#gwyneth berdara fanfiction

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Welcome to my smutty, angsty, weird little mind 💖

You can find all my works under the break!

✨️Enjoy✨️

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

Gwynriel 💙

Knot Just Friends - Omega verse AU | Complete | One Shot

Claim Me - AU | Complete | 7 chapters

Break Bones, Not Hearts - AU | In Progress - On a short hiatus after Chapter 13

Tight Spaces - Canon Setting | Complete | 3 Chapters

Thirty Moments Tell A Story - Canon Setting | Complete | 30 Chapters

Please...Stay - Canon Setting | Complete | One Shot

The Priestess Listened - Canon Setting | Complete | One Shot

Song of the Shadowsinger - Canon Setting | Complete | One Shot

Getaway Car - AU | Complete | One Shot

Gwynriel Drabbles on Tumblr 💜

Shower Drabble - Canon Setting | Maybe complete?

Angsty Drabble - Canon Setting | Complete | One Shot

Dagger Handling/Pole Constructing Drabble - Canon Setting | Complete | One Shot

Azriel’s Broken Bone Drabble - Canon Setting | Complete? TBD

Priestess & Valkyrie Gwyneth Berdara 👑

Restricted Knowledge - Canon Setting | Complete | One Shot

The Valkyries ⚔️

Nest Friends - Canon Setting | Omegaverse | Written for Valkyrie Appreciation Week October 20th-26th, 2024! | Complete

Work In Progress 📝

Country!Gwynriel - AU | Saving the farm by winning a singing contest vibes

Holiday Fics!

Multi-chapter gwynriel omegaverse 🤭

Rewriting the first ever Gwynriel fic I wrote (trust me, it needs a rewrite, but the premise is so fun!)

[dawneternal]

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

[bearbluebooks]

A commission for a Court of Whispered Melodies made by @lucielart

I am so excited to finally share this commission made by the super talented @lucielart. Be sure to check her out on Instagram!

For day 7 @gwynrielweeksofficial - healing

The vision for the piece was inner calm, rest, peace.

I believe they will be each other’s safe spaces through their mutual understanding of hurt and trauma. Azriel will be finally able to breathe and lay down his head to rest as Gwyn watches over him. Azriel will help her realize her own strength and resilience.

I can’t wait to explore this theme and their journey in the fic. Read the first three chapters on AO3.

[azrielslittleslut]

"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 13

Azriel x F!Reader

Summary: A magical incident causes Azriel to unexpectedly tumble through a portal into modern-day Earth. Confused and injured, he is discovered by a compassionate human woman with a hidden past. She takes care of him and helps him discover the complexities of the modern world, completely unaware of who she truly is. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with his conflicting desires: his duty to the Night Court and his growing love for the woman who saved him.

Their journey unfolds amidst ancient prophecies and the looming threat in Prythian. As they uncover the truth about forces conspiring against them, they must confront their deepest fears and make choices that will change their lives and the world forever.

Warnings: language, violence, angst

Word Count: 7k

series masterlist

Azriel felt warm, feminine hands running along his body, coaxing him out of his silence. As he opened his eyes, he saw the face of his beloved mother. Her expression was one of love and concern, the small scar along her cheek gleaming like silver in the dim light. 

In her hazel eyes, he could see his reflection. It wasn’t one of him as a grown male, with his sharp face and curly black hair. Instead, he was met with the sight of him as a young boy, as he had been when he was locked away in that dungeon. 

Pale skin stretched over sharp cheekbones. Cracked lips. Shaggy and tangled black hair falling over his brow. But his eyes were the same, though now they looked to be too big for his small face.  

“My boy,” she whispered, cupping his tiny face in her hands. “The end is not yet. This is just the beginning.” 

Young Azriel blinked at her. “What is just the beginning?” he asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use. That was strange- he had barely been able to speak during his childhood due to a lack of social interaction and access to basic necessities. 

His mother smiled, her eyes bright. “Look for the flames, bright and red they will be,” she said, her voice almost… giddy. “They will lead you home. To the place you are meant to be.” 

He shook his head, his heart hammering in his chest. For as long as he had known her, his mother had been speaking in cryptic riddles and phrases. He wasn’t even sure if she was aware of what she was saying but trying to argue with her had only upset her, so he gave up. 

The only time she seemed to be in her right mind, though, was when she would sing to him, her soft voice lulling him to sleep as she spoke in a foreign, ancient tongue. 

“Okay,” he muttered, his head hanging low, “I will look for the flames.” 

She smiled softly at him, her black hair hanging over her shoulders as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. It was an effort not to look at the mangled wings on her back. 

“Sleep now, Azriel,” she whispered, “And when you wake, it is time to fight.” 

Her soft voice echoed in his dream, his eyes closing as he fell back into a deep slumber. It was a lullaby she had sung to him during his childhood when he had been released from that prison for that precious hour every week. 

Now, those ancient words washed over him, easing his mind, though he didn’t understand any of it. 

“Voryn tal’an isen dremar, Shen’vel teyran isen khael, Variel eiran marir’san, Eshar velan trevar shan’ael.”

“Daeryn velar athaen esor, Revar syriyn anath daron, Shalen morvyn trelan thar, Venaris’kae maelith a’mar.”

Azriel’s eyes snapped open. The faint echoes of his mother’s voice still filled his ears. His head was aching as he blinked against the darkness surrounding him. He gasped for breath, his back and wings screaming in pain as he moved. Each movement sent a fresh wave of burning pain through his body, unlike anything he had ever experienced. With a groan and a prayer to the Mother, he leaned forward, letting his crushed wings fall behind him to the ground. 

“Fuck,” he bit out, his face twisting in pain as he tried to stand. “Fucking Mother’s tits, this shit hurts.” 

It was strange how, when you were in agonizing pain, you could go from praying to a religious deity in one breath to cursing them in the next. 

With his palms against the ground, Az forced himself to stand, ignoring the sharp pain shooting down his legs as he moved. He could feel himself healing, albeit slowly, so he pressed on, willing his mind to clear as he tried to remember what had happened. 

He remembered telling you about the bond, only to be followed by your soft lips on his. He would never forget the look of love on your face after, your lips open as you were about to say the words that his cold, dead heart had desired for the last five and a half centuries. 

But then, everything had gone horribly wrong. He could still hear the echoes of the screams in his mind as children and families were slain. Even now, he could still taste the rot and decay of whatever dark power had hit him, sending his body flying against the building. 

Where had that power come from? He remembered seeing wings, dark hair, a male face- 

“Fuck!” Azriel roared, slamming his hand against the brick wall, sending a spray of dust into the air. The darkness was still around, still covering Velaris. “Mathias! I swear to all the gods above and below, if you don’t let my mate go-“ 

The thought of Mathias holding you, touching you, made Azriel want to sob and tear the world apart at the same time. He leaned over, his hands on his chest as he felt a painful tug on that precious bond. He could hear the echoes of your screams on the walls, and that was all he needed to be forced into action. 

Without Truth-Teller, Azriel had no weapon, but he had never minded killing a male with his bare hands. 

Azriel plunged into that darkness, his face twisted into frozen rage, only to be stopped as he watched a piece of star-flecked night flicker across his peripheral. This darkness was soothing and calming, searching and mending- the total opposite of the evil that was surrounding Velaris. 

This darkness belonged to his High Lord. 

“Rhys!” Azriel called out, his voice akin to a frightened child. He scrambled through the darkness, calling on his shadows to surround him, their dark tendrils a comfort as he moved forward. “Rhysand! Where are you, you bastard?” 

The darkness flickered, a sign that Rhys’s power was giving out. At once, the darkness vanished, as if a mighty wind had swept through the city, taking the remnants of Rhys’s power with it. 

Rhys was standing before Azriel, his face pale, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths. Beads of sweat poured from his forehead, and his eyes were full of exhaustion and… pain. 

Rhys winced, reaching a hand out to steady himself on a nearby wall. “What happened, Az?” he asked, his voice a harsh whisper. “One minute, all of us are enjoying our dinner, and then before we know it, the entire city is swallowed up by this... this…” He flailed his arms around, completely unable to describe the power that had swallowed the city. 

“I don’t know.” Azriel sighed, his body still aching even though he was healing. His siphons were empty, though he could see swells of blue rolling in them as his power returned. “Everything was fine.” Until it wasn’t. “My shadows didn’t alert me of anything out of the ordinary, so I was unprepared.” 

Azriel wanted to roar at the skies at his admission. He was always on alert, always searching for any sign of trouble. He never let his guard down. He slept with a dagger, for fuck’s sake. How could he have let this happen? 

“Who.” It wasn’t a question. The command came from Nesta as she stepped around Rhys, her sharp face twisted in undiluted rage. She was wielding Ataraxia, the glowing steel reflecting the horrors of the city. 

Azriel felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders as he said, “Mathias. He just… showed up. Before, I could feel his power, but it was nothing compared to that.” He shook his head, his mind full of disbelief. “He had wings, Rhys.” 

Rhys only raised his brows, his mind clearly distracted as he surveyed Velaris. The city appeared to be mostly intact, save for the street they were on. The buildings in the distance looked untouched, but the buildings around the three of them… 

A black, oily substance- like ink- oozed from the ground, staining everything around it. It covered every surface like a dark canopy, filling the air with its rancid smell. Azriel’s eyes widened in horror as he looked, his gaze finally landing on the bodies lying in the street. 

Bodies was not the right word, as these piles of flesh resembled nothing that had once lived or breathed. A mangled arm here. An exploded stomach there. All around, there was nothing but shattered pieces of bone and sprays of blood. Az could see the tiny strips of clothing scattered along the ground, some of them so small he thought they could be pieces of paper. 

Azriel stopped breathing entirely as he looked down at his boots. The flower crown, now covered in his blood and the black substance, was lying on the ground. His memory of you gently placing that crown on his head hit him like a tidal wave, causing him to step back. 

“These were children,” Azriel hissed, falling to his knees as his failure was evident before him. 

At that, Rhys came to life. His face became a thing of nightmares, his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Mathias did this?” he asked lowly, his eyes scanning the destruction of his city. 

Azriel could only manage a nod.

“Then he will die,” Nesta said, her voice full of rage. Her head snapped from side to side, her eyes scanning the street. “Where is Y/N, Azriel?” 

Azriel felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered you screaming at him, begging him to let you up to help the children… 

“He took her,” Azriel bit out, the words like venom on Azriel’s tongue. “I couldn’t- I tried-“ His wings drooped as he tried to explain, but his mind was too frazzled to come up with anything. Even his shadows were restless, swirling around him as they both tried to comfort their master and search for their lost mate. 

Thankfully, Az was saved from explaining as Cassian landed next to Nesta, his wings tucked in tight. “Whatever darkness was here is gone now,” he said, his eyes on Rhys. “But the city… The outer edges are fine, but what happened here is growing. Moving closer to the untouched places.” 

“What do you mean, Cassian?” Rhys asked, putting his hands in his pockets. Once again, as he moved, Az noticed the tremble in them. 

Cassian pointed to the sky. “From an aerial view, you can see it better. It’s like a blight on the land, and you can see this inky shit moving, like it’s reaching for those places that are good-“ He trailed off, shaking his head. “Velaris will be covered in it come morning. It appears to be moving fast.” 

Azriel looked, and indeed, he saw the dark substance branching out, eating away at the ground and the buildings. 

“What the hell is happening here?” The voice came from the right, and it belonged to a very pissed-off Amren. She was wearing a black dress made of silk, and her short hair swayed as she surveyed the dying Velaris around. Her silver eyes landed on Azriel. “Care to explain, shadowsinger?” 

Her grating tone snapped Az out of his anguish-ridden stupor. He bolted upright, his wings flaring as he lunged forward. “Where the fuck have you been?” he snarled, his face mere inches away from Amren. 

Amren only smiled, her eyes moving up and down Azriel’s body as if he were nothing more than an annoying pest. “At the Summer Court with Varian,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders as if being on vacation during this shit was acceptable. 

“Oh, I see. You ran off with your lover while the rest of us were trying to keep Prythian from being swallowed by this darkness,” he roared, flailing his hands out, gesturing to the black substance. “I guess I see where your loyalties lie.” 

Those were dangerous words, and he knew it. He had never trusted Amren, but he knew she wouldn’t go against the Night Court. He had seen and felt her power. He had borne witness to what she could do and how much havoc she could cause. 

But Azriel’s anger and pain had taken over any common sense he had at the moment. 

Amren’s eyes flared. “First, don’t you dare question my loyalties, Azriel,” she growled, her finger pressed against his chest. “The Summer Court is in no better shape than the rest of them, and I was helping Varian and Tarquin with trying to figure this shit out. And second…” She stepped forward, her head tipped up, and Azriel fought the urge to shiver as he felt the power radiating off her small form. “You can’t blame me for taking a vacation. Rhys sent word to me about your little visit to another world. It seems you even brought back a little something with you. A little something that we know nothing about.” 

Azriel’s body was shaking with rage, his shadows poised around him, ready to strike. But he remained silent, knowing that if he spoke right now, he would surely be sent to the grave. 

Amren smiled at him as she continued, “So it seems that I’m not the one who has questionable loyalties. For all we know that little mate of yours could be the reason for all of this.”

Azriel exploded. He saw red as he lashed out, his fingers reaching for Amren’s jewel-clad throat. His fingers had barely touched her cold skin when a large hand grabbed him by the shoulder and ripped him away. 

“Get a handle on yourself, Az,” Cassian hissed, baring his teeth and flaring his wings as he blocked Azriel’s view of Amren. “This is not the time to be controlled by that frozen rage of yours.” 

Over the tip of Cassian’s wings, Az could still see Amren smiling softly at him. If she was upset at his outburst, she showed no sign of it. In fact, she almost looked pleased with herself, as if she had planned this. 

“Feel better now, Azriel?” she drawled, daring a step forward. With a small hand, she pushed Cassian away as if he were nothing more than a bug, her gaze locked on Azriel’s face. “Did you get all of that rage out? Or do I need to keep going?” 

Azriel blinked. This was not the first time Amren had intentionally pissed him off, always knowing where to strike him to make him lash out. Usually, she did it before battles or important Night Court meetings. The little beast had always made sure he was calm and collected, not wanting to risk his anger becoming a problem. 

The only time Amren had not done this was before the High Lord meeting, and they all knew how that had turned out. 

“I’m sorry,” Azriel breathed out. “I never would have hurt you.” 

“Oh, you would have tried,” Amren said with a grin, “but you wouldn’t have gotten away with it.” She placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, her body so small compared to his. “Cassian is right. I saw you when I arrived. I saw you breaking from the inside out, knowing that your mate is gone. You cannot let that rage consume you, Az. Let it fuel you, but do not be controlled by it.” 

Azriel nodded, his words of gratitude for what Amren had done catching in his throat. Thankfully, Nesta filled the silence. 

“Since that’s settled, can we please focus on where Y/N went?” she asked. “Az, where would Mathias have taken her?” 

Azriel shook his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t exactly tell me where he was going before he launched me into a wall.” He felt so hopeless and useless right now. 

Rhys cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowed. “Do you think he took her back to her world? If he doesn’t want you to find her-“ 

“No,” Azriel said, cutting his brother off. “He wants her here for some reason. I don’t know why. But I can feel her.” He placed his hand on his chest, right over his heart. “She’s here. I know it.” 

Cassian looked at Rhys. “Do you think the map has anything to do with this?” His voice was low and full of anxiety, which was strange for him. 

“What map?” Azriel asked, his wings twitching in frustration. It was a rare occurrence that he was the one who didn’t know anything, and it pissed him off even more. 

Nesta smiled. “The one that Mor showed you. You know, the one that you said was covered in ink.” She crossed her arms. “The black spot has been growing, almost like the map is changing.” 

“Not an ink stain, then,” Azriel mumbled, mostly to himself. At the time, he had been so focused on you that he hadn’t thought twice about the map. There was nothing in the middle of the Illyrian mountains, so he figured there was nothing to it. 

He should have been more careful, especially considering everything that is going on. 

Amren turned to Rhys, her silver eyes calculating. “Let me see the map, Rhysand.” 

She held her hand out expectantly, her foot tapping with impatience as she waited for the map. Once Rhys pulled it from his pocket and placed it in her hand, she snatched it away, holding it up to her face as her eyes scanned it. 

After a few moments, Amren raised her face, her skin pale. Her eyes were side with shock, her mouth open and closing, as if she were suddenly unable to form words. “Impossible,” she murmured, her eyes once again glancing down at the map. 

“What is it?” Nesta asked, stepping forward, her head lowered as she tried to look at whatever it was that shocked Amren. “What do you see?” 

“Nesta! Cassian!” Gwyn’s voice was breathless as he approached, her red hair coming out of her neat braid. “I’ve been looking for the two of you for ages!” 

Azriel felt his heart warm at the sight of the priestess, her hand holding a dagger, her body dressed in leathers. Over the last few months, Gwyn had slowly started to leave the library more and more, whether it was to spend the night with Nesta and Emerie, or even go out into Velaris to get more books. 

He was proud of her, and he was thankful for the friendship the two of them had formed during those late-night training sessions. She was a warrior now, her teal eyes full of calculating precision as she ran up to the group. He was glad he had played a part, though it had been small, in helping her heal from her horrible past. 

Nesta threw her arms around Gwyn, Ataraxia clanging awkwardly on her back. “If you ever run away from me like that, Gwyneth Berdara, I swear I will beat your ass,” she mumbled, but her tone was warm, full of affection for her friend. 

Gwyn pulled away, raising her dagger to hold it up to Nesta. “If you ever run away from me, heading straight into encroaching darkness, I will throw you off the highest balcony at the House,” she snapped back, but there was a kind smile on her face. 

“Gwyn,” Rhys said, turning around to face her, “where is Feyre? Nyx? Are they alright?” His voice was full of anxiety over his mate and son. 

Gwyn nodded, pushing stray strands of her hair away from her face. “That’s why I was trying to find you. As soon as the darkness hit, I stayed at the River House with them. I can assure you, Feyre and Nyx are fine, so is the River House. Although,” she murmured, glancing down at the darkness moving along the streets, “it seems it’s only a matter of time before it’s not.” 

Rhys released a breath, his shoulders sagging. “Thank you for staying there. I suppose I should get back. Try to make sense of whatever the fuck is going on right now.” He looked at Cassian, then over to Azriel, his expression blank. There was a silent question in his eyes, his normally guarded thoughts written all over his face. 

What do I do? 

Cassian stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Rhys’s shoulder. “We’re with you, brother,” he murmured, his black hair forming a curtain over his face as he lowered his head. 

It was only a small shock for Azriel as he realized Cassian, who always had the answers to things like this, had no idea what the fuck to do. It should have scared him, terrified him, even. But he only felt numb. 

“Az,” Gwyn said, stepping away from Nesta to stand in front of him. “I came here to tell you something, too. Elain is at the River House with Lucien, and when the darkness hit, she saw something. It’s truly terrifying to see her like that, isn’t it? The way her eyes go white and her face-“ 

“Berdara,” Azriel murmured, forcing his voice to remain steady as he stopped her babbling. He normally found it endearing, but he wasn’t in the mood for it now. “What did Elain see?”

Gwyn’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, right. Sorry. She wanted me to tell you that she saw Y/N in some woods. She heard whispers and a male with wings, although she didn’t get a good look at his face.” 

Azriel’s body went cold. There was only one place that he knew of that could fit that description, and it was a place he had hoped he would never be returning to. “The Whispering Woods? Why the hell would she be there?” 

Amren, who was still studying the map, murmured, “The Whispering Woods. No way. There’s absolutely no way.” 

“I have to go get her,” Azriel said, unfurling his wings, preparing to take flight. “If he hurts her-“ 

Nesta held Ataraxia out, her wrist angled so that the blade would surely slice through Azriel’s stomach as soon as he took off. “Cassian and I are going with you,” she commanded, her eyes blazing with silver flame. “The last time you went, you didn’t come back for days, and we all thought you were dead. You’re not doing this alone.” 

Cassian nodded his agreement. “If that’s where this bastard has her, you need backup.” He cracked his knuckles, his siphons guttering as he prepared for battle. 

Azriel nodded, forcing down his worry for his family. He didn’t have a good feeling about this, and he didn’t want to bring them into whatever this was. But he saw the look of rage on both Cassian and Nesta’s face, and he knew better than to argue with them. 

“One more thing,” Gwyn said, her eyes on Nesta as Cassian lifted her into his arms. “Elain said something about a collar.” 

“Gods, will this shit ever end?” Rhys asked, tilting his head back as he closed his eyes. “How can it keep getting worse?” 

Gwyn continued on, “She said the collar needs to come off. She mumbled something about obsidian destroying obsidian.” She sighed and shook her head, her freckles standing out in the dim light of the moon. “I hope you can figure out whatever that means because none of us could.” 

Azriel didn’t have a clue about any of it, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He squeezed Gwyn’s hand, forcing a smile onto his face. “Thank you, Berdara. Go back to the River House with Rhys.” He pulled her close, his lips close to her ear. “Keep them safe while we’re gone. Remember what I taught you? Anything that comes through that door is your ribbon.” 

Gwyn smiled brightly, her eyes gleaming with predatory intent. “You got it, shadowsinger,” she responded, winking at him as she stepped back. 

“You probably need these,” Rhys said, snapping his fingers. In a wave of night, various weapons appeared at his feet, gleaming and freshly oiled. 

Azriel grabbed two Illyrian swords, quickly sheathing them at his back. He also took two daggers, putting them in the weapons belt he kept around his waist. He longed for Truth-Teller, but as far as he knew, his beloved blade was lost forever. 

Cassian also armed himself to the teeth with swords and daggers, managing to place them along his body while keeping Nesta in his arms. Nesta, claiming that she could do enough damage with Ataraxia, grabbed nothing. 

Once they were armed and ready, Azriel took a breath, willing his nerves to calm. “Ready?” he asked, although he felt far from ready himself. 

Cassian and Nesta nodded once. “Ready,” they responded in unison. 

Azriel and Cassian spread their wings, shifting their stance as they prepared for flight, but Amren’s voice stopped them. 

As she finally lowered the map, she kept her eyes on Rhys as she said, “This map shouldn’t exist.” Her hands trembled as she lowered it to her side, her fingers crinkling the ancient paper. “But yet here it is. I never thought I would see anything like this again.” 

“What’s so special about it?” Gwyn asked, her voice quiet. 

Amren’s face was shadowed as she raked her gaze across them, her eyes landing on Azriel. “You better find your mate and bring her back. Because if what I am seeing on this map is real,” she hissed, raising the map slightly, “we’re in deep shit.” 

---

The world was nothing, only splinters of black and cracks of shadows. A dark void consumed your mind and body, dulling everything to a barely noticeable thrum. Your mind was silent, all of your senses numb. Your body felt weightless as the world splintered and fell apart around you, only to be reformed into a darkness that was full of whispers, shadows, and… trees. 

Yes, those were trees around you-great, tall trees, so ancient-looking that your silent mind still managed to wonder if they had been here since before Prythian. 

How did you get here? What the fuck happened?

You blinked rapidly, your eyes straining to see in the darkness. You could tell that you were lying on the cold ground, the feeling of dead leaves tickling your fingers as you dug them into the earth. The collar around your neck was so painfully cold, burning your skin with freezing intensity. You tried to move your head, your body, anything, but the collar prevented that, locking your limbs up as if you were paralyzed. 

The worst part of it all… your magic was gone. Not a flicker of a flame, or even a whisper of smoke, for that matter. You felt human again, almost like the strange power that you possessed had never existed in the first place. 

A low male chuckle to your right made your heartbeat quicken further. “Good. You’re awake. Now we can begin.”

The sound of that horrid voice brought back a wave of memories. The dancing, the flower crown, Azriel being flung into a wall. As you closed your eyes, you could still see his lifeless body lying there, the image of his crooked wings implanted onto the back of your eyelids. 

Mathias was here, and Azriel wasn’t. You didn’t even know if he was alive. You figured you could survive the death of your parents, although their loss was like a hole had been ripped out of your heart, and you doubted it would ever be filled again. 

But to lose Azriel, your mate… That wouldn’t be survivable. The thought of your time with him being cut short before it even began made your numb mind and body ache with a pain that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. 

Well, other than Mathias, of course. 

Mathias’s boots crunched on the leaves as he walked toward you, crouching down so his knee was right above your head. If you were able to move, this would be such a vulnerable position for him to be in. All of his vital organs were basically presented to you on a silver platter, but thanks to this fucking collar, you could do nothing about it. 

“Where is it?” he asked, his voice dripping with annoyed impatience. The planes of his face were mostly shadowed, but you could see the piercing in his nose gleaming in the moonlight from above as he tilted his face down. His wings gleamed, so strangely similar to Azriel’s that you felt a pang in your heart. “I know it’s here, and you’re going to tell me where it is.” 

You had assumed that Mathias had taken you away from Velaris to get you away from Azriel, so he could kill you with no interruptions. You had anticipated that he would raise that massive sword of his, only to bring it down to deal the killing blow. You were vulnerable in the worst of ways, and you couldn’t fight back, even though you desperately wanted to. 

What you didn’t expect, though, was to be brought here to go on a fucking scavenger hunt. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, your voice strained as the collar pressed into your vocal cords. 

Mathias rolled his eyes. “Oh, so you’re going to play stupid with me. Guess I’ll have to give you a little incentive then.” 

With an unnatural quickness, he brought his fist down, slamming it with full force into your stomach. You grunted as the breath was forced from your body, your legs twitching as he hit you, over and over and over. 

The collar, it seemed, had its limitations. It numbed your mind and power, but you could still feel pain. 

“I don’t- I don’t know what you want! I really don’t!” you gasped between punches. 

“TELL ME!” he roared, his face twisted into cold rage. He reached for his sword, unsheathing it with the practice of a seasoned warrior, and lowered it so the blade was centimeters from your chest. “I know you can feel it, you little bitch. I don’t care what my queen wants. I will kill you right now if you don’t give me the information I need.”

His queen. He worked for the queen that Elain had mentioned, the one that wanted you in Prythian. The one that you were convinced was behind everything happening here, even though everyone in Azriel’s family wasn’t fully convinced. You didn’t know how you knew it- you just did- as if there was some inner part of you that was connected to all of it. 

There was still one question, though. What the hell did this queen want with you?

“Your queen wants me to go on a scavenger hunt for something,” you rasped, your eyes locked onto Mathias’s face. You ignored the weapon that was currently pointed at your heart. “Says a lot about how highly she thinks of you, considering she doesn’t trust you to find it.” 

Mathias bared his teeth, a low snarl escaping him. “She has trusted me to find it, which is why I’ve brought you here, to the Whispering Woods. So don’t talk to me about how highly she thinks of me.” He smiled, then, his white teeth gleaming. “I’m the lead of the Queen’s Guard, after all. I didn’t get here by pure luck.” 

The Whispering Woods. You remembered Azriel mentioning something about this place, but in your pain-riddled haze, you couldn’t remember what it was. 

“Or you just fuck really well.” Dangerous words considering the circumstances, but right now, you didn’t care about using common sense. If he was going to take your life, you sure as hell wouldn’t be going down without a fight. 

Mathias’s rage was palpable as he pushed on the sword, the tip of the blade pressing into your skin. You felt hot liquid, no doubt blood, pour down your side. You fought back a scream as searing pain shot through your chest, not wanting to show any sign of weakness. 

But as you looked at him, you saw how much your words had affected his emotions. Your father had always told you that men tended to be controlled by rage and that if you played your cards right, you could control them by using that against them. You could make them so angry that they got sloppy, their feelings taking over any common sense. 

Mathias was a living example of your father’s wisdom. You didn’t know anything about swordsmanship, but even you could see how loose he was holding the sword, how his angle was wrong. His stance had become slack, his body loose as he was solely focused on causing you pain. 

You had caused a crack to form in his armor, and you had every intention of using that against him. 

“Some queen she must be,” you said with a wince, “if she can’t even find whatever it is she is looking for by herself.” 

Mathias pressed the sword in more, far enough that you knew he was dangerously close to puncturing a lung. He twisted the blade, sending a wave of blinding pain through your body. 

You arched against it, the collar rubbing painfully against the raw skin of your neck. Suddenly, you remembered watching survival documentaries about people getting lost in the woods, only to be found by a bear. You could recall hearing them tell their stories of how they survived by pretending to be dead.

At the time, you had never paid much attention to that, knowing that you would likely never find yourself in a similar situation. But now… that course of action seemed as good as any. You couldn’t play dead, knowing that Mathias could probably hear your rapid heartbeat. But pretending to be unconscious… 

Yeah. You could do that. 

With a cry of pain, you slumped, your body lying like a dead weight against the ground. The movement caused Mathias’s sword to pull out slightly, but you still had to bite back another cry as the metal cut through your flesh. 

Mathias scoffed, his stance shifting ever so slightly. “You’re so weak you can’t even handle a little bit of pain without passing out.” Pure sadistic enjoyment laced his words. “Come on. Wake up, now. Find the Amulet for me.” 

His tone of voice reminded you of how people would speak to their pets, as if you were nothing more than an animal yourself.  

You tried to slow your breathing, knowing that if you were going to pull this off, you needed to calm down. Breathe. In. Out. Repeat. To distract yourself, you started counting the seconds, trying desperately to think of anything that could be done in this situation. 

One, two, three-

You counted the seconds as Mathias talked, his voice rising with each sentence. “She’s going to kill me. I failed her again.” 

Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven- 

“Wake up, little bitch! Wake up!”

One minute. 

As the seconds and minutes dragged on, you struggled to focus, your foggy mind wandering to happier times. You could hear your mother’s laughter and your father’s gentle instruction as he taught you about changing the oil in your car. The echoes of your friend’s laughter, the ones from back home, filled your ears. You could feel the ghost of your patient’s fingers as they gripped your hand in thanks after you had saved their life. You saw Azriel, his handsome face shrouded by shadows. You heard his deep laughter as he danced in the street, wearing that glowing flower crown. 

Two minutes. 

Was this what death was like? Did you truly see your life flash before your eyes, seeing all of the happy moments before your soul left your body and went to wherever souls went? 

Two and a half minutes. 

“Find the Moonstone Amulet!” Mathias roared, and if your eyes were open, you would surely see tears streaming down his face. 

Three minutes. 

Your body was throbbing, your heartbeat slowing. You sent out a silent plea to whatever god reigned here. The Mother, the Cauldron, the fucking stars- you didn’t care. Help me, help me, help me- 

“Ah, the Moonstone Amulet he seeks.” The strange whisper filled your mind, full of dark laughter and ancient wisdom, both young and old at the same time. “It is not here. Hasn’t been for thousands of years. But you know that, don’t you, little one?” 

You were dead. You had to be. There was no other explanation as to why you would be hearing this strange voice. 

“The Amulet has been close to him this whole time,” the voice said with childlike laughter. “But you can find it. It’s in your blood. In your bones. In the very power you wield.” 

The fight to continue pretending to be unconscious was a struggle as you tried to make sense of what this whispery voice was saying. It seemed to know who you were and what power you had. You wanted to ask it, but you didn’t know how to answer back. 

The voice laughed, closer now, filling your mind with nothing but its velvety whispers. “I can hear you, sweetling. The Woods are linked to you. We are yours, and you are ours. Just ask of us what you want, and your wish is our command.” 

You paused for a moment, your body rigid. To your left, you could hear Mathias, still rambling on about his failure and how his queen would have his head if he didn’t manage to wake you up. From the sound of his voice, you could tell that he was facing away from you, his mind completely distracted. 

You didn’t know what surprised you more- the fact that this warrior had managed to get so caught off guard, or the fact that your shitty plan had worked. 

“Help me,” you pleaded, speaking to the voice with your mind. “Help me out of here.” 

A feeling of satisfaction filled your mind, though it wasn’t yours. The voice spoke again, but this time, it sounded powerful and ancient, the opposite of the childlike voice from earlier. “The collar you’re wearing… It is meant to control you and numb you. Goes back to a different race of Fae from long ago, though they are lost to this world now. But you are a flame, one that cannot be put out or controlled.” 

You kept your body still as you dug down deep into that well of power that lived in your belly, searching for that flame. You could feel the remnants of it, but the strength was gone. “I can’t even feel my power. I can’t use it.” 

The voice clicked its tongue. “You cannot use all of it. But I believe you can manage to use enough to get yourself out of this situation. You are the rightful queen, after all. It would be a shame if you died before your reign even had a chance to begin.” 

Rightful queen? This wasn’t real. This was a dream. Yes, you were just having one of your strange dreams, and soon, you would wake up in Azriel’s arms and-

“Think of the ones back in Velaris. Think of your mate. I cannot tell you the story, little one, but he needs you. All of Prythian needs you. Dig down deep. Go on,” the voice encouraged, sounding more like a child again. “Find it. Use it. Wield it.” 

You had no other option, so you obeyed. You did think of Azriel- his kindness, his wittiness, his gentleness. You remembered seeing him in the bayou, so lost and confused in your world. You could hear the music of a ball and feel his lips on yours, his gentle hands lighting a fire in your body that you didn’t know was possible. 

Suddenly, those happy memories were ripped away as a vision of Nesta, Elain, and everyone back in Velaris ran across your eyelids. You saw them bloody and broken, their dead bodies left on a battlefield, their weapons shattered, their faces pale. 

“That is what will happen if you do not get out of this,” the voice whispered, so low and dark you thought you imagined it. 

A thousand memories from a thousand different lifetimes washed over you. You were no longer in the Whispering Woods, no longer in your own body, as you were carried through the past. 

You saw a small fire and a tiny cabin in the forest, and you heard the sound of a soft, lilting female voice that you had never heard before. You could smell smoke and see the flames as the cabin was burning. You felt warm arms around you, and the sound of rapid breathing filled your ears. 

You saw a small female with dark hair and something that looked like wings, her strong arms taking you from the female. I will keep her safe, she said. Until the time is right. 

You trembled as memories from your once normal life assaulted you, reminding you of everything you had lost and all the things you had gained. 

Finally, you heard your mother’s dying wish as her life had left her broken body. Stay with Azriel. He can protect you. 

As the voices and whispers and memories filled your mind, you reached down into that well of power, only to be met with a small flicker of flame. It was weak, but it was there. You reached for it, coaxing it to life. 

“What do I do now?” you asked the voice, your mind focused on the flame. 

A pause, then a feeling of great pleasure and power. “Rise up, our queen. Rise up.” 

You grasped that tiny flame, holding onto it for dear life. Mathias was still distracted as you raised your trembling arm, hand outstretched to the sky. With every ounce of energy you could muster, you channeled that power, willing it to obey, forcing it through your arm and out of your fingers. 

Through your closed eyelids, you could see the light as the power shot from your body, piercing the darkness of the Whispering Woods. Your body shook as wave after weak wave of your power was released, continuing on until that small flame died out again. 

Mathias gasped. “What the-“ 

The voice chuckled. “Flames bright and red. Not a bad start. Now, the fun will begin.” 

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[gwynrielshappyendings]

Unwrap the ✨️spice✨️ this holiday season with a special gift from a few of us in the Gwynriel community!

Gwyn and Az have been gifted the Kama Sutra for Solstice. Join them as they explore the positions and each other. 😉

Fics will post daily between December 1st-24th.

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[sunshinebingo]

Gwynriel fluff

One of those days

Feeling tired and numb, Gwyn seeks comfort in Azriel's arms.

800 words

The door opened before Gwyn could knock. Not that she would have done it anyway. Azriel had reminded her enough times that the door to his rooms would always be open for her. Even the House made sure of it when it let her inside in his absence, no doubt knowing how much it helped her to be in his space when she missed him.

The shadows were the first to greet her. They circled her excitedly until they noticed how she looked. Their joy turned into concern. Gwyn smiled at them in way that she hoped would reassure them that she was fine. But just like their master, they often saw through her.

She ignored all of their whispered questions and, with footsteps that sounded heavier than usual, walked straight to Azriel who was already waiting for her with open arms even though his eyes did not immediately leave the papers on his desk. Gwyn did not say a word as she settled on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. She placed her head on his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, inhaling his scent that she could recognise among a thousand.

Azriel pulled her as close as he could with a hand on her thigh while his other began massaging her scalp with slow, soothing motions.

“Are you alright?”

Gwyn opened her mouth, thinking of a few possible replies to his question. But nothing made it past her lips. She was so tired that she didn’t even have the energy to speak. Perhaps she had lost it on one of the endless stairs between the library below and his office.

She let out a heavy sigh. “Mhmm,” was the only response she could come up with.

She felt the shadows caressing her cheek and the exposed part of her legs where her robe had risen up a bit. She felt Azriel’s thumb drawing circles on her thigh. She felt his fingers gently pulling at the roots of her hair. She felt the vibration of his skin when he spoke again.

“Are you not alright but telling me you are just so I won’t worry?”

Gwyn smiled before she realised she was doing it.

“Mhmm,” she replied again.

What was the point in lying when he knew her too well. It was annoying at times honestly. But she was too tired to share her opinion on it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Azriel asked, and Gwyn was certain that, had she had the energy to lift her face from his shoulder, she would have been able to read the question in his eyes without him having to voice it.

She wrapped her arms tighter around him. If Azriel was starting to suffocate, he didn’t complain about it. Gwyn shook her head. She knew that he would understand and read her gesture as, ‘Not now.’

Azriel’s following, “Later then?,” confirmed it.

She nodded.

She would open up and talk about everything eventually. Everything that had caused her mood to gradually go from buoyant to sad, from sad to numb. But right now, what she needed most was his silent support. She needed his familiar scent and his comforting embrace; the steady rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his beating heart as she held on to him.

“Do I have to kill someone? Or kindly threaten perhaps?”

Gwyn’s laugh said what she did not with words. ‘It’s not that serious.’ That, and her tug of a fistful of his hair, might have also contained a hint of, ‘You’re an idiot, Shadowsinger.’

Azriel chuckled as his hand left her thigh to cup her face. Gwyn released another sigh when he pressed his lips to her forehead for a kiss. He asked nothing else, ready to give her the time and space that she presently needed. Although she had already decided that hogging Azriel’s personal space was how she wanted to spend that time.

He didn’t seem to mind that at all. With one of his arms around her and securely hugging her, he picked up his pen from the desk, and resumed his work.

Gwyn closed her eyes and let the worries of the day float away as she filled her mind with the little things that this moment was made of. The sound of pen scratching on paper, the shadows’ cool touch against her skin, Azriel’s soft hair between her fingers, one of his wings protectively curling around her. And soon, she fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was on Azriel’s bed, with the covers all the way up to her chin, her head still buried in the crook of his neck, and his strong arms still around her.

[lib-arts]

Fórmula 1 x Gwynriel🏎️

Gwyn and Azriel from Heart Racing

Fanfic by anewritter - twitter

@gwynrielweeksofficial

[freyjas-musings]

@thebeginnersclock ,

Here is a little post of appreciation for you my friend. Your Gwynriel works has been a bright spot on a lot of difficult days in my life. Unless I am really stuck doing something very important I always spend time reading whatever you have written as soon as it's posted and it's never once failed to bring a smile on my face.

So , I made a little master list of all of your works ... It is also a little something for every Gwynriel who hasn't discovered your page yet... to go through the rich treasure trove of Gwynriel goodness you have gifted us . Thank you for the time and effort you take to write for us 🤗

MASTER LIST - GWYNRIEL WORKS

Someone to stay

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The Priestess

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Clueless shadowsinger

Part 1

Part 2

Night Talks

One shot

Azriel's Bonus

Drabble

Frost and shadows

Drabble

Voided Echoes

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

House of healing

Drabble

SparksAwaken

One shot

The New chaperone

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Nobody

Drabble

Oleanna

Part 1

Part 2

By the rivers of Sangravah

Drabble

Rainy Reunion

Part 1

Part 2

Part 2.5

Part 3

Fluffy Wing

Drabble

Payback's a bitch

Drabble

First kiss

Drabble

Game night

Drabble

Gwyneth babydara

Drabble

Spill the tease

Drabble

Light and shadows

Part 1

Part 2

We accept the love we think we deserve

Part 1

Part 2

What's your favourite food

Drabble

Survival of the fishiest

Part 1

Part 2

Sellyn Drake

Part 1

Part 2

How I met your mother (ongoing)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 ||

Lightsinger

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Too Late

Drabble

Lullaby

Drabble

COUCH

Drabble

[tpcanvas]

DAY 9: Music 🎻

Instagram: tp.canvas

#GwynrielWeeks2024

Title: Melodies of the heart🎶

Gwyn and Azriel strolled along the tranquil shores of the lake. The night was alive with the symphony of nature, and they found solace in each other's company after a long day in the bustling Night Court.

As they walked, Gwyn's eyes sparkled with mischief as she spotted a patch of green lake flowers swaying gently in the breeze. Without hesitation, she waded into the cool water, her laughter floating back to him on the night air.

Curious, Azriel followed her, his gaze never leaving her radiant form. He watched as she twirled and danced among the waves, her laughter mingling with the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.

Lost in the moment, Gwyn began to sing, her voice weaving a spellbinding melody that echoed across the lake. The notes danced in the air, intertwining with the rustle of the leaves and the soft whisper of the breeze.

Azriel watched in awe as Gwyn sang, her voice carrying across the water like a siren's call. Mesmerized by her ethereal presence, he couldn't help but feel a surge of emotions welling up inside him. It was as if time stood still, and he could feel the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders.

When the song ended, Gwyn turned to face him, her eyes shining with unspoken emotion. "For you," she whispered with a quiet laugh, offering him a fluorite crystal she found. She remembered reading about it a while back.

Azriel took it gently, his gaze never leaving hers. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything." He hopped off from the stones to get closer.

Gwyn followed his every move. When nothing is being said, she gave him her assuring smile. “What is it, Shadowsinger? What’s on your mind?”

His eyes reflecting the moonlight as he reached out to touch her cheek. "I have never heard anything so ethereal," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rustle of the leaves.

Gwyn smiled softly, her heart fluttering at his words. "And you have the soul of a poet," she replied, her fingers intertwining with his. In that moment, with the moon as their witness, they both knew that they had found something rare and precious in each other.

————————

Sorry i got carried away but here’s a little story i wrote for this art scene. It’s been awhile since i did something like this, so i apologize if it’s a little rusty pls be kind.😅

Hope you enjoy!

[kimstclair]

Game Night

Game night was in full swing, and the tension was palpable.

“C’mon, Amren, don't be a killjoy,” Cassian taunted, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk.

Amren poured herself another glass of wine and dismissed him for the third time. “These games are bad for my nerves.”

“You know what?” Cassian insisted, grinning mischievously. “Let’s make a bet! If I win, you have to play two more rounds. If you win, I promise to make sure Rhys will take one more thought at the High King thing.”

Amren clicked her tongue with a smirk. “When Rhysand actually becomes High King, I promise I'll play as many stupid card games as you want.”

“Forget it, Cass, she’s already too old to enjoy life,” Rhysand teased. But before Amren could snap back, Feyre spoke up, stretching her arms out with a yawn.

“You can play, I'm kinda tired.”

“Oh no, darling,” Rhysand interrupted with a sly grin, “you were the one who wanted to play in the first place. I'm sitting this out.”

“Actually,” Azriel cleared his throat, “I have some reports to finish. You all go ahead.”

“For Mother’s sake,” Nesta said aloud, rolling her eyes. “You’re all so dramatic.”

She pushed her chair back and headed toward the door arc. “Where are you going, hon?” Cassian called after her.

“I’ll be back soon,” Nesta replied, already walking down the hallway.

–

Gwyn was engrossed in a new novel Emerie had lent her when Deirdre tapped her shoulder. “Clotho asked me to give you this.”

She handed over a note: You have a visitor.

Gwyn had two guesses as to who it might be, but refused to admit one of them made her heart skip a beat. She slipped out of her nightgown, threw on a casual robe, and headed toward the library.

Visitors weren’t allowed in the priestesses’ dormitory, so it wasn’t surprising to find Nesta waiting for her by Clotho’s desk, clad in an elegant dress.

“Is everything okay?” Gwyn asked.

Nesta’s face lit with a mischievous glint. “How good are you at cards?”

–

Back in the game room, the first round was underway.

“I swear!” Cassian shouted. “I felt Rhys inside my mind.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “Cassian, that’s not a thing. You can’t feel when I’m using my daemati powers.”

“So you admit you used them!” Cassian snapped, looking triumphant.

“Let’s just start over,” Feyre suggested, barely holding back a laugh.

Azriel was holding his cards quietly, but Gwyn noted the faintest smile on his lips. She also noticed a card poking out of the collar of Rhysand’s robes and Cassian’s cards sprawled across the table, likely tossed in a fit of rage.

“That’s why I don’t play,” a small, black-haired female Gwyn recognized as Amren said, looking directly at her and sipping her wine.

Everyone at the table turned to look at Gwyn and Nesta standing by the doorway. Feyre greeted them with a warm smile.

"Just found the missing player for our game," Nesta announced proudly.

“Good to see you, Gwyneth,” Rhysand greeted with a smile.

“Good evening, High Lord,” Gwyn replied with a respectful bow.

“Please, call me Rhysand,” he grinned, his gaze twinkling with amusement. “Especially if we’re about to be rivals in a… intense match.”

–

Cassian, clearly frustrated, turned to Rhysand and Feyre. "You two can't be a team anymore; you're always communicating telepathically!"

Rhysand merely smiled. "Are we just too good for you, Cass?"

“Stop stalling, Rhys. Everyone here knows you and Feyre have an unfair advantage,” Cassian grumbled, crossing his arms.

Nesta, arms crossed and expression calculating, saw her chance. “Alright. Gwyn and I could pair up, and you four can rearrange yourselves.”

But after a pause, she reconsidered. “Actually… I don’t trust Azriel with any daemati,” she added, casting a look at Azriel, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. “He’ll do whatever it takes to win.”

Cassian laughed, then had an idea. “Fine, then let’s try this: Nesta and I split to join Rhys and Feyre. That way, we’ll keep them in check.”

Azriel sighed, his calm tone laced with faint exasperation. “Not that I have an issue with the pairing,” he said, his gaze sweeping the table, “but that arrangement would leave Gwyn and me at a disadvantage.”

Rhysand smirked. “Oh, don’t worry, Azriel. I promise I won’t be using… my shadows this time.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a glimmer in his eyes. He glanced Gwyn’s way, eyebrow raised, daring her to react. She suppressed a smile, feeling the camaraderie—and something else, a subtle tension that she preferred not to examine too closely.

“I think they’re just scared, Gwyn,” Azriel murmured, his tone light yet challenging. “Looks like we’ll have to show them how it’s done.”

Gwyn raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Well, if you think you can handle it, Shadowsinger… I’m in.”

Cassian patted Rhysand’s back. “Looks like we’ve got a match! Let’s see if the shadow-and-singer duo can really take us on.”

Rhysand merely shrugged. “May the best team win.”

“Alright, you two can pair up, and I’ll take Nesta,” Feyre suggested. “Everyone take seats opposite your partners—no one sits next to their teammate.”

As they shuffled places, Azriel passed by Gwyn and leaned close. “Rhys and Feyre will try to read your mind, so keep it focused. And watch out for Cassian; he pretends to get more wine just to peek over at people’s cards.”

Gwyn only had time to nod as everyone settled in.

–

The game quickly spiraled into chaos. Cassian barely made it through the first hand before he got up to refill his wine. Gwyn recalled Azriel’s advice and turned her cards down as Cassian passed.

Rhysand eyed Feyre with suspicion. “You’re not cheating, are you, darling?”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Me? Rhys, I’m hurt you’d even suggest that.”

Amren scoffed. “As if she needs to cheat to beat you.”

Nesta leaned toward Cassian, whispering, “Azriel’s plotting something. I’ll bet a bottle of wine on it.”

“Deal,” Cassian replied, grinning.

Not even halfway through the game, Rhysand suggested a pause. Everyone agreed readily.

“You know, Cassian, considering how many times you’ve refilled your glass tonight, I’d say you’ve had your breaks,” Azriel noted.

“If we’re talking suspicious behavior,” Nesta chimed in, “we could mention the shadows swirling around Azriel’s ears all night.”

Azriel didn’t flinch, though his expression sharpened with determination. Gwyn had seen that same look on his face in training—a readiness to do whatever it took to win. Across the table, Gwyn noticed the glances Rhysand and Feyre were exchanging. She leaned toward Azriel, whispering, “They’re in cahoots.”

Azriel nodded, his voice low and amused. “Who isn’t?”

Gwyn did notice the shadows slipping around her neck, weaving through her hair and peeking at her cards as the game progressed. It was as if Azriel always knew her move before she even played her card, his shadows acting like an extension of her thoughts.

“Feyre and Nesta have a tell,” she whispered to Azriel, leaning subtly toward him. “Whenever they’re holding a bad hand, Feyre always scratches her eyebrow.”

Azriel regarded her with sharp eyes, a faint glint of approval there. “Observant,” he murmured, taking a sip of his whiskey. “And nice work sneaking a look at Cassian’s cards.”

Gwyn flushed, but she couldn’t help a proud smile. It was true; whenever Cassian was too busy gazing at Nesta to notice anything else around him, she took the opportunity to steal a glance at his hand. It was almost too easy sometimes. She hadn’t known that Azriel had picked up on her tactic until now.

“Alright, back to business!” Nesta called, dealing another round.

Apparently, the other pairs had also used the break to regroup and adjust their strategies. Gwyn noticed it was much harder to get a peek at Cassian’s cards now, and Feyre had changed her signal—she now wrapped a lock of hair around her finger, subtly.

Azriel’s shadows were more elusive now, but she could still feel their presence, curling around her, discreetly hidden by her hair and cloak. She also noticed how the shadows played across Azriel himself, moving slowly over his arms, mingling with the tattoos on his biceps.

Gwyn refused to admit how well she knew the details of those tattoos, practically by heart. She tried to justify it as just the result of their countless training sessions together. Surely, she had to pay attention to her trainer’s movements, didn’t she?

Before she could refocus on the game, Gwyn caught Feyre watching her—and suddenly realized with horror that Feyre was reading her thoughts. Specifically, the thoughts about Azriel’s biceps: those sculpted muscles she had definitely admired a little too closely.

Their eyes met, and Gwyn’s went wide. Feyre quickly turned her attention back to her cards, clearly holding back a grin.

But Gwyn had no time to be embarrassed, as she felt Azriel’s gaze settle on her, waiting for her next move. He tilted his head, his dark eyes intense. “Gwyn?” he asked, as if urging her to return her attention to the game.

Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to look away from his arms, holding her cards ready to play.

From across the table, Amren smirked as she observed the scene. “You really think this game has anything to do with the cards, don’t you? Poor fools.”

“Oh, absolutely, Amren,” Feyre chimed in, playing along. “Everyone here is being perfectly honest.”

Nesta shrugged, giving an ironic smile. “If we were cheating, Cassian would have noticed. Isn’t that right?”

Cassian huffed. “Sure, because it’s so hard to see through your schemes.”

Nesta arched an eyebrow. “If you played half as well as you talked, Cassian, maybe you’d stand a chance.”

“You know I’m excellent at playing and talking at the same time, Nes,” Cassian retorted with a wicked grin, making his wife blush furiously.

To Gwyn’s surprise, she found herself laughing along with the others. The playful teasing between Cassian and Nesta didn’t make her feel out of place at all.

–

Several rounds later, Cassian threw his cards down, visibly frustrated. “Alright, it’s a tie. We need a tiebreaker.”

Feyre, a little tipsy, leaned toward him with a glint of mischief. “How about something more… physical?” She glanced at Rhysand, a grin spreading on her face. “Like… hide and seek?”

Amren scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, perfect. You just forgot your one year old son is sleeping right now. You don't need to play his games.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Azriel said.

“Of course not,” Cassian laughed. “You can melt into shadows.”

Gwyn, feeling more comfortable in the playful atmosphere, smirked. “Look, Azriel and I have been up against teams with telepathic powers all night without complaining. I think we can handle a little hide and seek.”

“Oh?” Cassian leaned forward, intrigued. “What’s your proposal, Miss Berdara?”

Gwyn smiled, her confidence unwavering. “Azriel and I will be seekers. If we find all of you within half an hour, we win. If anyone evades us, they win for their team.”

Everyone exchanged approving glances. Ignoring Amren’s disdainful mutter, the rest of them quickly warmed to the idea.

“That’s it for me. If you want to keep playing, so be it. But I’d rather head home,” Amren announced, rising to her feet.

“I’ll take Amren home, and when I’m back, Gwyn and I will start hunting for all of you,” Azriel offered, glancing at Gwyn with a hint of a smile.

–

Gwyn waited for Azriel on the balcony, her eyes tracing the city below. She admired the beauty of Velaris under the moonlight, feeling a pang of longing. She’d thought of visiting for the first time for a while now, and seeing it like this only strengthened that desire.

She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she only noticed Azriel’s presence when he landed softly beside her, making her jump. Azriel didn’t react much, though his lips twitched into a faint smirk as he stepped closer. “Ready to hunt?” he murmured, his voice low and almost playful.

She straightened, trying to look composed despite the sudden flutter in her pulse. “I think it’s better if we stick together,” she replied, her tone even, though her mind was anything but calm.

And so the game began. As they entered the house, Gwyn and Azriel noticed that most of the corridors were cast in deep shadow, with only a few torches flickering here and there, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Gwyn decided to light a candle and carry it as they moved.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk on his lips. “Afraid of the dark?”

Gwyn laughed softly, holding the candle steady. “Not at all, Shadowsinger. But if we want to win this game, it might help if we don’t trip over our own feet.”

Moving like shadows, Gwyn and Azriel searched together, silent and in sync. As they crept through the hallways, Gwyn became acutely aware of the closeness between them—of Azriel’s steady, focused presence beside her.

Then, for a brief moment, they found themselves alone in a dim, quiet corridor. Azriel’s gaze lingered on her, deep and unreadable, and Gwyn’s heart raced as she met his eyes. There was a gravity in his look, something she couldn’t quite place, and she felt her own heartbeat quicken in response. But noises coming from upstairs got their attention and they headed towards it.

Finding Cassian and Feyre was almost too easily. Cassian’s attempts at stealth were practically nonexistent, and Feyre, slightly tipsy, clearly wasn’t taking the game seriously. They were both hiding in plain sight, sharing a quiet laugh in a poorly chosen corner. As soon as they were caught, Cassian shrugged with a laugh, slinging an arm around Feyre’s shoulders. “Guess it’s time for more wine,” he announced, leading her out of their hiding spot as they playfully bickered over whose hiding place had been worse.

Gwyn and Azriel moved on, stepping deeper into the house. Their path led them to Nesta’s personal library, where Azriel paused by the door. He glanced at the candle in Gwyn’s hand, then reached out to gently extinguish it.

“It’ll give us away,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm against her ear.

She shivered, barely managing a nod. “Good idea.”

Azriel leaned in close to her, his voice a whisper. “Let’s split up. You take the left side of the shelves. I’ll go right.”

–

As Azriel moved down his chosen aisle, he was impressed at how quiet Gwyn was, her footsteps nearly as silent as his own. His shadows flitted through the shelves, scanning for any sign of Nesta, though they hadn’t yet detected her presence. The only light in the library was the silvery glow of moonlight streaming in through a tall window at the end of the aisle, casting soft shadows that mingled with his own.

Azriel was nearing the end of the aisle when, suddenly, something crashed into his torso, and he stumbled back, landing on the floor with a muffled thud.

“Got you!” Gwyn’s triumphant whisper filled the silence.

“Gwyn?” Azriel murmured, surprised. She was perched on top of him, her hands wrapped around his torso. In the dim light, he could just make out her silhouette, her eyes reflecting the faintest hint of moonlight.

“I... I thought you were Nesta,” she breathed, her face mere inches from his.

“That’s alright,” he replied, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. He realized his hands had instinctively found their way to her waist when they fell—and he hadn’t moved them since. Neither had she.

They stared at each other in the dim glow, their breaths mingling in the quiet. But then, a movement broke the spell—a shadow darting toward the door.

“Nesta!” Gwyn leaped off him, sprinting toward the door just in time to block it as Nesta tried to slip through.

Nesta was slightly out of breath. “Alright, you got me. Mother above, Gwyn, you’re fast!”

–

“Looks like we’re winning,” Gwyn murmured, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Azriel held her gaze, and she felt that same magnetic pull she’d been fighting all evening. “Never celebrate victory too early. We’ll just have to keep playing to see who comes out on top.”

Gwyn pushed away the thought that she’d, in fact, been on top of him only moments ago. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her waist. But whether his words held hidden meaning, or if she was just reading too much into things… she honestly couldn’t tell.

–

“We’ve combed through this whole house!” Gwyn called out, finally abandoning all pretense of stealth.

Azriel leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he considered. “Rhysand wouldn’t hide somewhere obvious,” he said thoughtfully. “And he’d pick a place that’s clever, just to draw it out. He enjoys making people work for it.”

“What about the training ring?” she suggested. “Technically, it’s within the property, if we’re going by the rules literally.”

Azriel’s brows lifted in appreciation. “Good thinking.” They quickly made their way to the ring, but when they arrived, it was empty.

Gwyn let out a sigh, half frustration, half laughter. “Well, that was a waste.”

“Not entirely,” Azriel reassured, his lips curling. “It was a solid guess, Berdara.”

She studied him for a moment, then seemed to have an idea, her face lighting up with renewed energy. “Do you trust me?”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Yes.”

Without another word, she took his hand and pulled him along, sprinting through the house. As they ran, he pieced together where she was leading him: the balcony, where the game had started. It was exactly the sort of place Rhysand would find amusing.

They reached the balcony, but it, too, was empty.

Gwyn glanced at Azriel, cheeks flushed from their dash. “I’m sorry. I thought he’d be here as a kind of ‘full circle’ thing.”

“Don’t apologize,” Azriel said, his tone reassuring, though his eyes sparkled with faint amusement. “It was a good guess. Classic Rhysand—he’d totally…” He trailed off, then stepped forward, glancing over the balcony railing.

“Rhysand, you ridiculous bat, get up here!” Azriel shouted, shaking his head.

Gwyn heard a soft chuckle from below just before the High Lord soared up from beneath the balcony, laughter in his eyes as he landed.

–

Cassian was practically doubled over with laughter. “I can’t believe you hung upside down like a bat for half an hour.”

“Almost half an hour,” Azriel corrected, glancing at Gwyn. “We found him first. In fact, we found all of you before time ran out.”

“You two make a good team,” Feyre remarked casually, though the glance she sent Gwyn’s way hinted at her true thoughts.

“Well-deserved win,” Rhysand congratulated them. “Though, now it seems like you and Gwyn should face off for first place.”

“Oh, please, don’t start!” Nesta interjected. “Those two will be at it all night if we let them.”

“You’re right, Nes,” Cassian said, pulling her close with an arm around her waist. “Let’s save the grand finale for another night.”

Feyre and Rhys said their goodbyes before winnowing to the River House, and Nesta and Cassian prepared to return to their chambers.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Gwyn said, smiling.

“Oh, hon, you're welcome here anytime,” Nesta replied easily.

“Especially if you're about to beat Azriel’s ass in the next game night,” Cassian joked.

Azriel crossed his arms. “Don’t give her too much hope. Berdara might start thinking she actually stands a chance.”

“As if I’d ever back down from you, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn shot back, matching his tone.

“Save some of that teasing for morning training, you two,” Cassian muttered with a grin as he and Nesta left for their quarters, leaving Gwyn and Azriel standing side by side in the warm, quiet aftermath of the evening.

Azriel offered to escort Gwyn back to the library, and they started down the path together. The silence between them was comfortable but charged with a tension that seemed to grow with each step.

“It’s nice to see you all together like this,” Gwyn said, breaking the silence. “Do you do this often?”

Azriel took a moment to answer. “We used to, before... you know, Amarantha.”

Gwyn nodded, understanding. There was a beat of quiet before she spoke again. “About what happened in the library…” Azriel turned to look at her. “Sorry for, uh… tackling you.”

"That’s alright," Azriel replied simply. Gwyn thought she saw a small tremor at his lips, as if he was on the verge of saying something more, but instead, he simply continued walking beside her, steady and silent.

They reached the entrance to the library, which was now dark and empty, the other priestesses already asleep.

“Well, thank you, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze lingering for a second longer. “See you tomorrow, Berdara.”

[oristian]

PARTY MONSTER / HIGH FOR THIS

SUMMARY — Azriel teaches Gwyn how to smoke on a dirty frat house couch. (17+ RATING)

NOTE — (Re-uploaded after I fully finished) This is my first fan-fiction I have ever written, so I am not fully certain on the etiquette. The idea was supposed to just be a small scene, less than one-thousand words, but I had such an urge to finish it out. Let me know if you all would like to see a part two, or to flesh it out into a full-length fic! You can also find this on Archive of Our Own

WC / TAGS — 3,713. Stoner Azriel, Good Girl Gwyn, Modern AU, College AU, Exhibitionism, Mentions of Drugs

Azriel sprawled widely on the velvet couch, his long legs spread to where their knees were almost brushing. The heat radiating from the closeness of their bodies sent pinpricks and shivers down her spine.

He watched her lazily from his peripheral as he raised the end of the blunt to his lips, inhaled for five counts, and removed the joint from his full, red mouth. His lips pursed momentarily and then he settled back against the couch, parting his mouth and releasing the smoke into the dimly lit room—his eyelids fluttered closed with the exhalation. Gwyn observed him with a bated breath, her hands clenched into tight fists against her lap, and a buzzing numbness at the back of her head.

Azriel dangled his left arm over the back of the couch and reclined further back, the movement sending the end of his semi-cropped shirt riding up the expanse of his abdominals. The muscles flexed under the drawn-out stretch—a single vein disappearing into the waistband of his tight black jeans—and Gwyn drew her focus away quickly, her cheeks dampening with heating.

“You wanna hit?”

Gwyn tensed, her knees knocking together and her copper-brown hair flying over one bared shoulder as she met his unwavering stare. His hazel eyes were tinged pink and his lids low over the irises, his long lashes casting shadows against his deeply tanned cheekbones. He slowly tiled his chin downwards to the hand he had offered towards her, the blunt pinched between his thumb and index finger.

Gwyn swallowed slowly, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Does it … taste funny?” From her vantage point, the blunt appeared to be a spit-wet piece of thick paper with ashes dusting one end—the smell alone had her nose wrinkling. She raised a single eyebrow in question, but leaned forward nonetheless, driven by the curiosity of the whole situation.

Azriel’s lips quirked upwards into a leisurely smirk. He raised his hand upwards and a bit more closer to her, a chuckle resonating lowly in his throat. Gwyn traced the movement of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with the noise, her lips parting slightly and a dry feeling in the back of her mouth.

“Only one way to find out, Princess.”

Gwyn quirked an eyebrow at the underlying challenge lacing his tone, the amusement lilting his words. The smoke clung to his breath, brushing over her skin, as he scooted closer to her, their knees fully touching. “Here,” Azriel mumbled as he helped her steady the blunt between her fingers—the areas in which his fingertips brushed sent jolts down her arm. “It’s gonna be a real bitch ‘ya first time.” Gwyn felt a bubbling, “And what says this is just my first time?” in her throat, but she pushed it back down; there was no reason to lie, given the racing speed of her heart and the pooling of heat under her freckled skin.

“Raise it up to your li—good girl,” he said with a sly grin. Gwyn placed the damp end of the blunt against her mouth, looking over at Azriel for both reassurance and next steps. He sat up and reached for the lighter sitting precariously on the edge of the acrylic coffee table. He flicked open the metal tip and placed the open end against the burnt side of the joint. “When I light this,” he said, his hazel eyes boring into her teal, “inhale for as long as you can. Tap my thigh if it gets to be too much—just don’t drop it. It’ll burn like hell.” He rubbed a scarred thumb against one of her pale thighs, the digit sliding just under the stretch of her leather miniskirt. Gwyn was acutely aware of any place his skin met her’s.

Azriel glanced upwards under his lashes and Gwyn nodded tersely, beginning a countdown from ten in her mind as he flicked the lighter and ignited the joint. Gwyn inhaled for a count of two before her throat spasmed and a cough built in her chest. She quickly pushed Azriel away from her and turned her neck, coughing deeply into the crook of her elbow. Her eyes watered and her ears buzzed as she hacked sideways for a few seconds, gasping for breath at the end of it all. Gwyn reclined back against the couch and inhaled deeply, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. She felt a jerk beside her and glanced over at Azriel laughing into the palm of his hand, his shoulders moving with the effort. Gwyn sent a pointed glare his way and huffed as she crossed her arms around her torso. Azriel held up his hands in surrender.

“That was awful,” Gwyn grumbled, an embarrassing tinge pinkening her cheeks. Azriel rubbed his thumb over the head of the lighter, the blunt securely back between his fingers. After a breath he said, “I could help you. It would be easier than you trying it on your own.”

Gwyn sat upright as Azriel again scooted closer to her, their shoulders knocking together as he adjusted his weight on the sinking cushions. “I’ll take a hit,” he muttered slowly, raising a hand to move the stray strands of hair back from her face, “and all you have to do is sit pretty and open your mouth for me.” The lazy smirk pulled at his mouth once more and Gwyn felt her attention diverting to the swell of his bottom lip as it catches against his teeth. “Open my mouth?” She repeats as a whisper, as she leans ever so slightly into his bubble of space.

Azriel craned his neck to inhale from the blunt, then turned back to Gwyn. His lips were pressed together and his right hand slid under her jaw, turning her neck just the way he needed it—his fingers tangled in her long coppery hair. As he leaned inwards, Gwyn parted her lips, her eyelids fluttering closed, her hand reaching to brace against his broad shoulder.

His upper lip nudged hers, prying her mouth wider as he angled his head down. His scent of fresh cedar and burnt ash was intoxicating, grounding her more than the smoke ever could. The hand resting against the jut of her hipbone gingerly traced upwards, venturing under the hem of her shirt, his palm flattening on the lowermost part of her waist. His deft fingers traced the constellation of freckles that mapped the expanse of her back, a singe of fire following in his wake.

The hand gripping the back of her neck eased, traveling down the length of her arm and lifting her pliant wrist onto his muscular upper thigh. Azriel used his index finger to tap three times atop the back of her hand, as if to indicate for Gwyn to use his leg as leverage if it became too much for her. His hand returned again to the back of her neck, his thumb tracing small circles against the edge of her jawline.

His breath tasted like smoke and mint, his mouth moist from the charged mingling of the air between them. His lips pressed firmly against her own, the grip he had on her neck tensing as he pulled her closer into his body—so close that Gwyn could feel his heartbeat fluttering atop her own.

His mouth flattened against hers, and he languidly moved their lips together. Gwyn swallowed the smoke pooling in the back of her throat, a soft whine breaching up and through their kiss.

“M’gonna use my tongue,” Azriel mumbled against her mouth, his breath fanning over her swollen lips. Gwyn nodded slowly, her head spinning; she was not certain if it was from the high, or from being bracketed within his scorching embrace. True to his word, both of his scarred hands gripped either side of her jaw, angling her head up towards him, and his tongue gingerly entered into her mouth. He explored her slowly, tasting her, before he urged her to respond to his ministration.

Gwyn fisted the front of his shirt, her long nails dragging against the fabric. Azriel teased his hands down the length of his body—stopping every so often to rub his fingers over her exposed, overheated skin—until he gripped the back of her thighs and hoisted her up onto his lap. Gwyn yelped, the movement jolting their lips apart momentarily and she focused blearily on the man beneath her.

“You still with me, Princess?”

Her gaze was heavy and clouded, and a limitless sort of weightlessness settled from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. “Yeah,” she managed to mumble, though her tongue was weighed down in her mouth. The dryness in the bottom of her throat was steadily creeping upwards, and Gwyn instead leaned forward to capture his lips once more. Azriel hummed appreciatively at her forwardness, hands grabbing at her waist and pulling her flush against him. Her miniskirt raked up her thighs, the seams bunched and the fabric stretching as she was spread for him.

Something swelled underneath her and every brush of her against it had a low groan resonating in Azriel’s chest. His hazel eyes had darkened into dark, blown-wide pupils as he watched her atop him, his gaze steady and intense. His hands dropped from her waist to fist handfuls of her backside, grinding her down right where he needed her—moving her body effortlessly while his mouth claimed her from the inside out.

“Azriel,” Gwyn breathed as his lips trailed from her mouth, licking into the seam once more, and down the expanse of her neck, “someone is going to s-see.”

His teeth dragged against her skin, cresting upwards until they closed around her earlobe, tugging it into his mouth. “Let them,” he murmured, the warmth from his breath sending a cascade of goosebumps down her back and arms.

Gwyn settled her fingers atop his shoulders, the pale, freckled skin of her hands a stark contrast to the deep, sun-kissed wash of him. Her hands travelled up his neck, running along the black studs in his ears, and up into his tousled dark curls. Her fingers knotted in his hair and she positioned his head against her pulse point—his lips parted and his canine scratched against the spot where her neck met her ear.

“Please,” Gwyn rasped, arching her back, the swell of her breasts flush with his broad chest.

Azriel ground upwards against the center of her, every brush of connection sending prickles of pleasure jolting up her spine. His hips rolled languidly, his legs spread wide; his shirt had rolled further up his torso, his toned muscles flexing with each punctuated thrust against her.

He chuckled at her quiet gasps and the uneven drag of breath as his teeth continued to trail down her throat and back up to her jaw; he turned her head and kissed her jawline, biting softly into the skin. “You taste so good,” Azriel hummed against her ear, brushing her hair back as his lips connected once more with her neck. “So good, just for me. My good girl.”

Gwyn felt her mind steadily becoming assaulted by him—his hands as they held her, the thick of him as it pressed against her, his every word deepening as his tone grew heavier with his arousal, the soft curls under her fingers, him. His mouth had unleashed a wildfire deep within her gut, and every passing second fanned the heat, burning her with an overwhelming intensity. Gwyn felt as if she could erupt at any moment—her only tether being the grip of his fingers pressing her down atop him, and the zipper of his jeans cool against her inner thigh.

Azriel pulled his sinful mouth back from her neck, adjusting himself as he maneuvered upright. His hand resting on her lower back held Gwyn securely in his lap, his knees knocking her legs wider to fully straddle his waist. Gwyn glanced over her shoulder as he reached for the half-used blunt and lighter from where they perched on the edge of the table. Azriel settled back against the couch, the torn upholstery tickling his flesh, and tugged his lips into a lazy smirk. “Light it for me?”

Taking the blunt between his teeth, Azriel gripped her wrist and urged her fingers to unravel from its fist, placing the lighter atop her palm. His large hand encompassed hers, raising them up towards his face, and steadied the lighter under the burnt tip of the joint. Gwyn flicked the metal top open, then pressed down on the flat piece jutting out from the side. Azriel leaned forward, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. As he settled back, his eyelids rose slowly and a content grin formed on his lips as he exhaled.

Gwyn’s eyes tracked his tongue as it traced along his plump bottom lip, wetting it, then disappearing back into his mouth.

“Can I hit again?”

Azriel quirked a brow. Gwyn took her lower lip in between her teeth, biting down and then rolling it. “You sure, Princess?” The challenge was palpable in his tone, the amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes—testing her. With a slight huff and narrowed brows over her teal eyes, Gwyn reached for his arm and dragged his hand still holding the blunt to her mouth, pressing her lips firmly over the damp end of the joint.

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby. Careful.” Azriel reassuringly rubbed alongside her thigh, his knuckles brushing her skin tenderly. Gwyn counted backwards from five, inhaling deeply as the smoke filled her lungs. She pulled the blunt from her lips and held her mouth firm, relishing in the burnt itch at the back of her throat. “Yeah, just like that,” Azriel mumbled, his fingers dancing under the hitched hem of her skirt, tracing the edge of her panties, “you’re taking it so well.”

Gwyn felt her eyelids grow heavy as she parted her lips, the smoke fanning over Azriel’s face and disappearing into the shadows that danced above them. Her head lolled to the side, the effort to hold it upright suddenly too exerting. Azriel cradled a hand against the side of her face, rubbing his thumb along her cheek.

“You’re gone, baby,” Azriel chuckled lowly, brushing the copper hairs back from covering her face.

Gwyn eased into the hand on her face, reaching upwards to twine her fingers in between his. “No,” she giggled, scrunching her nose, “m’right here.” The silver rings stacked on his middle and ring fingers were a cold contrast to the warmth of his palm and she signed contentedly, nuzzling her face further into his careful hold.

Azriel felt something spark in his chest at the sight of the woman sitting atop his lap, the dopey grin pulling at her full, pink lips, but nudged the feeling further down deep inside of him. He bit down on his bottom lip, tugging it inside of his mouth, as he muttered, “Where are you right now, Princess?”

“In your arms.”

Gwyn carried their joined fingers down to her waist, placing his hand on the jut of skin between the clinch of her miniskirt and the hem of her blouse. Her hands returned to his shoulders, trailing downwards until they were firm against his pectorals; she could feel the poke of his hardened nipples under her palms. Using his chest as leverage, she experimentally rolled her hips lower against him. “On your lap,” she said as she lifted her hips and dropped them down, creating a steady rhythm of movement—his hand on her waist clenched and unclenched, dragging her body down tighter against him, grinding slow and dirty below her.

Brushing her hair back and over the cleft of her ear, she leaned down and pressed her mouth once more against his. Their lips moved as if some insatiable ravenousness possessed them—teeth nipping at skin, tongues caressing, dribbles of spit wetting their chins, and the same smoke and mint taste of him numbing her. Gwyn flicked her tongue upwards, stroking the roof of his mouth, and Azriel groaned soundly, the noise vibrating under her chest.

Her lips trailed from his mouth, down his angular jawline, and across the wide expanse of his neck. His skin tasted like leather and sweat, a tinge of something sweet and citrus just under the surface. Azriel’s pulse raced under the movement of her tongue, and she traced the tendon, relishing in the throbbing of it against her teeth. Gwyn nibbled on his flesh, spit-soaked red bite marks and smeared lipstick coloring his neck. He twitched under her and Gwyn reached a hand back behind her, her nails tracing the ridges of him under the tightness of his jeans, and held him in place as she ground down.

“Making you feel good.”

Gwyn carded her fingers through his hair, tugging gently, and brought her mouth to the shell of his ear, “Do you feel good?”

Azriel swept his nimble fingers from the cleft of her knee, rounding the uppermost portion of her leg, and trailing a careful wake of pinpricks and goosebumps along her inner thigh. “Fuck yes,” he rasped, the hand that had been resting against her waist snaking up into her hair, taking a fistful between his fingers, tugging her head back, exposing the line of her throat. Gwyn gasped wetly, eyes rolling back into her skull. “So good, baby.”

Gwyn felt every nerve rapt with searing wanton interest, the cascade of his hands on her body an unheard symphony ricocheting through her very center. Wrapping his hands around her middle, Azriel repositioned the weight of her body to straddle one of his muscular thighs, her sensitive core brushing against the denim of his jeans.

“Ride my thigh,” he instructed, spreading his legs wider to accommodate her.

Gwyn jutted forward, knocking her head backwards and shuddering at the rough sensation of his jeans and the delicious friction between her legs. She grinds and circles her hips down against him, her miniskirt hiking further up her thighs, a tight heat coiling low in her abdomen. “Yeah, baby,” Azriel groans, sliding his hands further up her inner thigh and slipping his thumb under the scalloped end of her panties, “take what you need, just like that.” Two of his long fingers slid over her closed center, rubbing slow circles against her tight bundle of nerves, and Gwyn’s hips stuttered at the pressure.

“Don’t stop,” she whined, gripping his corded forearm in both hands and holding him in place, canting her hips down and against his fingers, chasing a far-off release.

Gwyn slumps forward, resting her forehead against his and bites down on her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth to quell the whimpers and moans that were building low in her throat. Her pulse thuds behind her ears, a deafening throbbing that pairs with the way in which her blood, her very being, sings for the man beneath her. She chases the need for pleasure, riding his fingers with a senseless sort of reckless abandon.

“Are you close, baby?” His breath fans over the side of her face, tickling the shell of her ear, blanketing her in the same potent smoke scent that circumscribes his very self. “Yes,” Gwyn sighs, her eyes glazed and unfocused, her breath ragged.

She digs her nails into his bicep as his pace hastens, his fingers unrelenting and oh so very talented as Azriel takes her to places she has only ever read about. She felt as if she was cresting a wave, the current drawing her back and forth against the hightide, and the storm threatening beneath the surface would pull her under, succumbing to her downfall. He would be her downfall, if she so allowed him to be. If she dared.

His mouth returned to her throat, lapping at the beads of sweat that trailed down her jaw and pooled in the crevice between her neck and shoulder. Azriel took his time in tasting her, savoring her, as if he was committing each freckle, each press of his lips against her skin to memory. He was deliberate in each place he so chose to leave the indentation of his teeth, marking her, claiming her. Each pass of his mouth unraveled her further, taking her apart piece-by-piece and constructing her anew all at once.

Azriel licks a line up the side of her neck and draws his mouth to her ear, “Come for me, baby.”

The tight coil in her gut untangles, snapping any sense of resolve that may have tethered her, the brewing storm beneath her skin erupting with a ferocity that was foreign to her. Gwyn heaves, whining, her hips grounding against his hand, her vision whitening and every nerve ending a static wave wherever their skin was flush. She was present, but somewhere else entirely at the same moment—her mind ever consumed by him.

Her head drops down to his shoulder, her body trembling and a budding soreness washing over her lower back, waist, and thighs. Azriel grips her chin and turns her face towards him, his hazel eyes boring into her own as he brings his hand to his mouth. His tongue rolls over each pad of his fingers, sucking on the digits—humming as he feasted on her residue, tasting her. “Delicious,” he mutters, as if a man starved. Her breath hitched in her throat.

Gwyn feels the length of him twitch against her knee and a sense of worry closes around her throat. She had been so insistent on her own pleasure that she had forgotten that he would also need the same sense of release. She made a move to ground her knee onto him, only for Azriel to lift her fully off of his lap and back onto the sunken couch cushion. Gwyn felt a pang of hurt resonate in her chest, constricting her, only for him to drape his leather jacket around her shoulders, pulling her back into his bubble of space once more. “S’okay,” he reassured, reaching behind to tug her copper hair out of the puffed collar and back behind her ears, tracing the pink that dusted the highest points of her cheekbones.

“Wanna get outta here, Princess?”

[thevalkyriesshadow]

@azrielappreciationweek

Day Seven: Free Day

Knot Just Friends

"Azriel had never rushed over to a female’s house faster. When his shadow, who had taken a liking to staying at Gwyn's, dropped a note on his lap, he was out the door in mere seconds. Are you in Velaris? I need your help. With what? He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he’d drop anything to go see Gwyn." A little omegaverse written for Azriel Appreciation Week 2024 Day Seven: Free Day!

Read it here on ao3 or under the cut!

NSFW/Words: 3,804

Azriel had never rushed over to a female’s house faster. When his shadow, who had taken a liking to staying at Gwyn's, dropped a note on his lap, he was out the door in mere seconds.

Are you in Velaris? I need your help.

With what? He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he’d drop anything to go see Gwyn. She was his best friend. His confidante. He’d even brace the snow storm they were expecting that night. It was predicted to be a brutal one with high winds and at least three feet of snow. Still, he’d fly around the mountain to see her. 

Not able to winnow through the shadows due to the protective shield of magic Rhys put up, Azriel took to the skies. Wishing for a brief moment he would’ve thought to at least grab a jacket, but no time to turn back, not when Gwyn needed him. Instead he braced the frigid cold in nothing but cotton pants and a sweater. 

It was a quick flight, less than ten minutes, but the air was arctic and he was nearly frozen to the bones by the time he landed on her front porch. 

Her scent hit him like a ton of bricks warming him against the cold. Sweet willow and a cozy musk dancing in the winter air. He clenched his fists and knocked on her door.

It opened only a moment later. Gwyn's bright copper hair fell in curtains framing her freckled face, which at the moment looked a bit pale and tired. Her bright teal eyes were harried as she greeted him.

“Az! Hey – huge favor to ask you.” She didn’t open the door fully for him, blocking most of her body, but he could see the light blue of her cotton loungewear.

“It’s why I’m here,” he replied, coolly. “What do you need?”

“My heat is due –”

Azriel stilled. Was she about to ask him to…help her…with her heat?

His stomach and chest did all sorts of somersaults and twists but then she said, “-- And I was so busy I didn’t get groceries and I only just got back from a mission and don’t have time to go out and get any. I really don’t want to go into heat in public, you know?” She huffed a breathy laugh and tucked her hair behind her pointed ear.

Azriel should expect to feel relieved that she wasn’t asking him to help her during her heat, but…

“Oh – yeah of course. What do you need?” He schooled his features, trying not to show the twang of disappointment he felt.

Gwyn produced a list containing pretty standard heat needs such as food and medicinal teas. 

“Thanks, Az. I, um –” Her lips parted as she held his gaze and she said, “-- I appreciate it.” She swallowed hard and pressed her lips together, her nose scrunching. Like she was trying not to take in too much of his scent.

“Anytime,” He said with a smile. Then he was off.

When he returned, Gwyn was much the same, but when she opened the door this time it was with determination. “Az – I normally wouldn't do this, but –” She paused, looking him up and down. Her fingers brushed his as she took the bag from his hand and asked, “Would you help me – with one other thing?” 

Az swallowed, “What's that?”

“Usually I'd just use a – uh-toy-but –” 

Gwyn bit her bottom lip, her brow scrunching as she blurted out, “You just smell so nice and I was wondering if you'd help me…with my heat?” Her voice cracked on the word ‘heat’. 

Azriel blinked. He heard her, but he had to be sure…“What?” He asked.

Gwyn took a breath, “Will you help me through my heat?”

“Are – are you sure?” Gwyn has surprised Azriel many times before, but this? Helping an omega through their heat was a big task. Huge task. Gwyn would be wholly dependent on Az for much of it. He’d be bringing her food and water, both simple tasks, but he’d also be cleaning her up, intimately. Mopping sweat from her brow and slick from between her legs. Then of course there was the knotting…how she ever did it alone in the first place was beyond him.

She nodded, “More sure than I've ever been. I was going to ask when you first came, but I admit…my nerves got the best of me, but – I need this…I need you.”

The door opened wider as she stepped aside, inviting him in.

He didn't hesitate. He knew when Gwyn was sure of something. As sure as the day she signed up for Valkyrie training, asked for dagger lessons, left the library to see Emerie and Nesta. Sure as all the decisions she made to get her and her sisters to the top of Ramiel. And every other decision since.

Inside her cottage smelled even more like her. It overwhelmed all his senses and settled deep in his bones as he gazed around her living space. Gwyn liked a modge podge of colors, not necessarily sticking to one color theme, but in a way that they didn’t clash. The pops of color offset the deep mahogany of her towering bookshelves. There were little bits of Gwyn everywhere he looked as Gwyn showed him around. Little stacks of books were scattered across tables and counters. He spied a couple spools of white ribbon on one shelf and a basket of bracelet making supplies. 

It was all so Gwyn – and he was about to spend the next few days here with her helping her through her heat. Something that was an intimate, private thing for an omega.

He'd never helped an omega through their heart before and feeling unsure of what to do next he turned to Gwyn who's cheeks were flushed and her eyes roaming over him with…desire? 

He cleared his throat and asked, “What do you need from me first?”

Gwyn’s gaze quickly flicked up to his as if she was a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

She wiped her brow and said, “Um…well I never finished my nest and –” she took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes as she rested her hand against her stomach, “And once we do that, I just need to curl up and be tended to…” 

Curl up and tend to Gwyn?

His insides did flip flops in the best way possible. 

He followed Gwyn to her nest in a spare room with low lighting and white, billowy curtains. This room was small and simple compared to the rest of the house. There was a small bookshelf and a bedside table next to a large circular bed that even he could fit in, wings and all. The mattress sat cupped in the gently swooping shape of the bed. 

Gwyn turned and handed him a pile of blankets, “This is my nesting room. I like to keep it separate because it’s just easier to clean afterwards –” she blushed as Azriel took the blankets from her, their fingers brushing together.

“I can help you clean afterwards too,” Az said, approaching this like it was a normal everyday occurrence. 

Gwyn only blushed deeper and thanked him. “Fair warning, it can get pretty messy.”

It was Azriel’s turn for his face to heat. His cock twitched as he imagined the amount of slick she’d produce. How he’d be tending to it…covered in it himself…

He chuckled and said, “Noted. What else do I need to know?” If he was going to do this for Gwyn, he was going to be thorough and thoughtful and respectful. He needed to know everything. She smiled up at him and told him everything he needed to know.

And Gwyn did not hold back.

As they continued setting up her nest she explained, “Well, I sleep a lot and when I’m not sleeping I’m rubbing up against everything. I don’t like to eat meat during my heat, just eggs – that bacon in the ice box is for after so don’t even think about cooking it –” Azriel held his hands up. He wouldn’t dream of it. Gwyn continued by adding, “You can certainly help yourself to the food too, of course. You’ll probably have more of an appetite than me anyway. Oh and I’m drinking the tea so you won’t have to worry about, you know – cuming in me…”

Gwyn went on, describing what her normal heat day looks like when she’s tending to herself. It was a lot of sleeping or knotting herself with a toy, and by the way she would describe it, it would be quite the process. For one, omegas are so out of it when they’re truly into their heat that doing anything, even lifting a finger, was an arduous task. Imagining Gwyn struggling to be comfortable during hers made him bristle. 

She consented to being knotted, an electric currant of excitement shot through him as she described what she usually liked, showing him her toys. Az was on a whole other level of pure bliss. What surprised him most was how open and honest Gwyn was being. How detailed she was being. When he woke up this morning, he didn’t think he’d learn how Gwyn liked her clit to be touched while she was knotted.

Despite the subject of their conversation for the better half of an hour, Azriel and Gwyn worked around one another as if they were talking about the weather in the training ring. It was easy – sexy, but easy.

“I think you need one more blanket,” Az joked as he added the tenth blanket to the pile. 

Gwyn tilted her head, “You think? I might have one or two more somewhere…” she trailed off, wiping her brow again and leaning on the bed post for support. 

Azriel was at her side instantly. “Why don't you lay down. I'll fetch you more pillows,” he offered. Gwyn leaned into him, nuzzling her face into his chest. 

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders in response and she melted into him. “I'm glad you're here, Shadowsinger. Thank you.”

Az smiled and said, “I'm glad I could be here for you.” He stroked her hair, the silkiness of it like cool spring water against his scarred hands.

He really should force her to lie down, but having her in his arms…having her scent envelop him, mixing with his…her glands right there where he could lick and bite and – 

Wait. This is Gwyn. His friend…he couldn't – shouldn't –

But…

Gods he wanted to…

Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him down to her, keeping them locked together. Azriel tried not to inhale as the heavy scent of her slick drifted up to meet him.

Gods she smelled incredible. Intoxicating. 

“Az…” She breathed. A small moan escaped her lips, her hips rocked into his. “I need you.”

He tightened his grip, “I'm here.” Gently, he lifted her in his arms and cradled her to his chest, savoring the feel of her in his arms before placing her in her nest. He had every intention of grabbing more pillows, but her fingers curled into his shirt, keeping him in her orbit.

“Stay,” she said with a whimper. Her voice strained as she shivered and curled in on herself. 

Az reached for a towel Gwyn had set up on a table next to her nest and patted her forehead and neck. Her scent was everywhere, driving him mad.

He knew when he agreed to help her, that there was a possibility of him succumbing to the pull of her scent. It did, after all, drive him crazy outside of her heat. But now? 

Now it felt like fate. Like there was nowhere else he was supposed to be, than with her.

Brushing back her hair and patting the sweat from her skin, Azriel hummed to her, soothing her through the hormonal fever that raged through her. She squirmed and moved in her blankets, cuddling in closer and closer to him until she was practically in his lap. Her arms around his middle, her flowing copper hair fanned around his legs as her head rested in his lap. Her eyes were squeezed shut against the cramps.

She didn't speak much. The room was filled with her whining and groans as she moved into him. Eventually, she started pawing and pulling at her clothes in her heat-induced haze until Azriel couldn't watch her struggle anymore.

He stopped her from trying to pull her shirt down rather than up. “I'm going to help you, okay?” She let out a long, low moan and lifted her arms, allowing him to slide her shirt off. Her pants came off next, then her socks and undergarments until she was lying in a panting tangle of naked limbs in his arms. Her skin was flushed pink from the heat.

Azriel recalled her instructions from earlier. She liked to be stroked, soothed. So he did just that. With one flat hand against her back he slid down then up in big swooping circles. His other hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking against her brow. It was the most intimate he’d ever been with Gwyn, and it all happened so fast, so suddenly he didn’t have enough time to process that sudden change in him.

A primal urge to bite to mark surged in him. He took a deep breath in, thinking it would quell the urge, but it only fuelled it as he breathed in the scent of her pungent slick, unmasked by clothing.

Gwyn rose up on her knees, the abrupt movement causing Az to jump slightly. Her glazed teal eyes found his gaze and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't stop his gaze from sliding down down down…

Gwyn didn't speak as she crawled into his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. Her hands slid across the soft fabric of his shirt, caressing his abs and chest, until her fingers were curling in the hair at the base of his neck. His scent permeated the air and Gwyn purred in response. 

She stared at his mouth. Her tongue darted out to lick her own pink lips before her gaze flicked up to his, “Can you…” She sighed, her body rolling against his, “Can you knot me? I need it, Az…I need you.”

Az's heart raced. His cock, already hard and straining against his pants, throbbed. His knot already swelling.

“I know you consented before, but are you sure?” He asked. She nodded, her lips brushing dangerously close to his. His breath hitched. “Things might not be the same between us…if I do. Gwyn –” his hands roamed across her bare back, coaxing a low moan from her, “I don't know if I can stay away – resist you – if we, if I knot you.” 

Gwyn pressed closer. Her breath tickled his cheek as she whispered against his skin, “I want you, Az. I always have. Please –” her hips rolled against his, her nails dug into his skin. “Please.”

She was desperate, panting. Her eyes were wild with want. With need. A growl issued deep in his throat, his stomach clenched, and his cock throbbed as his hands roamed lower.  

“I can touch you?”

“Please do – Everywhere,” She mewled. 

His hands slid down to cupped her ass, “Can I kiss you?”

She whined and brought her lips to his, “Az, I want you to knot me. Of course you can kiss me.”

He huffed a laugh and tipped his chin up. For so long he wanted to do this. Wanted to touch her, caress her…kiss her. 

For so long he wanted to show her how he could love her, beyond their friendship. 

He savored the still moment before their lips touched – sensed the shift between them.

And when they kissed, everything aligned. Every out of place sensation, every feeling of incompleteness, was replaced with an all encompassing warmth.

Their lips moved together, slowly. Exploring. Tasting. Learning. Even as Gwyn’s hands touched every inch of him they could, teasing him. Even as he hummed deep in his chest with contentment. Even though they were hungry for each other. They took their time. 

Fire burned through him as he let Gwyn set the pace. Let her decide when she would run her tongue along his lips, begging for access. He let her decide when their tongues would dance. When she'd bite his lip and suck on it. 

And when she pawed at his shirt, pulling it off, he let her. He let her explore his pecks, her fingers causing a cascade of goosebumps to form across his skin.

When she bowed her head, nuzzling her neck to his. He let her. Allowing their scent glands to rub and mingle together. Azriel hugged her close as she writhed against him, needing her touch. Her scent. He moaned her name and she his, their bodies and voices begging for each other. 

Gwyn let out a rolling growl. “Now Az…I need your knot now.”

He pressed his lips to her neck and kissed her freckled skin as he heeded her command. 

With a tight embrace he rolled them over, his hips settled against her dripping, bare cunt. Her slick coated her thighs and soaked through his pants before he pushed them off and tossed them to the side. 

He knelt before her as her legs fell open for him. Her scent hit him fully, both of them bare and needy for each other. 

“Az…” she breathed.

As if his name on her lips was a command, he bent down and without hesitation dragged his tongue up her thigh, lapping up her slick.

Her taste was more divine than her smell and when his mouth came to kiss her slick folds, her sounds were his downfall. Moans and whimpers. Sighs and gasps. All of them mixed together in a lewd cacophony as he teased and licked, sucked and devoured. She had told him she liked to be thoroughly seen to. To Az that meant licking her dripping cunt until she was pushing her sex into his face, forcing his tongue to lap further inside her. To him, thoroughly seeing to Gwyn would mean circling her clit with the tip of his tongue, over and over and over and…

He stopped, moments before he brought her over the edge and came to hover over her, his lips wet with her, his tongue tingling with her taste as he reached down and lined the tip of his pulsing cock to her entrance. Her legs spread further as her hips reached for him. 

Gods he didn’t realize how much he wanted her. How his need for her was more overwhelming than anything he’d ever felt before.

Azriel savored the moment. Committed every part of his body that touched hers to memory. He never wanted to forget the way her teal eyes glowed with desire, the way her body moved for him. The way she touched him.

He never wanted to forget the way she fit around him as he sank into her. 

Oh gods.

Gwyn arched into him, angling her hips to take more as her mouth fell open in a silent cry. 

He pushed in further as an animalistic urge to claim came over him. 

“Look at you,” he said, the words and their tone taking him by surprise. His voice was not his own. It was gruff, and darker. Deeper. Filled with primal desire. “How much of me can you take, Priestess?”

Gwyn groaned and pushed her hips into him with determination, proving she could take more. “All of you,” she replied. Her heels dug into his lower back pulling his hips into hers until his knot was pushing against her cunt that pooled with slick.

His fingers curled into the blankets beneath them. Her nails scratched at his back. 

Gwyn let out a shuttering gasp as he rolled his hips, pushing the slight swell of him into her, rutting against her until she was completely filled.

Then he pulled out slowly, feeling every sensation of her around him as he did so. 

In and out. Slowly. Coaxing. Savoring.

Fuck every sensation was perfect. Every sound she made. Every nail mark she left behind. Perfect.

Heat coiled hotter and stronger with every stroke of his cock, and whimper that fell from her lips. 

“Harder,” she moaned. 

And he obliged her. Immediately. His hips snapping faster and quicker into her and her hips started moving, rocking into him. Her face quickly fell into a twist of pleasure and pain, her whines long and low.

“Yes Gwyn…so beautiful,” he whispered before placing kisses along her neck. He breathed in her scent, nuzzling his face into the silky freckled skin of her neck. Then his mouth was on her, bruising – his tongue soothing and tasting as their bodies slapped together, slick dripping down Gwyn’s thighs as he filled her with his growing knot over and over – 

Her walls tightened just as he rocked into her one more time, his knot swelling to its fullest. It pressed against her squeezing walls as it popped into place inside her, drawing guttural roars from both of them. Their orgasms cresting and exploding together as he knotted her. Tied to her forever. Bonded in a split, cosmic explosion of a second.

His body quaked as his seed spilled into her. 

Gwyn gasped out loudly, her cries echoing around the room, “Azriel…Azriel…unngghh,” she stuttered against him, her walls tugging at his knot. “Fuck…Az…” Her orgasms rolled, one after the other. And he felt every sweet swell and push of her against his cock…his knot, until finally she stilled, hugging him close, their bodies sticky with sweat. 

Gwyn was a song, a beautiful melody he could listen to for hours.  And he never wanted this music to end.

Az settled against her, his elbows on either side of her head. He caressed her cheeks and temples with his fingers and kissed her gently on the mouth as they waited for the swelling in his knot to go down.

He rested his forehead on hers and listened to the sound of her breathing. From its quick rising and falling, her chest pressing against his, to the slow rhythmic sounds of her falling asleep. After he was able to pull his cock out, he wrapped his body around hers, covering them in her blankets.

Azriel fell asleep too with his chest to Gwyn’s back, their fingers entwined together. His face buried in her hair, breathing her scent. 

He spent her whole heat with her. Tending to her, feeding her. Knotting her.

As expected, it changed some things between them. No longer were they just friends. They were now bonded by forces greater than themselves. 

A mated pair that started out as just friends.

[lady-embers]

Gwyn and Azriel are taking a bath together with candles around them. Azriel is sitting behind Gwyn and begins to wash her hair. As he's doing this, Gwyn starts softly humming.

Azriel recognizes the melody and starts humming along with her. They eventually begin to softly sing out loud together as he finishes up washing and rinsing her hair. His shadows that were calm and content to lounge about start dancing around them as they hum and sing together.

Once Azriel is finished with Gwyn's hair, they finish soaking together as peace and the shadows settle around them once again.

[daevastanner]

Hi. Reminder that canonically Azriel’s siphons flash and he stutters (for the first time in the whole series) when it’s mentioned Gwyn is in danger ✌️ — And this is his reaction when just a few months ago he didn’t consider Gwyn a friend 😏

[viktoriaashleyyx]

Dedicated to every big sister who needed a big sister. To Kirsten, Thank you for being mine ❤️

A lot happens in this chapter. New OC Staff in Spring and we travel back to the House of Wind, this time to meet with Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn. Fair warning: I never read ACOSF, everything I know about Gwyn and Emerie I read on Tumblr. If there is an ACOSF edit out there that only includes the parts with the Valkyries, please let me know.

This is a pro Tamlin, anti Rhysand self insert revenge fic. All characters belong to SJM, but she wasn't treating them right. Tam x reader, Tam x Rhysands Sister (OC), First person narrative. This will also reference Elucien and Neris in the future but we aren't there yet.

Word Count 2900

Ch1

Ch 8 >> Ch 10

Chapter 9:

As the citizens returned slowly, Tamlin began rehiring the staff at the manor. This was always an uncomfortable feeling for me, to have people who waited on me and cleaned and cared for my home. This place was vast and ultimately belonged to the people of Spring, and I understood the jobs it created. Tamlin did pay them well, of course I insisted on that, but he had been for his entire reign, so it didn't need changing. 

“Good morning, Lady.” a small frame nymph with light teal skin and soft rosey cheeks greeted me outside my room. It caught me off guard, but her sweet smile relaxed me. “My name is Amara and Tamlin offered me the job of your assistant, if you would like?” She further explained, searching my face for any indication of favor. 

My shocked face softened, this is the life of royalty again, I am not ignorant to it, but it has been a while since I've endured this experience. “Hello Amara, it is lovely to meet you. What kinds of jobs are you hoping to perform here, exactly?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“Well, Tamlin just sent me here to see what you needed. I like cooking and making large magical feasts that everyone enjoys. I'm not too fond of the clean up after, I can also sew really well..” she rambled and I listened intensely. 

“I would definitely appreciate the help in the kitchen,” I giggled, “tell me, what is your favorite meal to cook?” I asked and I began leading her towards the kitchen. 

“My favorite is making homemade bread, I even brought my own sourdough starter in my bag here!” She reached into her bag and pulled out a large heavy jar with the living yeast inside. How did she fit anything else in there?  

“Yum! You begin on the bread and I will clean up after you, how does that sound? Just tell me what to do.” She was awestruck as we entered the large kitchen now at her disposal. “Anything you need, you let me know and I will get it for you. I am excited to finally have some help around here.” I gave her a wide smile and she returned it. She squealed as she got to work, rummaging through the cupboards for the ingredients she needed. 

She sat me at the table with a cutting board and a knife, “Here, you can chop up the fruit to go with it.” She demanded, more out of excitement than disrespect. 

“Yes ma’am” I giggled and did as I was told. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

After showing Amara around the manor and to her room, one of the large guest rooms, as we planned to renovate the “servants quarters” to be bigger and more equal to that of the guest rooms, I prepared to complete the tasks I had originally planned for today. I hate the term “servants,” they are professionals hired to do a job I don't have the time or skills to complete myself. I left her to settle in and decorate her room to her liking. I had apologies to give out today. 

♡♡♡♡

I arrived at the door to the House of Wind and knocked on the large iron door. Feyre's sister opened it and gave me a disgusted look. 

“Rhysand and Feyre are not here, this is my home now and I would appreciate it if you would leave me be.” Nesta snapped.

“It's you I am here to see. We got off on the wrong foot. I am truly sorry for using Fayre’s pain against my brother, it was wrong of me, and I would like an opportunity to explain.” I requested, Nesta softened and proceeded to open the door further and gestured me inside. “The spell I used could not kill her, it was purely theatrics, I relied on my brother not knowing that.” 

“It was in incredibly poor taste.” Nesta scolded me. I could see the power she held, power she wasn't even fully aware of. She was strong, forced to be. 

“You're right.” I commended, “I would like to earn your forgiveness.” 

“And how would you go about doing that?” 

“I could start by teaching you how to protect your mind, you live in close proximity to a powerful and self serving daemati, I am shocked they haven't taught you themselves.” I followed her as she invited me to, and she led me to a large kitchen, where two other women sat at the table, a red haired priestess and a stunningly beautiful illyrian. 

“This is Gwyn and Emerie,” Nesta introduced us, gesturing to each girl, “and this is Rhysands sister, Sky? I believe,” I nodded at her. 

“I am sorry I didn't mean to interrupt. I can come back another time.” I offered. 

“It's fine, we were just talking about what a bitch Cassian is.” Gwyn giggled. Nesta glared at her, but she brushed it off. 

“Oooh! Okay I am invested, catch me up, which one is he again?” I still couldn't remember their names, but that was mostly due to my apathy for the Night Court clowns. 

Apparently, Cassian and Nesta were ‘mates’ but he sure didn't act like it. Gwyn and Emerie gave me a few stories of his cowardice and what they witnessed in how he treated her. I stopped them when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nesta begin to shrink in embarrassment. 

“It is not that easy to leave him. We are mated.” Nesta sighed. I could tell she wasn't happy, Cassian didn't love her, and she knew it. 

“Nesta,” a gentle command to request her eyes fall to me, “you hold the power to weave your own destiny. The mating bond means nothing if you do not want it to.” 

“But they said I would be shackled to him for eternity. That I would always long for him no matter how hard I tried to let go.” Nesta spoke softly, remembering the atrocities the Night court committed against her to force her into Cassian's grasp. She had fought so hard against it, but they broke her down. 

“That is called having a heart, sweetie, and also a bunch of bullshit used to manipulate you. You can sever the bond as easily as cutting a string, but truly the one who suffers the most is the male. Who cares? Let him suffer.” She had clearly never had the mating bond explained so bluntly to her. “All the mating bond means is that the cauldron, the mother, or the gods, whichever you choose to believe,” I waved my hand in the air dramatically, “would find it entertaining to see you two together. Weave your own fate out of spite. I fully believe you can.” I looked deep into her eyes, tears began forming in them, she wasn't used to hearing that what she wanted mattered. "No one tells Nesta what to do, not even the gods.” 

Her face shifted to a rage full understanding. The Night court broke her down because she allowed them to. They harnessed the little ignorance she had of Prythia and the love she held for her sisters to keep her contained. Not anymore. It was time she chose herself. 

“You need to get out of Night. That would be the first step. You are always welcome in Spring with me, but if that doesn't sit right with you I have made friends across all of Prythia, just choose a court and I will ensure your living quarters are prepared and properly warded to give you the peace and freedom you need. Just say the words and you will no longer be a prisoner of the Night Court.” 

Nesta looked at me, a quick spark of hope flashed in her eyes before she averted her gaze to her lap, deep in thought.  

My gaze fell on the illyrian woman sitting in front of me, something was off about her. Her wings. Her wings were clipped. “Your wings are clipped.” I blurted out in shock. I should've handled that with more grace. 

“Uh, yeah? I don't know any illyrian women whose aren't, save for royalty.” She sneered, gesturing to mine. Fair, my utterly useless brother couldn't even ban wing clipping properly. I'm sure he tried, but it was just performative nonsense once again. 

“Would you like me to heal them?” I asked, softer this time. 

Her face lined with confused disdain. “You can do that?” 

“Oh yes,” I reached into my pocket portal, and grabbed a purple potion, rejuvenation. “Here, it tastes like really bad wine.” 

She cautiously took the potion from my hands. “This little vial will pull my wings back together?” 

“Yes, unfortunately there will be a scar. I've had to use it after a gravier decided my wings made good toothpicks.” I said that too cheerfully, she shuddered at the thought. I didn't expect her to know what a gravier was, but she was smart and could deduce it wasn't a pleasant creature. 

“Admittedly, I am nervous, I heard what you did to Feyre. Why should I trust you?” Emerie eyed the vial and weighed the risks. 

“Would you feel better if I drank one first?” I offered reassurance, “you can keep that, you don't have to take it right now, or ever. I have the means to help and would like to give you the choice.” 

Emerie studied the purple liquid in the vial, was that hope that flashed in her eyes? She didn't know of a single illyrian woman who could use their own wings, she had dreamed of being able to soar the skies. Why have them if she can't use them? 

“Inside the vial consists of a mix of three plants, Heart of the wild, Golden Sansam and Dreamfoil. While exiled, I studied and excelled in Alchemy. As an illyrian myself I have found no indication of these plants causing any harm or adverse effects. I will remain close and watch for any signs if you would like…” I trailed off noticing Emerie wasn't really listening. The other girls watched her intensely. Emerie had been through so much, betrayed so often, and now it was a matter of putting trust in Rhysands sister to possibly regain use of her wings. 

“I never even learned how to fly..” she whispered, “I wouldn't know where to even begin.” 

I took her hand in both of mine, “I will teach you. You deserve this. Your wings never should have been mutilated in the way they were… it's time to fly.” I looked at her with bright eyes. Tears welled in hers. 

“What if it doesn't work?” The many different emotions were becoming too much for her. Hope, hope to regain what had been stolen from her. 

“Then I will scour the realms to find something that does.” I promised. I had the means and the power to do so. 

With shaky hands she removed the lid, Nesta and Gwyn looking on in shock. “Now spread your wings out fully, and hold them there for a minute or 2 after taking the entire vial.” I got up and walked behind her to see to it the potion would work. She threw her head back and downed every drop. 

“Ugh,” she winced, “you did tell me it would taste like rotten wine.” 

“My apologies,” I muttered as Nesta and Gwyn jumped up and ran to watch the magic. I held my hands no more than an inch away from the scars on each wing, careful as to not actually touch the sensitive skin, willing the magic of the potion to the correct spot. 

The scars down her wings began to reopen and tie themselves together. Gwyn reached for Emeries hand, without removing her eyes from the magic she was witnessing. She knew what this would mean to Emerie. 

“Okay, close them and stretch them a few times, slowly,” a gentle command. She did so. Just as I warned, the scars remained but the wings were fully intact. “Beautiful!, I would give yourself a few days before putting any weight on them. Stretch, flap, and soak them to prepare the muscles. I can return in one week, if you would like, to begin teaching you.” She flicked her wings forward towards her and she fell back, not used to them actually catching wind. Nesta and I caught her and stood her back up. She then ran to the large mirror on the wall and admired the powerful wings of hers. Stretching them, twitching them, giggling and crying at the same time. I could see tears welling up in both Nesta and Gwyn as they watched her, hearts swelling with happiness, as did mine. 

“Thank you! I never could’ve dreamed this would be possible!” Emerie turned to me with the biggest smile, wiping away the tears of happiness that flowed down her face. She stretched her wings out wide, with pride. And ran to us, gripping all three of us in a giant hug, encasing us in her wings. She looked up at me, resting a gentle hand on my cheek as I returned the gesture. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with happiness. “What do I owe you?” 

I was taken aback by that question. Why would she owe me anything? What a horrid place the Night court is to anyone who is not a citizen of Velaris. “To see your smile, and to watch you fly, would be the best payment of all. You owe me nothing but that.” 

She wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and I slid mine around her back, embracing her for a few seconds. 

“It is getting late, I must be getting home.” I commented pulling away. “Remember, soak, stretch, and flap.” She gave me a nod, still so happy she could barely talk. “I will return in one week. But do keep in mind, the Spring Court has always been a sanctuary for those escaping abuse, and if you ever need it, we will welcome you and all of your sisters with open arms.” 

“Ugh. I don't know if I could ever trust Tamlin. He treated my sister like his property and sold me and Elain out to Hybern. I'd still be human if it weren't for him.” Nesta grimaced. 

“You should hear the way your sister speaks of you, Nesta” I responded softly, almost a whisper, “All I am saying is that your sources might not be credible. And Feyre sold you out to Ianthe, after Tamlin explicitly warned her that Hybern spies were still hanging around. Tamlin and Lucien are both innocent in that regard.” 

Nesta was stunned, Feyre had blamed everything on Tamlin. But how was it any different than when Feyre blamed her for their suffering in the cottage? 

I bowed to the girls before opening a portal and taking my leave. 

♡♡♡♡

It was late when I arrived in the manor, all the candles had been snuffed and the staff had returned home for the night. I knew Tamlin would still be up waiting for me. With a flick of my wrist, all the sconces down the hallway to Tamlins office lit up. Fire magic wasn't my strong suit, but I still had it. 

He sat there reading something or another, I was exhausted and didn't care. “Welcome home, sweetheart.” A deep tired voice mumbled as he put down his book and looked up at me. Without saying anything I dropped myself into his lap. He held me for a few moments. 

“I'm tired of being a person,” I whined into his chest, “I want to be ‘baby’ now.” He continued to hold me, rubbing my back and resting his lips on my temple. We sat there like that until my stomach growled, in the events of the day I had forgotten to eat. 

“Let's go, we are going to get you a snack.” He stood up and carried me to the kitchen. There was no point in arguing with him, I just wanted sleep, but he was right, I needed food.

He sat me down on the counter as he looked through the fridge for something quick. He pulled out a charcuterie board immaculately designed by, I'm guessing, Amara. I didn't believe he would be able to put this together. He picked up a cube of pepper jack cheese and fed me, while giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead. 

“Her wings were clipped.” I whispered, “almost shredded entirely. The one thing my brother has claimed to do for Illyria, and he doesn't even feel the need to enforce it.” I was lost in thought, the images of her wings, my imagination filling in the blanks of little girls, screaming as their wings are stolen from them. He just listened, carefully. “I can't just relax here, safe in my own court, knowing these atrocities are happening to my sisters.” I looked at him with tears in my eyes. 

He brushed my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I have no problem welcoming them here, I have always offered sanctuary for people seeking safety.” 

“I know, I've already offered it,” I gave him a sad smile. 

“Just tell me what you need from me and you will have it.” He gave me another kiss on my forehead, and wrapped his arms around me.

Tag list: @ladythornofrivia @rcarbo1 @rin-u-pos @knoxic @lilah-asteria @littlefantasylover @julesvanslutta @thefatesofspring

[dawneternal]

Yes, Valkyrie

₊⊹ Gwynriel one shot

₊⊹ Gwyn is inspired by a scene in her current read. Of course, she begins conspiring to reenact this scene, with a little help from Azriel's shadows. Somewhere along the way, she discovers a persona she had no idea was waiting under the surface.

₊⊹ Word Count: 2.8k

₊⊹ Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors DNI. Established relationship. Gwyn is in charge, Az is tied up (kind of) p in v, shadow play, wing play.

(listen I don't write that much smut so idk how to tag this, if I missed anything pls let me know)

₊⊹ Read on AO3

₊⊹ Divider by tsunami-of-tears

Gwyn snapped her book shut and set it on the table in front of her. She took a long sip of her iced coffee in an attempt to cool her warm skin. The story was getting a little too salacious to read in public. Nesta or Emerie would probably keep reading, though they were both better at masking their emotions.

She glanced at Azriel, who hadn't noticed a thing, engrossed in his own book. She wasn't sure if it was something he was reading for fun or for work. They all tended to look the same, thick and weathered with a million dog-eared pages and notes in the margins. As his mate and a librarian, Gwyn should probably know. But she wasn't often thinking about books when she was with him.

Like now, as she found her eyes wandering from the long-winded title on the spine to his long fingers, poised to turn the page. Her gaze slid up, tracing the outline of his form. It was his day off and he wore a black shirt that hugged his muscled arms and torso. His black curls were perfectly messy, tortoiseshell reading glasses perched on his nose. His shadows buzzed around him like sleepy bees on a sunny day - a sign that he was actually relaxed. Even while he focused, brows furrowed and bottom lip poked out in concentration, he kept a claiming hand on Gwyn's thigh.

He did not notice her scent change as her thoughts turned back toward her book, replacing the love interest's features with his. The love interest of this story happened to have wings like Azriel, and a few specific lines were echoing in her mind. He had let her touch his wings before, but nothing quite like the scene she had just read.

Gwyn swallowed a wicked grin and stretched her arms up and out, letting out a long, pretend yawn. She let her fingertips brush the edge of his wing as she brought her arms back down. He started, shadows darting into action as his wings tucked into his body with a snap. He turned his head toward her slowly with a wide-eyed look that read are you crazy?

"My bad," Gwyn smiled innocently. Azriel blinked at her for a moment before returning to his reading. But she felt it, the flicker of heat he had sent through the bond as her fingers had brushed his wing.

✦✦✦

When they returned to the House of Wind, Gwyn quietly trailed Azriel into their shared room. His shadows were on her side today, choosing not to alert him to the fact that he was being followed. She was the only one who was silent enough to sneak up on him.

She closed the door with a thud, leaning against it, and that wicked grin returned. Azriel jumped, head whipping to look over his shoulder. The shadows danced with amusement at their clever trick.

"Yes, Valkyrie?" He huffed a breath. Her gaze lingered on his backside, meandering up to meet his gaze as he turned around fully.

"I have an idea," Gwyn said.

Her voice was a note deeper than usual and it had his attention. He tilted his head at her, eyes gleaming with interest.

"Do you trust me?" Gwyn continued, and she watched his eyes darken.

"Yes," His voice was a little breathy and the Valkyrie grinned.

"Wings only," She explained, pushing off the door and stalking closer until they were nearly chest to chest.

Azriel's eyebrows shot upwards, but Gwyn did not miss the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"Yes," He said again, after a moment.

Gwyn reached out, sliding her hands under his shirt to lift it from his body. He let her, utterly still as she pulled it over his head and began a constellation of kisses, connecting his tattoos and battle scars. The bond was humming, pulsing with warmth at every touch, doubling the thrill of anticipation. He watched in adoration, fingers tangling in her ponytail as she unbuckled his belt and slid his pants and underwear to the floor.

"Kneel on the bed," She ordered, blood singing with anticipation as she looked up at him. His cock twitched at the command and he obeyed, crawling into the bed and kneeling in front of her. Arms loose at his sides, muscular thighs spread, his body was on full display.

Gwyn let her hair down, the white ribbon that had been tied in a bow now dangling from her fingers. She circled around to the other side of the bed and gently grasped his wrists. His breath hitched as she bound his hands with the ribbon, but he did not protest.

"Good boy," Gwyn murmured, pressing one chaste kiss to his shoulder before moving to face him again.

She caught his gaze dragging over her as she stood before him, and she let herself admire him in turn. His smooth bronze skin, slim hips and absurdly defined abs, and strong arms that could break through the ribbon any time he wanted. But judging by his blown pupils and hardening cock, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Gwyn peeled her clothes off slowly, holding his eye contact as she did so. She let her breasts bounce as she pulled off her bra, chuckling as his shadows rushed forward to caress her bare nipples.

"Keep your shadows to yourself, pretty boy," She murmured, swallowing a gasp at their cool, light touch. Almost reluctantly, they returned to their master, swirling around his head like a dark halo.

Free of her clothes, Gwyn moved to stand before him, eyes flicking over the sweat already beading at his brow. She lifted his chin with her fingers and smirked as she bypassed his lips, leaning to press soft kisses down his throat, drinking in the rapid beat of his pulse. She traced his body with a gentle touch, running over the lines of his tattoos and the grooves between his muscles. It was a routine she could not bring herself to break, mapping his body with the affection he deserved. She heard his breath hitch again, wings rustling behind him as they untucked and spread.

The Valkyrie climbed onto the bed and moved behind him, peppering the back of his neck and shoulders with open mouthed kisses, tongue sliding over his skin. Avoiding his wings just yet.

"Are you ready?" She leaned forward and purred into his ear, breasts pressed against his back.

"Mhm," He murmured, chest rising and falling.

"Words, shadowsinger."

"I'm ready," He stammered, as if it were hard to conjure words in this position.

"You'll tell me any time you want to stop?"

"I promise."

Satisfied, Gwyn began, dipping her finger into the inside seam where the velvety dark wing met his skin, facing toward his shoulder blade. The skin was especially soft, protected from wind and sun. He let out a quiet moan, arching his back into her touch.

"So responsive," Gwyn murmured, circling her fingers around to the other side, stroking along the thick base of his wing.

"I can't help it," He groaned, shivering again.

"No?" She asked, leaning forward to run her tongue over the spot where her fingers had just been. The base of the wing was fuzzy, like the skin of a peach.

"Fuck," Azriel grunted.

"So my book wasn't lying?" She asked, her voice like a sultry song. Her hands continued their exploration, up the solid arches of his wings toward the shining talons.

"I should've guessed this came from a book," He ground out.

Gwyn wanted him incapable of speech, not taunting her. So she pressed harder, raking her nails back down the thin membrane as she licked a stripe up his spine. His wings shivered, trembling with the effort of deciding wether to lean in or move away. A conflict that Azriel often subjected her to, and now she could get even.

"What were you saying?" She crooned, and smirked when she got no answer. Only the shadowsinger's heavy breathing, his shadows pulsing around him.

She touched every inch of wing, memorizing their beautiful shape, adding every curve and texture to the map in her mind. Every seam had a dip the perfect size for her finger to drag through, the skin so delicate, the structure so intricate and lovely.

His body shone with sweat as  worshipped without mercy, savoring the salty taste of his skin as she pulled moan after and moan from his throat. It almost seemed as though those wings were built purely for pleasure, the way his body reacted to her touch, the noises he made purely sinful.

By the time she had returned to her starting point, having licked, nipped and stroked everything she could reach, Azriel's entire body shook.

She rose up on her knees and peered over his shoulders to catch a glimpse of his face, contorted in pleasure, and his cock, red and weeping. A few times, his shadows swept in toward her and then backed away, just barely brushing her skin. As if Azriel had begun to reach for her and then remembered the rules.

"Tell me which part you like best," She let her breath brush over his ear again, reveling in the goosebumps spreading in response. He was so close to falling apart, one foot in a realm of pure pleasure.

"The-the," He swallowed hard, a groan escaping in between words as he answered, "The inside, near my shoulder blades."

Gwyn hummed, watching his muscles tighten in anticipation as her fingertips moved back toward that inner seam. The sounds he released as she found that hidden spot lit a fire in the Valkyrie's stomach. She didn't have to look to know that her arousal was dripping onto the bed beneath her. As if she cared, right now.

"Fuck," He groaned, "I can't...I need...."

Gwyn was driven wild by the glistening muscles flexing against the ribbon that bound him. She threaded her fingers into his dark curls and tugged, not very gently.

"Come for me," She commanded, voice low and wicked and she dug her fingertips in deeper.

The moan that he released was nothing like his usual gutteral groan. This was higher pitched, soft and breathy and elicited from some deep and desperate place. Gwyn did not know that a noise could make her cunt throb the way it did.

She gave him barely a moment to come down from his high before she was crawling around to face him, grabbing his face in her hands and kissing him fiercely. He chased her lips with his, emitting broken sounds into her throat as her tongue swept in.

Pulling back to look at him, panting, she wasn't sure she had ever felt this desperate. Azriel was entirely undone and at her mercy, his chest slick with sweat and painted with his cum, hands still tied behind him as he panted. His hair stuck up where she had pulled it, his eyes dark and full of desire. And something new, that she hadn't seen before. She was sure he'd seen it often. It was desperation, like he was one kiss away from begging for what he wanted.

"Do as I say and you'll be rewarded," She said, leaning in to graze his lips as she spoke. She kissed him again, softly. Agonizingly slow, even as he tried to speed up.

Gwyn pulled back, dragged two fingers through the stripes of white dripping down his torso and pushed them into his mouth.

"Suck."

His cock twitched against her thigh, already hard and aching again. He kept his eyes locked on hers as his warm tongue swirled around her fingers, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"Good boy," She murmured, and the whine he let out was against his will.

Gwyn had been in charge before, but she had never dared to be this bossy. It had not even come from the book that had inspired this whole thing. This had emerged from somewhere deep inside her, and it set every inch of her skin on fire. Azriel's eyes burned into hers as she took her fingers from his mouth, tightening his lips so her fingers made a pop upon release. He watched as she reached between her legs with those fingers, coated in his spit, for some relief.

She bit her lip, swallowing a moan, cheeks reddening in desperation.

"Can I touch you?" Azriel croaked, pulling at the ribbon that Gwyn had almost forgotten about.

"Remember your manners," She said, fingers still circling between her legs.

"Can I please touch you?"

Gwyn reached around with her free hand and pulled the knot undone. Immediately, one strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his lap to straddle him. And his other hand pushed hers aside, dipping a finger into her soaked cunt.

She was lost to it for a moment as relief rolled through her body. The shadowsinger took the opportunity to attack her neck, kissing and marking with fervor. She closed her eyes and basked in his touch for just a moment before she remembered her task. She would not let her control slip away so easily.

Her eyes snapped open, and she felt a wave of satisfaction as the shadowsinger shrank, just a little. His plan had not worked. The shadows shuddered, as if giggling at their master's foolishness.

"You promised to do as I say," It was almost a growl. She pushed his shoulders until he was laying down, legs straightening out before him as she straddled his hips. "And you tried to take control from me."

Gwyn lowered her body, movements fluid and graceful like a predator, until her chest was pressed against his and they were nose to nose.

"I think I deserve an apology, don't you?" She purred, hips circling and spreading her arousal over his length.

"Yes," He breathed, the amber of his eyes barely visible behind his pupils, "I'm sorry."

"Yes what?" She demanded, sliding her hand up around his throat and pressing the lightest amount of pressure against the sides, "I'm sorry what?"

His eyes widened and for a moment she thought she had gone too far, but then she felt a moan in his throat, vibrating beneath her palm.

"Yes Valkyrie," His voice was broken, body softening like putty under her hands, "I'm sorry, Valkyrie."

"Good boy," A grin spread across Gwyn's face. She sat up, keeping that hand wrapped around his throat as she rose up and aligned them. The other braced against his chest. She did not bother with a slow entry, sinking down on his cock in one motion, thighs flush against hips. He let out a hiss as she paused to let herself adjust.

The world around her was fading as her desperation grew, her body aching almost painfully. It would almost be a mercy to relinquish control again. But she craved the rush of this position as much as she craved release.

"Let your shadows touch me," She choked out the words, beginning to move her hips. Azriel obeyed, letting his shadows loose. They circled her body and attacked, swirling over every part of her they could reach.

Her high was approaching fast, urged on by the sight of Azriel below her, face flushed and lips parted. She pressed against his throat and chest harder, using him as leverage to angle herself deeper. He watched,  mesmerized by the rhythm of her body, and grasped her hips, fingertips digging in as he urged her faster. Every rise and fall of her hips made an obscene slap, echoing through the room.

With a shadow attached to each nipple and one moving over her clit, she was soaring close to the edge. She slammed down harder, a grunt escaping in time with each smack of her ass against his thighs. Azriel reached up and squeezed her breasts, rolling both nipples between his fingers.

The change from the shadows soft touch to his firm hands pulled her over. Her head fell back as she roared, louder than she had ever let herself. Azriel's hands slid down around her waist to keep her moving and extend the waves of bliss. The hand around Azriel's throat finally loosened, nails dragging down his chest in time with a long, breathy moan.

Finally, she slumped forward, letting her body fall against his as she closed her eyes. Azriel wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. He let her lay still for a long moment before whispering, cautiously,

"Is this still the Valkyrie or is this my Gwyn again?"

"Gwyn," She murmured against his skin. Whatever vixen that possessed her had retreated, leaving her spent and sweaty.

"Good," He said, his voice dropping a note lower. She squealed as those strong arms flipped her around and she found herself laying underneath him, staring up into his smirking face.

"But...." She whispered, suddenly shy, "Did you like her? The Valkyrie?"

"I think I'd have to meet her again to be sure" Azriel murmured, nosing at the space between her shoulder and neck, breath hot against her skin, "But for now it is my turn."