey to try and steady himself.

You look to the benches flanking the ice, wondering why no one is joining the fray. It’s now that you realize it’s not that they don’t want to help their teammate who is quickly ducking away from another fist, it’s because they can’t.

There’s a boy standing nonchalantly, hazel eyes pinned on the scene before him. He looks eager almost, leaning so casually against his stick, chin propped on the edge of it like he’s watching the newest action movie from the best spot in the house.

Even the goalie seems to be unconcerned, taking the few moments he has to take a swig of water and adjust his helmet, squatting low and shooting side to side in his box, as if trying to keep limber for when the game resumes.

One of the refs is attempting to hold back a burly boy who seems much too large to be skating at all. His helmet has also been shucked off, revealing long, shoulder length wet hair that clings to his face and neck like a bee on honey. His gloves are abandoned on the ice too, and his stick has skidded to a stop upon hitting the sideboards nearby. You can’t make out the words he’s shouting, but with the feral grin you make out, you know they’re fighting words. With each bark he seems to be inching closer, like the full-grown man in the stripes trying to hold him back is nothing more than a soft breeze, and his is a twister barreling right through.

When he shakes his head, you catch sight of a bloodthirsty grin that has a shiver sliding up your spine. He’s enjoying this?

“Mor,” your worry tries to escape, only for the words to stick in your throat as more noises join the fight, loud as gunshots. Both the Bat’s and the Penguin’s players are rapping their hockey sticks against the boards separating their benches from the ice, war cries falling from their lips.

They’re all enjoying this.

“That is my cousin,” Mor screeches, her perfectly plucked brows pulled tight as she tries finally makes out the number on the back of the jersey that’s gripped so tightly in the offending players grip that you’re pretty sure the stitches are popping with the force. “Kick his fucking ass, Rhys!”

Casting a frantic look to your roommate, you realize that not even she seems to be fazed by the fact that her cousin is in the middle of a fight that could very seriously end badly, especially with the knives on the bottoms of their feet.

But, if everyone’s rooting for their player to win this battle, you can too.

As gruesome as the scene before you is, you wish you had a better seat, somewhere with a better viewpoint than all the way on the other side of the ice. You can’t to be able to hear the threats they’re growling at each other, your attention completely enraptured now that you’ve shoved your worry to the wayside.

With his newfound hold, the Penguin’s player strikes again, and this time, his hit slams across Rhys’ jaw. His head snaps to the side with the nasty hook and his helmet slips to the ice, the sound eaten up by the goading of the crowd.

They swing around, unsteady on their skates as each of the boys tries to topple the other over. You catch a glance at his face. It’s hard to see, and his shaggy black hair is splayed across his face like a spiderweb, keeping you from making out his features. You catch the blood dribbling down his chin, the anger etched in the clench of his jaw as he grits his teeth, managing to twist himself into a position where he has the upper hand on the Penguin’s player: a headlock.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you watch Rhys pound his fist into the other boy’s face once, twice, three times before his opponent’s feet fall out from under him. Rhys releases his hold, allowing the boy to slip lamely to the ice.

“Atta boy, Rhysie,” Mor shouts, once again shoveling popcorn into her mouth with a grin so bright it could melt the ice in the rink before you. She turns to you, golden brown of her eyes glowing with excitement. “Our parents would be so proud.”

She turns back to the scene before you can voice your confusion on that statement, tucking away the information that if you win a fight in hockey, it’s a great accomplishment.

You watch Rhys as he’s escorted by referees who guide him towards the penalty box. He’s examining his knuckles, not caring that he’s abandoning his equipment as he goes, grimacing as the adrenaline begins to fade. He pokes at them, frowning at whatever he feels.

You pray they’re not broken.

The rest of the players seem to be getting back to the game, like one of their teammates isn’t being casted away on an island across the ice. Okay, so it’s just another bench and he’s not that far from them, but you’re shocked that this is the end of the fight, both players carted into separate timeout boxes away from their teams.

Rhys plops down on the bench, pulling a water bottle from a hidden holder, washing the blood from his knuckles before examining them for a second time. You watch him flex his fingers, twist his wrist this way and that. You can’t seem to keep your eyes off him, even with the game picking back up and Mor shouting cheers when the Bat’s manage to steal the puck right from the drop, carting it down the ice with a speed that rivals a racecar.

He must be satisfied with his examination because Rhys is throwing his head back, and it’s almost as if he’s squirting the water from the bottle directly onto you with the way that the apex of your thigh’s wet at the sight of him. He sips the water, holding the bottle a few inches from his face, and you watch the water cascade down his chin and over his throat, bobbing with each swallow. It mixes with the blood from his split lip and slides into the collar of his gear.

You swallow harshly, suddenly parched.

When he’s had his fill of the drink, he moves the bottle further back, using the spray to wash his hair away from his face, and your breathing shallows. It’s as if the hand he’s using to squeeze the life out of the bottle is constricting around your throat, because suddenly, you recognize the sharp of that jaw, the curve of those eyebrows and the straight of his nose. All his angular features come together in the perfect picture of hotness, knocking the breath fully from your chest when he straightens his chin, looking out onto the ice to watch his teammates score the last goal of the second period.

He's the boy from this morning: the overachiever, the one who called you darling.

Mor’s cousin.

Rhysand Cunningham.

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Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125

[readychilledwine]

Batboys as coparents?

Batboy Coparenting Headcanons

Warnings - Azriel girlies aren't going to like this, slightly Harem mentioned, coparenting in general

Rhysand

You met Rhysand at a ball. Your father was one of his father's advisors, and it was love at first sight.

You two courted and married many years before he went under the mountain, leading to the birth of your daughter, Stella.

Stella is Rhysand's world, and when he became trapped, thoughts of her were what caused him to do everything he felt he had to.

He'd burn the world to keep her safe. He knew the mating bond would snap between you two. He just needed to get back to you for it to happen.

His world crashed down on him when it was Feyre instead. Then again, when he came home and a grown female stood where his sweet baby once did.

In his frustration and healing, you two still fucked like rabbits. Leading to yet another babe, one that grew as you watched your husband distant himself as he fell in love with Feyre.

You tried to leave so many times, but you love him, and he does love you. And slowly, so did Feyre.

Coparenting does not exist with Rhysand. Once you give birth, all three of you parent your new son, and in turn, your daughter.

When Feyre is pregnant with Nyx, the expectation is the same.

You three become a very happy throuple, with many, many children involved.

Cassian

I've given a little bit of a preview of this before. Peep Co Parents here

Cassian is the easiest to coparent with

You were a one night stand from a drunken forget Nesta night.

Finding out from Madja that you were pregnant terrified Cassian. He felt he had singlehandedly signed your death certificate

The babe had wings as to be expected, but somehow, you carried her to term and gave birth easily

Cassian struggled for awhile, he wanted it all. He felt he deserved the world.

But you and Nesta did not feel that way. You both wanted to be someone's first choice.

Nesta was obviously his, leading to many days spent with Rhysand being a neutral 3rd party the best he could be.

Obviously, he wanted his niece with them at all times, especially with the recent birth of Nyx, but your role was vital to her survival.

You two settled on you maintaining primary custody until she was weened and eating solid foods, then you would go 50/50 with alternating holidays.

Cassian provides you with child support regardless of that agreement. He gives you enough to get into and cover a lavish loft for both of you and any needs his baby girl has.

Cassian sees paying your rent as ensuring his daughter has a home with you, and taking care of you is just as important to him as taking care of his daughter.

Once you two go to 50/50 and you are able to work more, you insist he stops, but he instead buys off your loft, now allowing his money to focus on his daughter's necessities.

This leads to you giving him and nesta a spare key, letting them know they can come by whenever they'd like.

The relationship between you and Nesta is a blossoming one. The two of you become very close friends, and she comes over for girls' nights one a week and mom's night one a week.

Her pregnancy is an absolute joy for all 4 of you, but Cassian still makes sure he speaks to you and your daughter privately, ensuring you two know this changes nothing. That he is there for the long haul.

Soon, there are no divided holidays. Just all of you as an odd family gathered together to celebrate.

Cassian is the fairytale dream coparent. Nothing can change my mind on that

Azriel

Azriel is the most difficult to coparent with.

You were one of his rebounds after Elain. You are allergic to the contraceptive tonics, and Azriel had been too lazy to take his.

You sighed as the healer in Windhaven told you it wasn't sickness but pregnancy.

You were to be the mother of a bastard's bastard, and the bastard had not even acknowledged your presence since he fucked you in the weapons shed.

You learned soon after his bond with Gwyn had snapped, and you knew instantly that this babe would not be a priority to him.

He ran into you, quite literally, when you were 7 months pregnant. He goes pale as he realizes his scent is lingering heavily on you.

"What are you going to do?"

"You're fucking joking. What the fuck do you think?"

Azriel tries to convince you many times to just give the baby up, and you can't tell if it is because of his guilt or because he is genuinely that uninterested.

Rhysand and Cassian are the ones who approach you, instantly stepping up where their brother is failing.

You give birth to his son, YOUR son, on Starfall, and pick the name Erebus much to Rhysand's glee.

Azriel is in and out of his life and shotty with helping you raise him despite Rhysand moving you to Velaris

You have no relationship with Gwyn and find out Azriel had not even bothered telling until Rhysand showed up one day with his son, shoving the boy into his arms and commanding him to bond with him.

Overall, raising a baby with Azriel is not a great experience, but you have his brothers to stand in his place, and you help you with your son.

[lili-of-the-wildfire]

daily reminder that azriel SMILES!! when he met feyre he smiled! when he gave nesta her gift, he smiled! the first thing he did when he saw gwyn was give her a smile! he laughs!! u think he survived hell just to never smile or be happy?? sure he might play it coy sometimes, usually to rile cassian and rhys up, but he laughs into his tea and bites his lip to keep from smiling and openly grins!! and that’s canon! LET THIS MAN BE HAPPY IN PEACE I BEG OF U.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

The Clandestine Culinarian Pt. 3 | Azriel x Reader

Summary: After the mating bond between you and Azriel snaps, he hides away in Rhys’ townhouse, spending time with Elain, only to run into you at Rita’s

Word Count: ~ 3.3k

Warnings: Angst, Rita’s, blades, hot dresses (and women)

A/N: Soo sorry it took me so long to write this, but I’ve been scheming this for days, hope you like it<3

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Requests are open!

Azriel had finally managed to calm himself down after an hour or two, with Rhys consoling him and Cassian quickly rushing to the townhouse to figure out what the hell was going on.

“She’s your mate? Am I hearing that right?”

“Yes, Cassian. And keep your mouth shut about it.”

Rhys replied, giving Cassian a pointed look before going back to watching Azriel closely. He was in shock, mainly. He’d thought that after all these months of getting close to her and comforting her and helping her adjust, Elain had to be his mate, just had to be. And she wasn’t.

He knew his anger at you was irrational, but he wanted Elain, not you, you were just some female he’d met and bought poisons from. You were deadly and cunning and ruthless, nothing like his sweet, soft, and precious Elain he’d grown to love. You were not what he wanted.

“I can’t stay there with her, Rhys-“

He managed to get out, before Feyre and Elain both slipped into the room, clearly wondering what was wrong and why Azriel’s face was red and puffy. Elain seemed to already know what was happening, based on the sadness in her eyes. Gods, he’d do anything to get rid of it, anything. He would go through an army to make her feel better, slaughter anyone he needed to, and do anything he could.

“Feyre, this is not the time, nor the place.”

Rhys said, a hint of something pleading in his eyes. Feyre seemed to want to help but understood that helping could come later. Right now was about damage control. She put one hand around Elain’s, before going to walk out of the room. However, Elain got four words out before being pulled away.

“Can he stay here?”

She asked, her tone so broken that he would stay here forever, the rest of his life if it would fix her. Cassian’s face hardened, clearly thinking, Rhys only sighed before giving a nod.

“You’ll stay here until we can work this out. Cassian…do you think she’s far enough along to pick up training with the Valkyries?”

Cassian sighed, knowing that while you had progressed very far in your months of training, there was no way in hell you were at the same level as Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn.

“I can try.”

He said, his tone already unsure. It wasn’t a definite no, but it wasn’t a yes either.

*********************************************************

After Azriel had left, the House felt noticeably emptier, to you at least. It wasn’t any sort of noise you missed, but just the way his presence was subtle but always heavy in whatever room he took up. You didn’t dare pull on the golden threads tying you to the shadowsinger, not when he’d seemed so shocked and…upset.

That had stung worse than him leaving, maybe. His face had been contorted in shock and hurt as if you hadn’t been his first choice, and the only reason you were even on the roster was because of the bond. You weren’t sure how to think about that.

Luckily, you barely got any time to think with the new training with Cassian you’d picked up. You knew that working those blades couldn’t be easy, but good gods you hadn’t expected it to be so difficult either. Nesta on occasion tried to help you, but you still failed the ribbon test every single goddamn time as the ribbon remained there, hanging from the doorpost, dancing in the wind and taunting you.

Your body was sore and aching, but you were more muscular than before, you’d admit. At least the training was worth something.

Your mind still kept wandering back to Azriel, and to Elain as well. You’d seen the way he looked at her, with a hint of hope and longing in his eyes, and how she looked at him like he was the oxygen she needed to breathe.

So, like you did with any other girl problems, you sought out Nesta. You found her in the smutty section of the library that was formed to match her tastes, seeking out a new book among the shelves.

She took one look at you, a sort of pity and empathy in her eyes that usually wasn’t there, and sighed, sitting down on a large windowsill and inviting you to sit next to her.

You sat down next to her, not knowing what to say before opening your mouth to speak.

“I-“

“I already know, I saw the whole shitshow go down.”

She said in that bland tone of hers, picking at her nails in what seemed like a way to cover up an anxious habit. You weren’t surprised she’d seen. It had been right around training time for Cassian and the Valkyries, and they’d probably seen the entire thing go down. Embarrassment flooded you before you could stop it, creeping up your cheeks as you stared down at the hardwood floor, hands shifting constantly as you swallowed.

“He’s..in love with Elain, isn’t he?”

You asked, your voice a lot more resigned than you would like it to be. Nesta seemed to think about it, glancing at you before speaking.

“I think he’s got a crush, and I won’t lie, I think he was just looking for his mate. Elain, though…she’s infatuated with him, a bit ridiculous considering she’s already got Lucien groveling for her.”

Nesta said, a hint of distaste in her tone as she mentioned the mating bond between Elain and Lucien. She was still protective over her sister, it seemed. Even if she didn’t agree with her choices.

“Do you think she’ll be mad? I mean, of course, she’ll be, but..”

You went on, before realizing you were rambling and cutting yourself off with a sigh. Nesta simply shrugged.

“She won’t be happy, but she’s Elain, what could she possibly do? Not let you have a slice of her pies?”

That got a little huff of laughter out of you, some much-needed laughter after everything. Nesta glanced over at you, looking you up and down, before getting up and offering you a hand.

“Me and the girls were planning a girl’s night at Rita’s tonight, would you like to come?”

You hesitated, before taking her hand and getting up, nodding.

“Yeah, I could use a drink or two.”

What she then displayed could only be described as a wolf’s grin, her hand slipping off of yours to grab the book that had been on the shelf she wanted the entire time.

“Good. Wear your sluttiest dress.”

She said, a conspiratorial tone in her voice before she slipped off into the winding labyrinth that was the library, ever-shifting and moving to adjust for her.

*********************************************************

“I’ll grab it.”

His dark voice spoke, reaching over the middle Archeron sister to grab the measuring cups that were just out of reach for her. His chest pressed ever so slightly against her back as he grabbed it, before placing it on the counter for her and then going back to maintaining a respectable distance away.

He could’ve sworn that she always kept those cups lower down, but they were higher this time. As if someone had deliberately placed them there. As if someone had wanted the help of someone taller, who always was there at every beck and call.

“Thank you.”

She spoke softly, smiling up at him with a warmth that could melt the sun itself. Elain looked ethereal in this light, and she’d looked beautiful even before being turned to High Fae. Now she could rival the Mother herself.

The months being in the townhouse had been hard at first, being constantly away from his mate, but slowly the urge to be near you and touch you and hold you had faded away, replaced by Elain. Now that he thought of it, he could barely remember what your face had looked like, or your voice…or anything about you.

It was a sign, he supposed. A sign that even if the Cauldron had paired you two together, fate didn’t agree, and he was fully content here, eating every little home-cooked meal Elain made him, savoring the unique taste that was her cooking.

She never let him watch her cook the full meal, insisting that he not know the secret ingredients to the recipes she’d originally made during the starving days when she, Feyre, and Nesta had lived in that tiny little cabin in the woods. One day, she’d let him know the entire recipe. And that day would be soon, he was sure.

“I heard Feyre’s going to Rita’s tonight, maybe we could go together?”

She offered, her smile warm and safe. Everything he’d prayed for when he’d heard stories from Rhysand’s mother of love affection and support. The hope that he’d one day have it. What had her name been?

He’d never been as happy and just so free as he’d been with Elain in her kitchen in the townhouse with her, and the others had noticed a bit as well. How he seemed a bit more prone to accidentally tripping while lost in thought of her, or how he seemed to daydream or sleep so much better.

He snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at Elain with a small smile. It was odd that she of all people, the cook and soft, gentle woman, sensitive and affectionate, wanted to go to a bar for a girl’s night out. She seemed much more like a restaurant type of female, but he didn’t question it. He was happy for any excuse to spend time with her.

“Sure. We could go. What time?”

He asked, his voice soft as he watched her bake what seemed like a sourdough starter. She seemed to know without even thinking.

“5:45 should be fine.”

She said. It struck him a bit odd how sure she seemed. He hadn’t heard her ask Feyre at all, and his shadows, though most chose to stay at the House of Wind with the other female, hadn’t noticed anything of it. But she was Elain, she probably just knew.

*********************************************************

“Another round?”

Nesta asked with a grin, you returned the grin, too drowned in drinks to even care how drunk you got tonight. “A drink or two” her ass, Emerie was downing another glass, probably going to regret it in the morning.

They’d all worn the sluttiest dresses they had, with Cassian lurking nearby in the bar, fully ready to bite the head off of any male who got a bit too handsy with Nesta.

“Absolutely,”

You replied, at which Nesta proceeded to order another round out of her own money. She was rich as hell since the High Lord paid her for whatever the hell she did. You didn’t particularly care as long as it kept the drinks coming.

“Careful with the drinks, Nes. Feyre said there’s been some lapses in their bank, and you’re the prime suspect.”

Cassian said, giving her a nudge with his wing. Everyone knew of Nesta’s previous behavior, buying rounds and rounds of drinks with the High Lord’s money, and wasting it.

“That’s bullshit, she knows I wouldn’t do that anymore.”

Nesta replied, simply rolling her eyes and going back to downing her drink, eying Cassian with no shame at all. He only gave a cocky grin and eyed her back. She was wearing a black dress that sat snug against all her best features, and Cassian was loving the view, as were the other men at Rita’s brave enough to ogle her.

You wore a silky red dress with a high slit in the side and a cut that showed plenty of your cleavage, not to mention how the fabric hung and was tight in just the right places to be flowing but also leave little to the imagination. It was enough to get you a cheap hookup, at the very least, based on the men watching you.

A good way to keep your mind off of Azriel.

You gave Nesta a look, and she gave a nod before you strode off to the prettiest male you could find in the room, one of the ones who’d been watching you the closest. A sly smile grew on his lips as his dark eyes glittered with lust. He knew what you were looking for, wearing that on a night like this.

“What’s your name, pretty?”

He purred, hand going around your waist as you slid into his lap. One of your hands went to curl around his bicep, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Yours, if you can handle me.”

You said back, voice smooth as the silk you were wearing. The male’s hands began to wander, and you didn’t even bother stopping them as he leaned in closer to you, a low chuckle coming from his lips.

“Care to come home with me?”

He murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He smelled of a male musk, his scent reeking of cheap alcohol and arousal. You were too drunk to care.

“Gladly,”

You murmured back to him, not bothering to glance back at Nesta or Cassian, or anyone else in the bar as the male slowly got to his feet, hand around your waist, and began leading you out of the bar, from the back entrance. Your attention was solely on him, on his touch.

That was until you saw Azriel and Elain right outside the bar, engaged in painfully slow, heated kisses.

*********************************************************

He’d gotten dressed in some casual enough clothing, not overly fancy for a bar, but not to where he was underdressing. Elain had donned a cute blue dress, looking straight from a fantastical cottage out of a book he’d once read when younger. Maybe Rhysand’s mother had read that one to him. He couldn’t remember anymore.

They’d slipped in quietly, having a few drinks, which Elain seemed to wrinkle her nose slightly at the taste of the alcohol, but seemed more keen on getting him drinks. Something that would’ve sent warning signs in his mind blaring if he’d been able to remember just what he was doing here.

Elain kept glancing around as if watching out or looking for someone, or hoping not to be spotted. He hadn’t asked her about it out of the courtesy of being polite, but it still made him curious, until his brain was too fuzzy to care.

“Let’s get out of this stuffy place,”

She had whispered to him under her sweet breath, leading him outside to the side exit of the bar, before pulling him into a kiss. He couldn’t recall how or why it was happening, but his lips were on his, and he couldn’t find in himself the strength to pull away. His limbs felt wobbly, his shadows moving slower than usual as if weighed down by something. His head was swimming. What had been in that alcohol? His mind tried to think, but couldn’t. Everything felt so, so heavy.

And then he saw her. He could recognize her anywhere. His mate. His soulmate. His partner seemed by the Cauldron itself. She was dressed in what could only be described as an extremely revealing dress, red and silky, her cleavage and thigh on full display to the male who hungrily watched her, leading her to gods know where to get his fill and leave.

He saw something in her break when his gaze met hers, and Elain separated from the kiss, glancing over at the female with what looked like a mockingly empathetic smile.

Two things hit him at the same time; the fact that Feyre hadn’t been anywhere in that bar, even though Elain said she’d been invited by her, and the fact that ever since Elain had started feeding him every meal, breakfast lunch, and dinner, he’d completely forgotten the face of his mate, forgotten things he should know, his guard had fallen down, and now he was weak and put in the spotlight as the villain.

And then he hurled his guts out all over the ground, sobering up in an instant as he saw your tears. He needed to fix you, to fix this and figure out what the hell had been happening.

Even as he felt the slap of your hand against his cheek, and saw Elain go slightly pale with realization, he realized there wasn’t any fixing to be done right now.

This was about damage control.

*********************************************************

“You fucking bastard!”

You yelled as you slapped him, hot tears rolling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

The male that had been so hungry before stalked off, clearly not eager to be involved. Coward.

Azriel had come here knowing that you’d be here, and that bitch Elain had probably led him. He looked wrong. He was a bit pale and seemed dazed, out of it. His wings were dropping and scraping against the ground, eyes drooping. What was wrong with him? Even the shadows seemed sedated.

“What did you do to him?”

You seethed to Elain, and she seemed pale and wide-eyed as she began stammering.

“I- I had a vision where you hurt him, and I thought that if he forgot then-“

Cassian burst through the door of the side exit, alert and looking completely sobered up from his earlier drinks. Nesta was stumbling behind him, wondering what the hell was going on.

He was by Azriel’s side before you could even speak, helping his poisoned brother up and hoisting him into his arms. You were eliminated as a threat and the only person who’d been around him long enough to get anything into Azriel’s system….

“What was it?”

He demanded from Elain, voice harsh and pissed off. Elain sniffled, tears welling in her eyes as her hands shook slightly, she swallowed before speaking.

“Volucrae.”

She almost whispered, her voice so quiet and timid that even you could barely make it out.

Volucrae.

The seer bitch had poisoned Azriel with one of the most deadly poisons in existence, and the only place she could’ve possibly gotten it…

“You stole from my room?”

You asked, voice horrified and shrill. The leftovers you’d had from when your old shop had been burned to the ground by Kier and his men you’d carried on you, hiding in the room.

Elain only swallowed, nodding. Volucrae was deadly, yes, but in small enough quantities, it could cause confusion, memory loss, tremors, strokes, seizures, and more. She’d risked the shadowsinger’s life just because of a vision, a vision of you hurting Azriel, a vision that had been fulfilled with the slap, all because of Elain’s actions.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t.”

You and Cassian snapped in union as he took off with Azriel in his arms, now unconscious, probably going to find Madja to get any sort of solution to it, leaving you, a drunk Nesta being dragged away by Emerie, Gwyn, and Elain.

You stormed off, going anywhere you could to avoid everyone. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to speak with any of them.

You winnowed straight into the House of Wind’s training grounds, picking up the Valkyrie blade and going straight into furious training, the only way to burn off this pure anger making you tremble and shake.

It was then, in the middle of the night, barely sober, still crying and angry out of your mind, that you cut straight through the ribbon.

The one-half drifted gracefully to the ground, falling like a leaf in the wind as the moonlight caught and illuminated little pink highlights of it.

It fell and fell, until reaching the ground, settling lightly on the dirt of the training grounds.

You stared down at it until it was all you could see and think of and hear until it was burned into your mind as your hands gripped the blade so hard your knuckles went white.

And you stared, until the possibility of Azriel’s death faded completely from your mind, until all you could focus on was the future.

And you swung your blade again.

Tags:

@lilah-asteria

@evangeline-xo

@hayrunnwr

@rcarbo1

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark

@weekendlusting

@evergreenlark

@julesvanslutta

[writingsbychlo]

be yours | azriel

summary; you ask azriel how it's possible he's still single.

word count; 1850

notes; y'all seem to like the short and sweet ones, so, here's this! I don't know where this came from but it's cute as hell.

“I don’t get it, Az.” You sighed, turning your focus back to the three books balanced in your arms, muttering an initial under your breath as your gaze scanned along the shelf. He only smiled, brows raising a little, indulging you with curious silence as he waited for you to be ready to continue your sentence. 

“Don’t get what?”

“You. It. All of it.” At that, his smile was tainted, still there but he felt his brows pull together, a soft laugh leaving his lips. At the sound, you finally turned back to face him, a smile breaking out on your own face, book search temporarily forgotten. He loved it; getting your attention. He was selfish like that, didn’t care about admitting it, because when you looked at him, when you gave him your undivided, precious attention, all for him, he revelled in it. “I just don’t understand how…” 

Your words fizzled out, lips purring together, and for a moment, he thought you might be considering how best to phrase whatever was on your mind. Your focus moved back to the books, wandering a few feet away down the aisle, robes swishing delicately around you, only to place it back on the shelf, lingering for a second. That was when he caught it, the slight pink hue that had risen to your cheeks, the soft blush that trailed all the way up to your ears.

He stood, his curiosity for your words bordering on insanity now, straightening from where he’d been leaning on your piled-high cart of books. 

“Are you going to finish that sentence?”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Ever the stubborn, proud woman he’d met on that very first day, you hummed to punctuate your sentence, as though to end the discussion there. As if that would stop him. You took a few further steps away, and he followed, shadows darting out in excitement as he unleashed them, letting them swirl around you happily like puppies meeting a friend, and your soft gasp and pretty giggle had his heart racing. 

You were effectively distracted, enough so that when he snatched the books from your arms he met no resistance, a grin on his face at the shock on yours. “Finish the sentence.”

“No.” You reached for the books, and he shifted, reaching them high up over his head, and you scowled at him, hands on your hips, the blue stone sitting primly in the centre of your forehead glittering under the faelights, like it was teasing him the way he was teasing you. 

“The more you hold out, the worse I’m going to assume it is.”

Your indignant huff told him he’d won this battle already, even after a few more seconds of dragged-out silence played with his nerves. 

He wasn’t too sure how he’d gotten here. To the point of teasing a cheeky priestess in the aisles, bunking off his duties to follow you through the library as you replaced books on shelves and fetched new ones for the scholars. It had all seemed to snowball to this point right here, to his utter inability to stay away from you. 

It had all started a little over a year ago. He’d been on another trip to the library, head hung low with a rather large amount of shame as various priestesses glanced at him. None held obviously judging looks, none whispered when he was near, but his shadows had been coiled so tightly to his body that even the blue of his siphons barely shone through. They knew what he did, or, most of them did. The few who attended training had heard of his necklace incident; whether from Gwyn herself or Nesta and Emerie’s gossiping he wasn’t sure, but he knew they knew.

While Gwyn herself had forgiven him, after a lot of apologising and explaining and, frankly, a lot of deep self-evaluation, it still made it awkward to come down here. He wanted to be quick, in and out, with the books that he needed for his latest task. Clotho had called forward someone to help him find what he was looking for, and he waited for the silent tension to begin. The judgement, the priestess who would walk silently beside him, feminist anger rolling off of them in waves, shoving his books into his arms before leaving without even bidding him a goodbye. 

However, he hadn't expected a new face, someone who must only be here because of so much pain, and yet was still somehow smiling. Smiling at him. Offering her hand and shaking his with no regard for his scars, giving a name and taking his hastily scrawled list of books before leading him away. You had gotten lost a couple of times, still new, chatting all the way around, and he’d been stunned. He’d been intrigued. He’d been happy. 

So, he did exactly what he should have done from the beginning of his life. He refused to get attached, to let a simple spark grow into something more, something toxic. He’d stayed far, far away. It had been him who had run with the books without even a goodbye this time. 

That hadn't stopped it. No, if anything, it had only made it worse. He’d thought of you at all times of the day, he could all but hear your voice reading the book as he scanned the pages, a tug along his very soul drawing him back down to that library every time he wandered the halls of his own home. Then, Gwyn had convinced you to come to training, and he was forced to touch, to teach, to talk. He was forced to watch you strip off those robes and your pretty priestess garb, swapped out for tight leathers leant to you by your friend that had made every thought in his head disintegrate to filth. 

He hadn't been able to stay away. He was a helpless both, and you were a brightly burning flame. He was a bumblebee and you were the prettiest flower on a spring day. He was- he was a pathetic, love-starved warrior, and you were the other half of his missing soul.

And that was how he’d found himself here; staring down at you, cheeks almost sore from grinning as you stared back up at him through your lashes, before stiff lines on your body melted away with surrender, shoulders sagging. 

“So?”

“All I was going to say, was that I don’t understand you.” He offered the books back to you, giving you a distraction to look away from him as you caved, confessing whatever you’d locked up. “I know about that whole thing with Gwyn and the High Lady’s sister. I mean, it’s all anybody would tell me about after you started to come around more, warning me off, or whatever.” You waved a hand, dismissing it easily, dismissing it like it hadn't been one of his most crushing fears in those first few months. 

That made his smile soften, his hand taking your own out of the air. He smoothed his thumbs over your knuckles, your sights honing in on it for a second, and that sweet pink blush was back. It was quickly becoming his favourite colour. 

“But, you’re not mated. You’re not married, you’re not even dating anybody. I don’t get it, Azriel. Look at you. You’re a catch. You could have anyone in Velaris, male or female, with little more than a smile and a flirty comment.” He couldn't help the smirk that took over his face as you all but gaped at yourself, cutting a look to him out of the side of your eye. 

Your hand snatched back from his, and he wondered if this might be one of those rare times you gave him a vulgar gesture for his antics. He loved knowing he could pull such passionate reactions from you. Just like now, as the colour on your cheeks deepened to near-red. He liked that even more, wanted to think of other ways to bring colour to your cheeks like that, imaging that maybe-

“Even with your less-than-stellar personality, that is.” You just had to knock him down a couple of pegs, your shocked expression switching with him, until he was the one with parted lips and you were smirking. He wouldn't let anyone else get away with that, wouldn't find it funny and certainly not cute, but you were different. None of his rules had ever applied to you, it seemed.

“You happen to love my personality. And I know you do, so don’t try to deny it.” He tapped the tip of your nose, and you spun away, the hem of your clean white robes brushing his ankles with the motion, and he was left to follow at your heels as you walked back to the trolley. Gripping the handle, you pushed it away, disappearing around into the next row, ignoring his chuckle. 

You were scooping up a new pile of books when you spoke again. “Seriously, Az, what is it? How is it possible that you’re still single, bothering me on your days off instead of doting on some pretty girl somewhere?”

He bite back the smile he really wanted to give, one that would show him just how lovestruck he was, show that he was right here, already doting on the only pretty girl he’d ever need. That was a secret he was still holding tight, locked up in his heart, just his, for now. One day, he’d tell you how much he loved you. One day, he’d ask if you felt that bond snap too, one day, when you were ready to leave this place, to be more. He was happy to wait, he’d wait as long as you needed. If this was all he ever got from you, he’d be more than happy with that too. He could only pray none of this was displayed on his face as you stared, waiting for an answer. 

One day, hopefully, he’d get to show it all. To make you his. To hold you in his arms and kiss you until you giggled and get lost in the way you looked at him. A new dream, to cling to quietly. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” The name slipped out, your breath hitching a little, he knew how much you loved it, and yet he only brought it out for the most special of moments, Azriel was sure he’d look back one day and know this was one of them. “I guess sometimes people just don’t see what’s right there in front of them.”

You stared a second longer, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest, wondering if you’d spotted the line yet, the one he was dancing along so precariously. Then you sighed, shrugging a little. “I suppose. It’s still a shame, though.”

You turned away, wandering down the shelves. He watched you go, a smile on his face Cassian would rib him senseless for if he saw it, leaning on the cart to wait. 

And his heart promised him, one day.

[lovemyromance]

Can I just like point out that MATES ARE DRAWN TO EACH OTHER

A mating bond does not need to snap into place for mates to seek each other out.

Cassian and Nesta - despite their hissing and snarling - were always around each other. They were apart for a grand total of 2 months leading up to their book, which in reader terms, was like 30 pages in ACOFAS. Rhys & Feyre? Always drawn to each other - from the start.

If Gwyn is Azriel's mate, he met her 2 years ago before Elain. What's more - he met her at a time where she was in grave danger and the mating bond should have probably snapped.

It didn't.

Then he spends 2 years like... not even seeing her? He's still pining after Mor? Then he's pining after Elain? Then Gwyn is in grave danger (AGAIN) and he barely reacts??

This woman is not his mate yall, enough 😩 idc how much you hate Elriel -> it doesn't make Gwyn his mate.

If Azriel encountered his mate 2 years ago, he would've felt an innate pull to her. Like in the nicest way - she deadass lives in his basement (HOW - library ) yall 😭 like she's right there! There were no external factors keeping him away from Gwyn. Even when Gwyn starts to come out of her shell and train in ACOSF - nothing about their relationship changes 🙄

Even in Azriel's own POV there is no indication he feels drawn to her. In fact, when he sees her in the training ring - his first instinct was to LEAVE.

HOW DOES THAT SIGNIFY MATE TO YALL??

Enough. Yall had a good run, but I'm so sick of this nonsense, like use your brains for once

[synthfueled]

Cassian was eyeing Nesta from the first time they met. He promised to protect her if Hybern attacked the mortal lands. He tried to get to her, while severally injured, in Hybern.

Azriel was concerned for Elains safety, like everyone else was, when the cauldron took her from camp. He didn’t go out of his way to talk to her or look at her before that. *I think this is why she’s crushing on him

Lucien tried to stop Hybern from putting Elain in the cauldron. Lucien used day-magic to free himself, and cover Elain after she came out of the cauldron. All before he made eye contact with her, and felt the bond. Which, btw, shocked the Hel out of him.

Azriel started eyeing Elain after he saw how happy his brothers became when finding their mates. A happiness he’s long for, for 500 years.

Az & Gwyn eye each other all the time. Cassian thinks she does it because of how they met, but this is only his pov.

Az challenges Gwyn, and in turn she challenges him back.

Azriels shadows don’t hide from anyone but Elain.

Elain, said herself, what she needed to get better was sunshine. As a human she had no idea what the bond ment. And because Nesta kept her from Lucien, she wasn’t able to figure out the sunshine she needed was through their mating bond.

Az is distracted with his desire to find his mate, and find the happiness that will bring him. He isn’t hearing or seeing what his shadows are trying to show him. His shadows are literally playing matchmaker-matchmaker on repeat.

We only get Cassian’s panic attack POV when Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie are forced into the Blood Rite.

I look forward to Az & Gwyn’s happily ever after, and Lucien’s happily ever after with Elain.

And to Mor and Emerie falling in love too.

[lady-embers]

There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now. But his eyes were on Lucien as—

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain....Elain remained shuddering on the ground, Lucien’s coat draped around her.......Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way.

But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal. Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain— Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.” - ACOMAF Chapter 65

Artist: Brielyasmin & Kloartz

“The first had just unbuckled his belt when Azriel arrived.” Silent, unending tears streamed down Gwyn’s face.

“Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate. But I could barely move, and when I tried to get up … He gave me his cloak and wrapped me in it." - ACOSF Chapter 68

[acourtofthought]

I always laugh when e/riels say Gwyn isn't tied to the overarching plot which is why she can't have a pov.

Ok, so how is Az tied to the current ACOTAR overarching plot which Sarah spoke of as of being what happens after the war, after the wall comes down? The politics of their world? Things she spoke of long before she introduced the events of the crossover.

How is he connected -

To Spring?

To Beron?

To Koschei?

Az met Koschei's vision self but he's not connected to him in any way that matters. Not like Lucien who was at Koschei's lake because of Elain's visions or Lucien who is friends with one of Koschei's captives or the bargain Elain's father made with Koschei which Lucien, not Az, was there for (something she retconned in SF so he was there with him rather than meeting them along the way which clearly indicates she wanted this detail to matter in future books). Az hasn't even met Vassa which Sarah could have easily written in SF, alongside Cassian.

Az is definitely not connected to Tamlin or Spring.

And while Az hates Beron, he's not actually connected to him. Not like Lucien who was raised as Berons son and had his lover murdered by him. Not when it's Lucien's brother being tortured by Beron or Lucien's mother being abused by him.

If they're going off the time travel plot introduced in an entirely different series as what they consider "the current plot" than Gwyn would be more connected to that than Elain since she's the one working with Merill doing research on other dimensions and Sarah did not connect Elain to any of it.

As always they only grasp half the puzzle.

The current ACOTAR plots of Beron, Koschei and Spring are connected to Lucien and Elain.

Crossover and time travel plots are Az and Gwyn. Sarah further connected these two with the introduction of the Valkrie since she wrote Cassian and Az as the ones to train them which wasn't necessary in Cassian and Nesta's book. She could have left it as just Cassian especially when earlier in the book Rhys mentioned how many things Az already had on his plate.

People can fixate on the almost kiss in the bonus all they want but that's the smallest detail in the larger picture which is the plot and the two different plots Sarah is developing is where we'll find our endgame pairings.

The only question at this point is which particular plot (Koschei / Beron / Spring or Time Travel stuff) Sarah wants to tackle first.

[dreamsandstars24]

The Mother and The Cauldron-Part 2

The Mother: HE HAS A MATE!

The Cauldron: I know-

The Mother: SHE ALSO HAS A MATE!

The Cauldron: I know that too, I was there when the bond snapped-

The Mother: WHY WERE THEY ABOUT TO KISS!? WHAT WAS THAT TALK OF ME OWNING HIM THE THIRD SISTER!?

The Cauldron: Yeah, that was bad...

The Mother: IS SHE AN OBJECT THAT MUST BE OWNED!? IS SHE NOT THE ONE THAT SAID THAT SHE WAS A STRONG WOMAN!?

The Cauldron: I know they have mates, but maybe they're just a bit confused because maybe we're not being clear enough-

The Mother: NOT BEING CLEAR ENOUGH!?

The Cauldron: Oh, boy.

The Mother: LUCIEN IS THE HEIR OF DAY AND GWYN MAKES HIS SHADOWS SING AND DANCE! HOW IS THAT NOT CLEAR ENOUGH!?

The Cauldron: Have we considered the possibility that they're just in denial?

The Mother: THEY'RE RED HEADS. THEY'RE OUTSTANDING ENOUGH AND IF THAT WASN'T ENOUGH THEN SURPRISE! HE HAS A MECHANIC EYE! SHE WAS TEAL EYES! HE TRAVELS TO THE CONTINET AND MET HER FATHER! SHE BECAME THE FIRST VALKYRIE REBORN! HOW IS THAT NOT CLEAR ENOUGH!

The Cauldron: I...I honestly don't know anymore.

[secretlovelygarden]

Azriel, hours/weeks/months after meeting Elain:

Answers her questions calmly, in an almost poetic way

Makes her feel safe, hours after first meeting the Fae

Is soft with her, and carries her to the townhouse (bridal style). Offers her his arm and takes her to the garden

Sits comfortably with her in silence, offering her quiet company, sunning his wings, and reading reports

Figures out rather quickly that she's a seer. When everyone thought she had lost her mind, he treated her with kindness, and with patience and openness, figured out what was "wrong" with her

Risked his life to rescue her, even when it wasn't his job. Even when he was badly injured, he didn't want to let her go until someone took care of her

Azriel, years after helping Gwyn at Sangravah, and months after training with her every single day:

Doesn't consider her a friend

Doesn't initiate any kind of contact. Doesn't even offer her a hand

Doesn't show any kind of concern (maybe mild) when she's taken to the Blood Rite

Doesn't answer her questions calmly or comfortably. In fact, he wants her to stop asking questions

It's obvious. He immediately felt comfortable and safe with Elain. Even if he was still in love with Mor when he met Elain, the pull and attraction he felt towards her was almost instantaneous.

[rizzoreads88]

✨Reasons why I’m still confident Elriel is endgame✨

1)All the hints and foreshadowing we have had for them since Acomaf.

There is a lot but I’m only going to list the main ones…*how they reacted to each other the first time they met and they both were wearing cobalt blue*azriel being the one to figure out she was a seer and then his understanding started to help Elain get better * the entire Hybern rescue scene and Azriel being full of rage ready to die to get to her*Azriel lending her truth teller when he never let anyone else touch it.*Azriel and Elain spending time alone together in the garden multiple times*Azriel following the sound of her laughter*Elain calling Azriels hands beautiful *Azriels shadows lighting up at her smile*Azriels shadows wanting to attack Nesta for insulting Elains personality* The way Azriel reacts whenever Elains Hybern kidnapping is brought up, *His entire Bonus chapter scene with Elain & Rhysand, *Azriel being upset about and still focused on Elain even after his bonus chapter scene w Gwyn takes place. *azriel having a physical reaction to Eluciens mate bond and seeing elain around Lucien.

2)Lucien & Vassa

Vassien has been my longest Acotar ship. I have been pretty sure about them since Acowar. The moment SJM retconned Lucien’s Dad to a spell cleaver, then we find out Vassa has a unbreakable curse and SJM has Lucien be the one to find her (a bird of flame and a lord of fire I wonder if they’d found each other yet) I truly felt Elucien was not going to happen. There was literally no other reason for her to retcon his dad. Then she’s built them up ever since as well. ( Feyre watching them off alone suprised how Lucien is acting around Vassa, Lucien blushing talking about Vassa, Lucien getting a spark in his eye or Vassa, Lucien having a pained physical reaction when Vassa talks about being enslaved to Koschei, Lucien seemingly setting a target on Koschei over Vassa, Mor pointing out it’s not usually for mates to be away from each other and ok, the inner circle saying Lucien is biased about Vassa now and they can’t trust his reports on her, SJM pointing out Lucien and Vassa are the true exiles jurian is not, Cassian & Nesta also questioning/wondering about Lucien’s reactions to Vassa or about her…) SJM has been slowly building Elriel alongside Vassien in the background. SJM has also talked about how she wanted to do a vasalisa the beautiful and a swan lake retelling and Lucien/Vassa& Koschei fit that perfectly. Now couple this will all the information we get on mates being able to reject a mate bond, mates not always being love matches, people questioning eluciens bond ect…

3)Gwyns Growth in Acosf

Another reason why I’m confident in elriel is because we got so much of Gwyns story in Acosf. People take us learning so much about Gwyn as a sign she’s next but I think it’s actually the opposite.In 1 book we met her, saw her grow, she got her besties, she revealed her deep trauma and how it affects her and we see her start to really overcome that. If Gwyn was getting her own POV SJM would have saved most of that for her book. If you look at Feyre,Nesta,Manon,Lidia ect w we didn’t learn about their true traumas or see them really start to work on it until we were in their own pov. Yes we got hints and a general idea but nothing in depth like we have for Gwyn.(like Elain we have gotten a lot of hints of her trauma but not the true depth of it or her true feelings over it yet in depth… )But if you look at characters like Fenrys, Asterin their storyline happened like Gwyns. They were amazing supporting characters and we learned about their trauma and saw their growth through Aelin/manons pov like we did for Gwyn through Nesta

4)HOFAS

We got absolutely nothing for Gwyn in Hofas. Which really surprised me because Gwyn has been studying the possibility of different worlds/realms with Merrill this would have been the PERFECT time to bring her in in a small way and give us some sort of hint and we got nothing. Even when Bryce was talking about her best friend to Nesta we still got nothing about Gwyn. A huge promising sign to me that Elriel is still endgame …Now remember how Sarah said she left breadcrumbs in azriels bonus chapter? Azriel questioned the cauldron over Eluciens mate bond in acosf and then in hofas the crossover he is heavily involved in we find out the cauldron was infact corrupted by the Daglan. SJM followed throw on those breadcrumbs to the next book…

5)Elriel in Azriels BC

If Elriel weren’t endgame why even give us their scene in his bonus chapter? She could have had Elains scene be with Lucien and azriels just be with gwyn but she didn’t…. Until then nothing solid had happened on page for elriel.. yes there has been moments and alot of foreshadowing but we hadn’t had thier feelings on page yet and in the bonus chapter she gives us canon confirmation they are into each other… then brings up the obstacle that they will have to overcome (Eluciens mate bond) She has rhysand set it up even further and then leaves things unresolved between them…. Why do annnnyyyyy of that if they weren’t endgame? It’s bc she set their story up the same way she did nessian in acofas… a special moment and then a “rejection” and they were left unsettled…. The same way she did for feyre and rhysand in acotar… they have a special moment as they are saying goodbye and feyre is staying w tamlin but then Rhys realizes she’s his mate and leaves, leaving her alone for months…. Again leaving them unresolved……….. people say “she did that to end them” If SJM was “ending” then she wouldn’t have left them unresolved. SJM could have just simply move elain on to Lucien and had her scene w him in the BC and kept Azriels with Gwyn and then start to move azriel on ti Gwyn after the Bonus chapter scene. But she didn’t. Because days later Azriel is still into Elain.

If you stuck with me this long phew thank you! Now while I am confident Elriel/Vassien are happening I do not think it is 100% set in stone yet. I don’t take anything as confirmation unless SJM confirms it or it’s in the books. So while I am confident I also do not count my chicken before the hatch. Could SJM change her mind and go in a different direction? Sure but that could be said about any couple in her series now too. Based on canon text and how she writes endgame pairings I truly think it will be Elriel/Vassien.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 4

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,6k words | masterlist

You are alone. The room is dark. Silent. Not a single noise audible. Not a single candle burning. Nothing but deafening silence and darkness, almost like an endless void.

And you. You are alone with your thoughts. Your fears. Your memories. 

Nesta has left a moment ago, the wooden door is now closed, the room dark. She had asked you a few times if it would be alright to leave you alone, and of course, you said yes. You decided that you like Nesta. She has a powerful aura around her and is definitely not one to mess with. You would have loved to talk to her a bit more, but you couldn’t keep her here. 

But damn, do you hate being alone now. You said you would be alright, but deep inside you knew you wouldn’t, but you didn’t want to keep her here. You couldn’t do this to her.

You are miserable and considered one of the most dangerous beings in this world — what would she do here? With you. She definitely has better things to do...

But now that you are alone, the room suddenly scares you. Being alone does. You didn’t want to keep her here, but you also don’t want to be alone.

Your curl your fingers towards your palms, drawing blood when your sharp nails pierce into your flesh. But the pain…you don’t even notice it anymore, having done this so many times over the past centuries. Whenever you were scared, or panic.king It was not in order to harm or hurt yourself, but to remind yourself that what is happening to you real, not some wild nightmare or hallucination, that you haven’t gone mad.

You lift your gaze and turn your head slightly, your neck aching. You realise quickly that you can’t stay here. You don’t want to stay here. Not alone. Not in the dark. Never again. You can’t do this. You can’t stay here right now. 

No one told you you had to stay in your room, only in the Library. So the Library is where you want to be. Outside of this room. In the light. Surrounded by books and maybe one or the other person – the priestesses.

You shoot to the door and rip it open, dashing toward the first light source you spot. The large, towering bookshelves at the end of the corridor are lit and this is where you are heading right now, tired feet still carrying you over the floor rather quickly.

Once surrounded by many books, the scent of the old pages seeping into your nostrils, you inhale deeply and close your eyes for a moment, trying to level your breathing and still your mind.

The Valkyries once had breathing techniques you still like to use. Mind-stilling techniques that helped you to not go insane in your time in the Prison.

You hand reaches out and you brush over some books.

It is a soft, female voice that startles you slightly when you hear it behind you. “You must be, Y/N.”

You spin around and are met with a beautiful, tall female with teal eyes. She kindly smiles at you and you nod.

“I‘m Gwyn. I also live here. Welcome to the Library.”

You meet her gaze and stop dead in your tracks. "Gwyn?"

"Yes," she says, "actually Gwyneth Berdara, but I prefer Gwyn. Just Gwyn."

You look at her in slight surprise, feeling both nostalgic and sad. Your friend, a former member of the Wild Hunt, was called Gwyn. He is dead now.

"You are not scared?" You don't want to think about him, the friend you have lost. Another person who left the world too soon.

You swallow around a lump in your throat and your sharp fingernails brush over the spine of a book. You are thankful for the sweater Nesta has offered you on your way down here, having seen how much you shivered, now hanging loosely over your shoulders, the nightgown beneath still the same you have been wearing for centuries.

"Of you?" Gwyn asks with a smile and takes one step closer. You almost want to warn her to not get too close, but you know you would never hurt her. It’s only what you’ve heard your whole life. Don’t get too close to the demon. Stay away from the evil female. 

The Bloodthirsty Baroness comes at midnight to steal your soul and leave you to bleed out. The Silent Reaper executes you before you can defend yourself. Not once have you done such a thing - only tales and legends made you seem like this demonic monster. You only ever avenged victims, took care of those who hurt them, and devoured the revenge you exerted. But you never hurt someone only to hurt them.

"Yes, of me." You meet her eyes again and see how she shakes her head.

"I have a lot of respect for you, but scared? I know you won’t harm me, so I'm not scared."

"Because the High Lord would kill me for it."

Her warm, soft palm lands on your chest before you have time to react. It startles you, massively, and you nearly choke on a breath. Your eyeballs threaten to fall out of their sockets by how wide your eyes are open — she is touching you. You are not irritated or shocked about the audacity, you are confused, startled, about her...kindness.

She smiles when she takes in the shock on your face.

"I am not scared of you because I know you have a good heart. Right in there, you are good, and I don’t have to be afraid of you, with the High Lord’s protection or without it. I know you wouldn’t harm me."

She pulls back her hand and you almost want to reach for her and just pull her into an embrace. She reminds you of your sister and right now you would give the world for just a simple hug from your sister. Or just a simple hug. Just someone caring enough for you to hold you.

“The fangs? The claws, the—”

“Incredibly amazing assets and most definitely very handy in battle. And as I said, I have a lot of respect for you, I can feel your power and I know what you are probably capable of. I am incredibly impressed by you and your powers, but they don't scare me.”

You almost want to laugh about the powers part. Because right now...you don't have them. Not with the amulet not being in your possession, not with some training. Every ounce of power you had, slowly drained from your body during the imprisonment.

But you shake your head and inhale deeply. You don't want to let your anger and frustration show right now, it wouldn't be fair when Gwyn has only been kind to you.

With a little chuckle slipping through your lips you shake your head. “You have a heart of pure gold, Gwyn.”

She only smiles politely, but a faint blush stains her cheeks. “You want company this evening?”

A sigh of relief leaves you. “There is nothing I would rather want." You sling your arms around yourself. "If you don’t mind, of course.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

The following day – armed with several books Gwyn helped you collect in the Library– you start to read up on Koschei, on spells and curses, on anything that could be important. 

You dive into one book after the other, each one captivating you so much you forget about the time and world around you as you gather information, noting things done or remembering by heart. Your mind is sharp, fully focused on the book, eyes scanning every single word, taking it all in. There is so much that is important, you let your head fall back and then you inhale deeply. 

Hopefully, they will give you back your amulet soon. You need it and you also want it back. It has been in your family’s possession for centuries, until Azriel–

You don’t dwell on this thought, straightening up and focusing back on the task at hand – going through yet another book and some pieces of parchment that come along with it. 

By the special request of Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court, you are always working upstairs, in the living room of the House of Wind. It doesn’t bother you; most of the time you are alone, some tending to business inside the house, others training (Gwyn told you so) on the rooftop. 

Sunlight brushes your skin and you revel in the feel of it. You haven’t felt, nor seen, sunlight in so long it now feels like balm against your skin. It is so good, you haven’t felt that alive in so long. 

You are still kept somehow locked in, but it almost feels like freedom. You are allowed to roam freely in the House of Wind and the Library. You haven’t got your powers back, but as long as you are in here, you don’t need them. You only need a bit of sunlight, some wonderful conversations with Gwyn, a soft bed to sleep in and good food. It is enough and slowly contentment crawls back into your body – nothing you’ve never thought to ever happen again. 

But now there is hope for you to find happiness again. Not with Azriel, and also not with him in your life, but there will be a way to avoid him somehow. Once you have your powers back and Koschei is defeated they might let you leave. You would go to the continent or even further away. As far away from the male who caused you that much pain as possible. 

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

The voice startles you and you almost shriek, jumping up in your chair, snatching the book close. Your heart races like a wild horse and you whip around to look at Nesta. 

There is a smile on her face, one that is too kind and empathetic – you are not used to that sort of friendly behaviour towards you. 

“I am fine.” You'r answer is too quick. Too tight, and Nesta purses her lips.

“You may pretend to be, and you are damn good at it, but I know you are not.” She closes the door behind her and moves toward the table, bracing her slim hands upon the surface, manicured nails tapping against it. “What you have gone through…I think none of us can imagine, but I don’t want you to have to swallow it all up.”

Her throat bobs when she swallows. “I know what it does to someone, not opening up or not having anyone to talk to.”

“I don’t need anyone to talk to.” You meet her gaze. “I don’t need anyone.” You want this statement to be strong and steadfast, but your voice gives you away, breaking slightly towards the end, so you quickly add. “All my life, I’ve been alone. I was orphaned when I was a babe, later no one ever cared about me, then my powers manifested and everyone got scared and they started to fear and hate me.”

“You were part of the Wild Hunt.” Nesta interrupts you and you don’t like it. But her statement surprises you. How the hell does she know? Well, Rhysand has probably told everyone. How he knew? Either from his father or Azriel.

“I was.”

She claims the seat across you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I’m sure they cared about you.” Neither of you looks away and power stretches out between you. You are both strong-willed and powerful, neither of you is giving in now. You wonder if she really only wants to help you, be there for you. There is not a kernel of bad blood inside her body, your soul detects nothing, and so it makes you truly think she might only want to be nice to you. But why?

“We didn’t care about each other. We tolerated each other, had our backs when we went out for the hunt, but that was it.” Slowly, you scrape a talon down the cover of the book. 

“Did you give yourself your nicknames?”

Does none of them have manners? No knocking, no announcing oneself, just showing up. 

You turn to Gwyn and raise your brow at her. You can’t be mad at her, she was too kind to you the other evening, and her words have strung cords within your heart you thought no longer to exist. So, inhaling deeply and calming your heart, your decide to be polite to her.

“The Bloodthirsty Baroness.” Gwyn walks up to Nesta, nothing but curiosity shimmering within her teal eyes. "The Silent Reaper."

Your eyes flick to her and in a smooth, polished voice you say, “I earned myself the titles.”

Neither Gwyn nor Nesta show a reaction but a chill courses through the room, cooling the temperature at least two degrees.

“But probably not for the reason you think," you silently add. You move the book away from you and flex your fingers, then curl them towards your palms. “I wasn’t bloodthirsty for innocent people, I only took revenge for those who could no longer do so. My hands were drenched in blood, but it wasn’t spilled in vain.”

“See,” Gwyn says with a small smile and slumps into the chair next to Nesta. “I knew you had a good heart.”

A cold chuckle parts your lips. “I wouldn’t quite say that I have a good heart, but I’m not quite as cruel as the legends and stories paint me. And the silent part is definitely true - always appearing at midnight, taking the souls of those with me who deserved it. No noise could be heard, no one could be seen and no trace was left behind.”

A smirk appears on Nesta’s face and she slowly bows her head. “Are you alright with being here?” She changes the topic and you are incredibly thankful for it. Or would be, if she hadn’t asked this question. 

You can’t quite say no, because being here is not the worst place you have ever been at, but then, with Azriel always being somewhere around, it kind of is (not as bad as the Prison though…)

“It is alright.”

“I asked if you are alright.”

You chuckle again and give your head a shake. “I’m alright.” 

Now, Nesta dips her chin and seems content with your answer. Insufferable, you think, but you have to admit you actually like her. She partly reminds you of yourself. 

There is a little spark inside your mind, just a very small thought, a fleeting moment, that lets you think what if. What if you stayed here and became friends with Nesta and Gwyn. You could see yourself being friends with them and–

You immediately cut off your string of thouhgts. 

This is bullshit. You won’t stay here. The first chance you get, you will be gone. Far away and never return. People who live here have hurt you, and you will never find forgiveness for them.

“Shall we let you work again?”

With a smile you dip your chin at Gwyn. “That would be nice. I’ve found quite some things already.” You don’t really know why you share so much, but you are all in this together, so why keep things from them. And so you continue, letting them in on what you have found out already, sharing some bits and pieces with them that could be of interest. 

When the sun already starts to set outside and Gwyn and Nesta leave for training with the other priestesses you are for the first time reminded how much time you have spent bent over the books this day.

“Nesta,” you call after her once she is nearly out of the door. 

She slowly turns to you, waiting, but Gwyn is already gone, her humming filling the otherwise silent corridor. 

“Thank you for offering me to talk to you whenever I need it. And thank you…just thank you.” You smile a little sheepishly but she returns it with a bright grin. “Anytime,” she says and you add, “If you get a chance, just tell Gwyn thank you from me again as well.”

She bows her head and is gone in the next moment. 

With a small, barely-there smile on your lips you focus your attention back to the task at hand. Spending so much time researching seems like a good thing to make time pass, you realise and reach for yet another book. It is big and has a thick velvety binding. Your fingers stroke over the golden lettering that says something about darkness and its creatures. 

When you flip it open the first lovely being revealed to you is the Naaga. You haven’t seen them in a long time, you think, but you have had both good and bad memories with those little beasts. You flick through more pages, getting lost in every little word you read, reminding you of a time long ago. 

So enthralled by the knowledge you gather from the book, you haven’t noticed that someone opened the door, nor that someone has walked in.

Not someone – Azriel. 

"Can we talk?"

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[venusin-aries]

Excuse me while I appreciate that most of Gwynriel’s interactions so far have been playful. I know I like to use the first two to compare how competitive they are, but it’s all so downright playful. They met under awful circumstances and this:

Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?” Az’s shadows danced around him. “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.” Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. “We look forward to proving you wrong.”

&

Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder. Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. “You have no idea what you just started,” she said. Az angled his head, hazel eyes narrowing as Gwyn reached the archway. “Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?” Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder. “You’re the new ribbon, Az.”

&

“Happy Solstice,” she said, as much a dismissal as it was a holiday blessing. He snorted. “Are you kicking me out?” Gwyn’s teal eyes flashed with alarm. “No! I mean, I don’t mind sharing the ring. I just…I know you like to be alone.” Her mouth quirked to the side, crinkling the freckles on her nose. “Is that why you came up here?” Sort of. “I forgot something.” He reminded her.  “At two in the morning?” Pure amusement glittered in her stare. Better than the pain and grief he’d spied a moment before. So he offered her a crooked smile. “I can’t sleep without my favorite dagger.” “A comfort to every growing child.” Azriel’s lips twitched. He refrained from mentioning that he did indeed sleep with a dagger. Many daggers. Including one under his pillow.

&

She angled her head, hair shining like molten metal. “Do you sing?” He blinked. It wasn’t every day that people took him by surprise, but… “Why do you ask?” “They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?” “I am a shadowsinger — it’s not a title that someone just made.” She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Do you, though?” she pressed. “Sing?” Az couldn’t help his soft chuckle. “Yes.”

It's all so playful and teasing and I can't help but think that this is what SJM means by her couples having banter. I love this dynamic for both of them. It comes out so naturally on page.

That's why I adore the Valkyrie's as a found family, as well. It's serious and deep, but it's loving and playful. I think they help heal each others inner child. Nesta thinks she's unforgivable, Gwyn offers acceptance and music to her. There's unconditional acceptance between the three of them.

That's what I want for Gwynriel. I think Azriel needs someone to stop himself from taking everything so seriously. To him, it's like- "it's either this or nothing. It's either this or death" Instead, I want Gwyn and Azriel to stay playful and teasing and feisty.

I want him to have his own person who offers no judgement, but will hold him accountable. Someone who offers him comfort, but can protect him the way he tries so hard to protect others. I want Azriel to understand why Gwyn feels unworthy of the invoking stone, but believe in her worthiness more than he believes in the Mother.

Azriel is fucked up, he's capable of terrible things and I think he needs someone who's witnessed that from the beginning and knows he's not just the terrible things he's done.

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: Fighting/training (Valkyrie style!)

word count: 2.2k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom

***************

Chapter 9

Azriel POV

The training ring was electric with anticipation, the air thick with tension as Y/n stepped into the center, her dark, feathered wings catching the midday sunlight. Around the perimeter of the ring stood the entirety of the Inner Circle, along with recruits and Valkyrie trainees who had gathered to watch what had quickly become the most talked-about event in weeks. Rhysand leaned casually against a post, a faint smile on his face, while Cassian stood near him, his arms crossed and his grin wide with excitement. But Azriel barely noticed any of them. His hazel eyes were locked solely on Y/n, his shadows restless as they curled and coiled around his boots. She looked calm—steady—even as Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta moved to surround her, their weapons gleaming in the sun.

Azriel’s heart thrummed in his chest, a mix of pride and something deeper as he watched her. She was utterly composed, her posture relaxed but poised, her blue eyes sharp, stormy and fierce, as they tracked the Valkyries circling her. She didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. He’d seen countless warriors take this ring, had stood here himself more times than he could count, but watching Y/n now—her strength, her determination—it was almost too much to bear. The bond between them hummed faintly, a quiet pulse that tugged at his chest, reminding him of what he had no right to claim and something she still knew nothing about.

The signal to begin rang out, and the Valkyries moved as one, each of them homing in on Y/n with deadly precision. Gwyn darted forward first, her sword slicing through the air in a calculated arc, while Emerie came at her from the left with a powerful swing of her blade. Nesta hung back, her eyes narrowed, waiting for an opening.

Y/n moved like water, fluid and unstoppable. She spun out of Gwyn’s reach, deflecting Emerie’s strike with a calculated flick of her blade before using her wings to propel herself into the air. She landed lightly behind Nesta, forcing her to pivot just as Y/n struck, her dagger slicing through the air toward Nesta’s exposed side. But Nesta was faster, her blade meeting Y/n’s in a clash of steel that sent sparks flying.

Azriel’s chest tightened as he watched, every muscle in his body taut. She was breathtaking—her movements a perfect blend of strategy and instinct, her focus unshakable even as the Valkyries pressed her from all sides. Gwyn lunged again, this time coordinating with Emerie, but Y/n anticipated them both. She ducked low, sweeping Gwyn’s legs out from under her before twisting to block Emerie’s next strike. The crowd around the ring murmured in awe, but Azriel barely heard them. His heart was racing, his shadows twitching with the overwhelming need to protect her, even though she clearly didn’t need it.

She didn’t just fight—she dominated. Every move was precise, calculated. She read her opponents like an open book, finding their tells, exploiting their weaknesses. And when Nesta finally charged, her strikes relentless and brutal, Y/n met her with equal ferocity, their blades locking in a battle of sheer will.

Azriel’s hands clenched at his sides as he watched, his chest tightening further. Every movement, every calculated strike, only deepened the pull he felt toward her—the bond thrumming louder now, a steady ache that he couldn’t ignore.

One by one, Y/n bested them while still defending herself from the remaining Valkyries. Gwyn fell first, her blade disarmed with a swift, fluid maneuver. Emerie lasted longer, her strength keeping Y/n on her toes, but she too was eventually overtaken, her weapon sent flying across the ring. Finally, it was just Y/n and Nesta, and the tension in the air was palpable. The crowd fell silent as the two females clashed, their strikes fast and brutal. Nesta fought like a storm, her power raw and unrelenting, but Y/n was calm, her precision unyielding. She waited for her moment, then struck, sweeping Nesta’s legs out from under her and pinning her to the ground with her blade pressed lightly to her throat.

“Yield,” Nesta spat out, her steel-blue eyes blazing even as she admitted defeat.

The ring erupted in cheers, but Azriel didn’t move. His hazel eyes remained fixed on Y/n as she stepped back, extending a hand to help Nesta to her feet. She was breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed, but there was a small, victorious smile on her lips—a smile that sent a jolt through Azriel’s chest. She’s unstoppable, he thought, pride and longing warring within him.

She caught his gaze briefly, her blue eyes meeting his for just a moment before she turned away, but it was enough to send his heart racing. He had thought keeping his distance would be enough to bury what he felt, but watching her now, victorious and radiant, he knew he was fooling himself.

She was slowly becoming his Everything.

******

Azriel POV

As the cheers erupted around the training ring, Y/n stood tall at its center, her breath coming in soft gasps. The flush on her cheeks and the slight tremble in her muscles spoke of the effort it had taken to best all three Valkyries, but her expression was one of calm satisfaction. She offered her hand to Nesta, who accepted it grudgingly, and helped her to her feet. Around them, the recruits and onlookers clapped and murmured in awe.

Rhysand was the first to move, stepping into the ring with his usual grace, his violet eyes glowing with pride. He crossed the space between them and swept Y/n into a hug, lifting her up and spinning her around, his wings flaring slightly as he lifted her off the ground.

“You were incredible,” Rhysand said, his voice warm and filled with admiration. He set her down gently and kissed her forehead, his expression soft. “I couldn’t be prouder, little sister.”

Y/n smiled, her blue eyes bright as she looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotions she clearly felt. “That means a lot.”

Cassian followed Rhysand into the ring, his grin wide as he threw an arm around Y/n’s shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. “That was damn impressive,” he said, his voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. He leaned down and kissed her temple with a fondness that made Y/n laugh softly. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened as he watched from the edge of the ring, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as Cassian’s arm lingered around her shoulders. His shadows curled restlessly at his feet, reflecting the jealousy simmering beneath his calm exterior. He knew Cassian meant nothing by it—it was just his way, his brotherly affection on full display—but it didn’t matter. Seeing another male, even one as close as Cassian, touch her so casually, so familiarly, made something dark and possessive flare in Azriel’s chest.

Y/n laughed at Cassian’s teasing, gently shrugging his arm off her shoulders as she replied, “I’m just proving you don’t always need brute force to win.”

Azriel forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the jealousy coursing through him. His shadows betrayed him, swirling tightly around his boots and flicking toward the ring as if drawn to Y/n.

Cassian chuckled, stepping back as Rhysand offered her another proud smile. The crowd was dispersing, the recruits murmuring in admiration as they left the training grounds, but Azriel remained rooted in place. He didn’t join the celebration, didn’t step forward to congratulate her like Rhysand and Cassian. Instead, he stayed on the sidelines, his chest tightening as he watched her laugh and smile, surrounded by admiration.

But when her gaze flicked toward him, even for the briefest moment, his heart skipped. The bond thrummed faintly, its quiet hum a reminder of what he couldn’t have, of what he didn’t deserve. She looked away quickly, her attention returning to Rhysand, but Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment had lingered longer than it should have.

You don’t deserve her, he told himself, his shadows curling tighter. But no matter how hard he tried to push the thought away, he couldn’t deny what was becoming painfully clear: the more he watched her, the more he realized he was losing the battle with his own heart.

******

Azriel POV

The dining room at the House of Wind was alive with chatter and the clinking of cutlery as the Inner Circle gathered for dinner that evening. The table was adorned with platters of roasted meats, fresh bread, and an array of vegetables, the warm glow of the chandeliers above casting a golden hue over the room. Y/n sat near the middle of the table, her cheeks still faintly flushed from the day’s victory, while Rhysand and Cassian recounted the events of the training ring to Lucien, who had arrived late but quickly joined the lively conversation.

“And then she pinned Nesta to the ground,” Cassian said, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. “Took her down like it was nothing. You should have seen it, Lucien. Y/n was unstoppable.”

Lucien, seated directly beside Y/n, turned toward her, his amber eyes gleaming with interest. “That’s incredible,” he said warmly, leaning closer as a genuine smile spread across his face. “Congratulations, Y/n. It sounds like you gave the Valkyries a run for their money.” Without hesitation, he pulled her into a quick, friendly side hug, draping an arm casually over her shoulders as he settled back into his seat.

Y/n laughed softly, her blue eyes glinting with warmth as she smiled up at him. “Thank you, Lucien. I just did my best.”

Lucien kept his arm around her shoulders as they continued to talk, his touch light but familiar, and Y/n didn’t seem to mind. From his seat at the far end of the table, Azriel’s grip on his knife tightened as he watched the exchange. His shadows curled restlessly around his boots, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as Lucien’s arm lingered in place. The bond throbbed faintly in his chest, and his jealousy flared like a dark ember, even though he knew Lucien’s gesture was innocent.

Elain, seated beside Azriel, glanced at him with a soft smile, her golden-brown eyes warm as she reached for his attention. “Azriel,” she said gently, leaning closer. “Could you pass the wine?”

Azriel blinked, barely registering her words as his gaze remained locked on Y/n. She was laughing at something Lucien had said, her wings shifting slightly as she leaned in to respond, and every movement she made seemed to draw him in further. She didn’t even seem to notice the effect she had on him, which only made her all the more enchanting, and him all the more frustrated.

“Azriel?” Elain’s voice was quieter now, tinged with hesitation.

He finally turned to her, his expression calm but distant. “The wine?” she repeated softly, gesturing toward the bottle.

Azriel handed it to her without a word, his attention already drifting back to Y/n as she spoke with Lucien, her laughter carrying lightly across the table. Elain’s lips pressed into a thin line as she poured her wine, the disappointment in her eyes unmistakable.

As dinner continued, Elain’s attempts to engage Azriel in conversation became more infrequent, her soft voice growing quieter until she eventually stopped trying altogether. She glanced between him and Y/n, the way his hazel eyes seemed to follow Y/n’s every move, and her face fell.

Finally, unable to take it any longer, Elain set her napkin down and rose from her seat. “Excuse me,” she said softly, her voice trembling just slightly as she left the table.

Lucien, his attention immediately drawn to her, frowned and glanced at Y/n apologetically. “I’ll check on her,” he said quietly, standing from his seat but keeping his arm on Y/n’s shoulder for just a second longer before finally letting go and following Elain out.

Feyre watched him go, her eyes clouded with concern before she rose as well. “I’ll go too,” she murmured to Rhysand, squeezing his hand briefly before following Lucien.

The table fell silent for a moment, the sound of Elain’s footsteps fading down the hall. Azriel sat stiffly in his chair, his shadows curling tightly around him as the weight of what had just happened settled over him. Cassian glanced at him, his expression unreadable, while Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes thoughtful as he studied his Spymaster.

Y/n, reached for a glass of water, her eyes glancing briefly toward Azriel. When their gazes met, her lips curved into a small smile as she clearly felt the atmosphere thicken at the table. He wanted to look away, to compose himself, but the pull of her presence was too strong.

As the conversation slowly resumed, Azriel sat in silence, his thoughts consumed by the storm raging within him. He knew he had hurt Elain by ignoring her, knew he was walking a dangerous line by letting his feelings for Y/n consume him so completely. But no matter how much he tried to deny it, the truth was clear.

He was already lost to her.

Chapter 10