fuck the azriel situationship stomped on my heart i *cried* - too relatable TT your writing is so good 🥹 just wondering, when exactly in the fic would be the place where the bond is implied to snap into place for him??
omg stop you’re so sweet 😭🫶 very sorry if i did make you cry, promise i’ll write a cute fluffy piece after this (maybe)
so i cleared it up with part 2.5 hopefully, but definitely tried to initially hint at it when he starts clutching his chest when she makes it very clear that she’s done and walking away from him 🫣
Never enough (part 2.5) - Azriel x situationship reader
Author's note : hi lovies, officially back from holiday omggg. i've had hundreds of ideas for how i want this story to go, and other stories, but i was kind of hiking in the middle of nowhere with no computer or connection, which is why i haven't posted anything in AGES. anyways, here is a little gift to make up for the absence (for those who wanted an azriel POV). please ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes, this is not exactly proofread (only by a 19 year old who has barely slept and is running on pure adreline and stress), so read at your own risk...
warnings : a few swear words possibly (i don't remember), male pov (please don't hate me this is the first time i'm writing from a man's pov and god i did not like it), spelling/ grammar mistakes, the dialogue is pretty much identical to part 2 cos this is just from Az's POV instead of the reader
english is not my first langage so i apologize !!
Word count : 3.1k
Blurb : Reader and Az have been in a situationship for a while, and she's tired of being seen as nothing more than sex (part 2.5)
Her apartment is too still. Too heavy. Not the kind of warm and comforting silence that once greeted him after missions, but something colder—uneasy, sharp. A silence that tastes like ash on his tongue. His shadows, usually content to lounge around her apartment, are restless. They know before he dares to. They whisper against his skin, low, frantic hisses that almost make him shiver. Too late, too late, too late.
He tries to ignore them, tries to cling to the ritual that had always carried him here after a hard day—her scent, the warmth of her fire, and the knowledge that, no matter how much blood coated his hands, she always let him in. Always.
“Hey.” The word scrapes out of his throat, softer than he intended, too fragile for the weight pressing on his chest. It drops into the silence of her apartment like a stone into deep water, and the ripples don’t reach her. She doesn’t turn. Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Once, her shoulders would have softened at the sound of his voice. Now, they only tighten, her arms folded around herself, her spine rigid. His shadows recoil, and he hears the murmur spread. She’s closing you out. It almost feels like they’re mocking him with the information.
The silence stretches. Not tense, not sharp, just heavy—familiar. He shifts his weight, the floorboard beneath him groaning, his boots scuffing against her rug. The sound feels intrusive, out of place in the sanctuary he once believed this space to be.
“You weren’t at the clinic today,” he says carefully, tentative, as if pressing too hard might shatter her completely. But his words feel empty—a pitiful bridge to cross the distance yawning between them. His shadows press close, suffocating, strangling him with anticipation.
“You used the window.”
Her tone is flat, unbothered, but the accusation strikes deep. Her voice cuts sharper than any blade he’s wielded. He flinches, jaw tightening. His shadows hiss, accusing him—coward, secret, shame. He doesn’t answer. He’s repeated those words thousands of times. Reminded himself that windows were for secrets, for shame. That they should never have been for her. But every time he tried to speak, to tell her the truth—about how he truly felt—his fear would choke him alive, and he was nothing but that boy locked in the dungeons with burnt bloody hands again.
He pauses, his throat dry, a lone shadow wrapping around his throat—a mirror of how his guilt was choking him alive. “You didn’t answer the door.”
“I know.”
The silence grows thick, aching. The hearth crackles, casting light that flickers across her form, but she doesn’t move. His shadows stay utterly still, as though awaiting a blow.
Part of him almost wishes she’d stay silent long enough to drive him away. He tells himself to leave, to turn before he makes it worse. But his feet stay rooted. He can’t—not yet.
Her scent reaches him before his next step, wrapping around him like smoke, a storm of memories he can’t escape. He halts in front of the sofa, staring down at his boots, knowing she feels his presence even if she won’t acknowledge it.
“I’m tired, Azriel.”
The sound of his full name spears through him. Not Az. Not the name she used to whisper in laughter, in the soft darkness of her bedroom. Azriel. Cold. Formal. Distant. A chasm opens at his feet. His jaw clenches, one hand half-rising to rake through his hair before falling uselessly to his side. His shadows curl uneasily at his ankles, restless, uneasy, like they know they’re bracing for a fall.
“I’m sorry I just thought—I mean, your lights were on—” His voice stumbles, and his words die, limp in his throat. He stops, staring at her, searching for anything in her expression, any softness. He can’t find any. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
The sentence feels weak, pathetic even as he spoke it. His shadows hiss at him again. Coward.
The words hang between them like smoke. He waits—hopes—for her to look at him, to stop him, to say something. Anything. But she only stares at the fire, her silence louder than a scream.
Slowly, deliberately, he turns toward the door. Each step feels like dragging himself through tar. His shadows coil tight, hissing at him, coward, say it now, or lose her forever.
His hand hovers on the doorknob, his chest tight with the hope she’ll call him back. He wants her to call him back. Gods, he’s begging for it in silence.
“Don’t.”
The single word slices the air like a blade. His shadows jolt upright, startled. His wings perk up as relief surges through his chest, wild and aching.
He looks back at her, his heart hammering. “You want me to stay?”
His voice is barely a whisper, desperate, trembling.
“Don’t come back.”
The words punch through his ribs, brutal and final. He stills, his hand locked around the doorknob, knuckles white. His shadows collapse at his feet, silenced. The words root into his chest, hollowing him. He’s spent his whole life mastering silence, secrecy, pain—but nothing has ever terrified him like the permanence in her voice. Like being loved fully. Like losing it now.
The fire crackles behind her, the only witness to his undoing.
“You don’t mean that.”
The words rasp out of him before he can stop them. His wings twitch tight behind him, panic coursing through every nerve. His shadows writhe around his boots, clawing at the floor, some trying to drag him toward her, others yanking him back. He didn’t know which was worse—touching her and breaking her further, or letting her walk away forever.
“You don’t mean that,” he repeats, softer this time, like speaking it might make it true.
Her laugh—quiet, bitter—splinters the room. Splinters him.
“I do.”
He sways on his feet. His shadows surge forwards, restless, stretching toward her, only to recoil when she flinches at their touch. The rejection hits harder than steel. They coil low around his boots, ashamed.
“Don’t. Just—don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“You’re tired. It’s been a long day—”
“Azriel, this isn’t about today.”
Her voice cracks. His entire body locks at the sound. His shadows lash violently, as if struck by lightning. She’s crying—and it’s his fault. Always his fault.
One lone shadow—a small ribbon of night—curls at her feet discreetly. Protecting her from him. The betrayal burns, but he can’t find it within himself to be angry. It was only doing what he had never been able to; openly caring for her.
“It’s about every night you come only to forget. When your shadows get too heavy, when Mor’s name echoes in the marrow of your bones and her silence hollows out your chest. I’m the only thing that quieted that ache, and you made me think that mattered.”
Each syllable cuts deeper than steel. He staggers as if they’ve struck him physically. His shadows shriek in his ears, furious and condemning. User. Coward. You broke her.
“I want more than this, Azriel. I want to be more than a body you come to when the world outside is too heavy for you to hold. I want to be more than the arms you fall into when hers were never open for you.”
His lips part. Nothing comes. He feels the truth of her words like poison in his veins. His fingers flex helplessly. His shadows cinch tight around his wrists, shackling him. Even they won’t let him touch her now.
“You matter, Y/n. Gods, of course you matter.” His shadows whisper a truth he hasn’t let himself hear. She’s your everything.
Her rebuttal cuts clean.
“Do I? When’s the last time you stayed past sunrise? When’s the last time you asked me how my day went? Gods, when’s the last time we just talked? Have you noticed we never do anything anymore? You show up when it’s dark, we have sex, and then, when you think I’m asleep, you slip out before the sun can catch you. If I matter so much, why did I have to keep a drawer full of your apologies to remind myself that I did?”
Her words are knives, and each one hits because he knows them, because he’s replayed those mornings a thousand times—standing at her threshold, watching her breathe, and still choosing the door. Coward. Always a coward.
“I want something real. Not borrowed. Not broken. Someone I don’t have to beg for. I deserve better. I can’t be your band-aid, I can’t patch up the hollow Mor left behind. Not anymore.”
He flinches, because he knows she’s right. He’s told himself he deserves better every night he’s left her bed.
“That’s not fair,” he breathes, his voice trembling. “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?”
“I think you don’t know what hurt means if you think you can keep showing up like this without expecting something to break inside me every time.”
Her eyes are flames.
“I care about you.”
“Not enough. Never enough. You care just enough to keep me close, but never enough to stay.”
Her words gut him. His wings sag, his shadows coil flat to the ground, defeated.
“I can’t stay. Not the way you want me to. Not because you’re not worth it, but because I don’t know how.” The words taste like lies, because the truth—the unbearable truth—is he’s wanted to, every godsdamned night. He’s pictured her in daylight, laughter on her lips, her hand in his. But wanting her in the daylight feels like wanting to breathe in the middle of the sea: impossible, suicidal. Staying means being seen. And he doesn’t know how to survive that.
His shadows recoil from him, disgusted.
“And I can’t keep being convenient,” she whispers. “I can’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm, when you never even look back to see what you’ve burned down.”
Azriel’s face twists, rage and grief clawing at him, indistinguishable. His shadows writhe, thrashing helplessly at his sides.
“I can change. I will. I just- just give me time.”
Her eyes soften. For a heartbeat, he lets himself hope. But her words crush it.
“You’ve had years. I waited. I made excuses. I begged the stars—your stars—to carve me into something worthy of you. I told myself if I stayed long enough, if I gave enough of myself, you’d see me.”
Something in him breaks with a sound he can’t contain at the idea that she had begged his gods to make her worthy. His breath came ragged, his hand rising helplessly before his shadows shackled it tight, holding him back. As if even they knew his touch was poison to her now.
“I do,” he blurts, voice cracking. “Gods, I do—”
He reaches for her, despite knowing he shouldn’t, because he’s never been good at letting go anyways. His shadows like chains around his wrists, restraining him, like they know his touch will break her.
“No, Azriel. You’ve never seen me, not really. You see the comfort, the warmth, the silence. But you never see me. I don’t think you ever really knew me. I’ve never been more than the one patching you up, physically or more. You say you can’t get attached. That you’re not ready. That you’re broken. And I swallowed every excuse like it was love, because admitting the truth meant admitting I didn’t matter.”
Her words hit like hammer blows. His shadows shrink away from her, curling low, ashamed. He wants to argue, to protest, to tell her about the way her laugh carried him through missions, the way her hands steadied the cracks in his chest. He’s known her—in pieces, in shadows, in the quiet ways he never learned to name. But the words never reach his lips.
“I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know how to—”
“Then why didn’t you let me go?”
His lips part. Nothing comes. His shadows whisper it for him. Selfish. Afraid. Too late.
“I gave you time, Azriel, so much time. But you never changed. You just wanted the comfort I brought.”
Her smile is small. Shattered. He staggers, his wings dragging low.
“I do want you. Please, I can’t lose you.” His voice shakes. He steps closer, shadows writhing, chaining his wrists. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length I wouldn’t fall, but I did. Gods I did, I’ve been falling for years, I just couldn’t see it.”
He’s unraveling. His shadows thrash, shrieking in his ears. One brushes her ankle, begging.
Her gaze hardens.
“You aren’t in love with me Azriel, you’re in love with the way I make you feel—safe. And I deserve to be loved for all of me. Not just the parts that make your pain easier to bear.”
His hand drops. His shadows coil tighter, a noose around his neck.
“Please, love, I…I couldn’t let myself. I was scared, scared to fuck up. Scared to lose you.”
Her head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly.
“You never had me to lose. Not really.”
He flinches, not in anger but grief. His wings sag fully now, his shadows whimper low.
“Please, tell me what I can do,” he begs, desperation raw in his voice. “I’ll do anything, just don’t shut me out.”
“Az,” she says softly.
The name—his name—lands like mercy. Hope claws its way into his chest. His shadows lift, whispering frantically, she still sees you, she still sees you.
The bond snaps.
It doesn’t settle, doesn’t hum softly like others had described. No. It detonates inside him—searing, violent. Lightning tears his soul apart and stitches it to hers in the same breath. He staggers back as raw magic lashes through every single one of his nerves, clutching his chest as pain dances through his ribs. His wings flare wide, trembling. His shadows shriek, feral, a cacophony in his head, keening a single word: mate.
But she keeps moving. Moving away from him.
“I can’t do this anymore, please.”
“No,” he whispers, strangled. “No—no, please. Not now. Please.”
He rubs his chest, as though he can calm the bond’s violent thrashing, but it only burns hotter with every step she takes away from him. His shadows crawl desperately toward her ankles, begging her to stay, but recoil when she flinches.
This is the thing he’s run from, the thing he swore he couldn’t survive—love that ties, claws, demands. And it’s here. Irrevocable. And she doesn’t feel it.
The Cauldron tied him to her—but left her free.
He can’t breathe. His chest feels carved open, hollowed out. His shadows whimper like wounded creatures, curling low to the ground.
“I love you,” he breathes, broken. “I love you, and I was too much of a coward to say it before but gods I swear to you—I do. I didn’t let myself admit it because I thought love made you weak, and I couldn’t afford to be—but you make me want to be. You make me want everything I was afraid of.”
He steps toward her, voice desperate. “I’ll stay. Every morning. And I’ll come through the front door, like a man who has nothing to hide. And I’ll hold your hand in public. Let everyone know you’re mine.”
Another step. His hands cradle her face, trembling. “Azriel—”
“I’ll stop hiding,” he says, desperate now. “I’ll fight for this—for you. Just… please. Don’t walk away. Not now. Not when I finally see you.”
But she turns her face away. His hands fall. His shadows sob.
“I can’t, Azriel. Not when I’ve spent so long loving someone who didn’t want me. I gave you everything I had. I broke myself apart and used the pieces to heal you. I have nothing left to give. Not now. Maybe never.” His shadows swarm at her feet, begging her to give their master one last chance. “Go home Azriel, please…”
“Please.”
Her final whisper isn’t to him. It’s to the shadows. Please.
And they obey.
The door creaks open, dark tendrils pulling it wide. His own shadows betray him, giving her freedom when he cannot. A betrayal, yes—but also mercy.
She pauses on the stairs. Her voice is soft, final. “Goodbye, Azriel.”
He doesn’t stop them. He doesn’t stop her.
Because the bond might have claimed her as his, but she never would.
The door creaks wider as she makes it up the stairs, shadows curling around its edges like fingers prying him away from her. He resists for a heartbeat—he can’t leave her, not like this—but his own magic betrays him. His shadows shove at his shoulders, insistent, merciless.
Out. Out. Out.
They herd him through the threshold, the wooden frame scraping against his wings as though punishing him for daring to stay. The door slams behind him, the final sound of her absence.
He wants to fight them, to claw his way back inside, to beg until she believes him. But fear roots him—fear that staying will only make her walk further away, fear that loving her fully will destroy them both. Fear has always been the loudest voice. And now it’s the only one left.
The bond is a wildfire in his chest, searing, tearing, clawing at every vein. He staggers down her porch steps before his knees give way. His shadows collapse with him, writhing across the stone, keening their fury in a chorus of whispers that echo inside his skull:
You broke her. You lost her. You ruined her. Mate. Mate. Mate.
Azriel presses a trembling hand to his sternum, as if he could hold the bond in, as if sheer will might soothe the agony. But it only burns hotter, a merciless tether pulling tight, demanding what she’ll never give.
He bows forward, wings sagging, and sobs rip through him before he can stop them. His shadows gather like mourners, circling him, rocking with his shaking body. Some lash at him, angry, others curl close, trying to hold together what can’t be mended.
He doesn’t know how long he stays there—minutes, hours. The sky begins to pale, shadows stretching thin as dawn approaches. His throat is raw, his chest burning, but still he can’t move.
And then—he hears it.
Through the walls, through the distance: her heartbeat.
Steady. Gentle. Asleep.
He closes his eyes and strains his ears to hear it, focusing on that rhythm, letting it anchor him. He matches his ragged breathing to it, in and out, until the panic in his chest ebbs just enough to keep him alive. His shadows still too, rocking softly in time with the sound, clinging to the one piece of her they can reach.
As the sun rises, spilling gold across his broken face, he makes his vow, the bond thrashing in his chest. “I’ll do anything. Anything to win her back.”
The shadows hum low, dark agreement, sealing it like an oath.
And with her heartbeat steady in his ears, he believes it.
Tag list (for those who requested it <3) : @littlepippilongstocking @coc4aine @starryhiraeth @sheblogs @booksbypisces @alexof90s @cherry-hotline @betseloteee @the-one-fiestyfeline @asiriusmistake @livelaughloveazriel
if your name is crossed, i couldn’t manage to tag you, so im really sorryyyyyy
Never enough (part 2.5) - Azriel x situationship reader
Author's note : hi lovies, officially back from holiday omggg. i've had hundreds of ideas for how i want this story to go, and other stories, but i was kind of hiking in the middle of nowhere with no computer or connection, which is why i haven't posted anything in AGES. anyways, here is a little gift to make up for the absence (for those who wanted an azriel POV). please ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes, this is not exactly proofread (only by a 19 year old who has barely slept and is running on pure adreline and stress), so read at your own risk...
warnings : a few swear words possibly (i don't remember), male pov (please don't hate me this is the first time i'm writing from a man's pov and god i did not like it), spelling/ grammar mistakes, the dialogue is pretty much identical to part 2 cos this is just from Az's POV instead of the reader
english is not my first langage so i apologize !!
Word count : 3.1k
Blurb : Reader and Az have been in a situationship for a while, and she's tired of being seen as nothing more than sex (part 2.5)
Her apartment is too still. Too heavy. Not the kind of warm and comforting silence that once greeted him after missions, but something colder—uneasy, sharp. A silence that tastes like ash on his tongue. His shadows, usually content to lounge around her apartment, are restless. They know before he dares to. They whisper against his skin, low, frantic hisses that almost make him shiver. Too late, too late, too late.
He tries to ignore them, tries to cling to the ritual that had always carried him here after a hard day—her scent, the warmth of her fire, and the knowledge that, no matter how much blood coated his hands, she always let him in. Always.
“Hey.” The word scrapes out of his throat, softer than he intended, too fragile for the weight pressing on his chest. It drops into the silence of her apartment like a stone into deep water, and the ripples don’t reach her. She doesn’t turn. Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Once, her shoulders would have softened at the sound of his voice. Now, they only tighten, her arms folded around herself, her spine rigid. His shadows recoil, and he hears the murmur spread. She’s closing you out. It almost feels like they’re mocking him with the information.
The silence stretches. Not tense, not sharp, just heavy—familiar. He shifts his weight, the floorboard beneath him groaning, his boots scuffing against her rug. The sound feels intrusive, out of place in the sanctuary he once believed this space to be.
“You weren’t at the clinic today,” he says carefully, tentative, as if pressing too hard might shatter her completely. But his words feel empty—a pitiful bridge to cross the distance yawning between them. His shadows press close, suffocating, strangling him with anticipation.
“You used the window.”
Her tone is flat, unbothered, but the accusation strikes deep. Her voice cuts sharper than any blade he’s wielded. He flinches, jaw tightening. His shadows hiss, accusing him—coward, secret, shame. He doesn’t answer. He’s repeated those words thousands of times. Reminded himself that windows were for secrets, for shame. That they should never have been for her. But every time he tried to speak, to tell her the truth—about how he truly felt—his fear would choke him alive, and he was nothing but that boy locked in the dungeons with burnt bloody hands again.
He pauses, his throat dry, a lone shadow wrapping around his throat—a mirror of how his guilt was choking him alive. “You didn’t answer the door.”
“I know.”
The silence grows thick, aching. The hearth crackles, casting light that flickers across her form, but she doesn’t move. His shadows stay utterly still, as though awaiting a blow.
Part of him almost wishes she’d stay silent long enough to drive him away. He tells himself to leave, to turn before he makes it worse. But his feet stay rooted. He can’t—not yet.
Her scent reaches him before his next step, wrapping around him like smoke, a storm of memories he can’t escape. He halts in front of the sofa, staring down at his boots, knowing she feels his presence even if she won’t acknowledge it.
“I’m tired, Azriel.”
The sound of his full name spears through him. Not Az. Not the name she used to whisper in laughter, in the soft darkness of her bedroom. Azriel. Cold. Formal. Distant. A chasm opens at his feet. His jaw clenches, one hand half-rising to rake through his hair before falling uselessly to his side. His shadows curl uneasily at his ankles, restless, uneasy, like they know they’re bracing for a fall.
“I’m sorry I just thought—I mean, your lights were on—” His voice stumbles, and his words die, limp in his throat. He stops, staring at her, searching for anything in her expression, any softness. He can’t find any. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
The sentence feels weak, pathetic even as he spoke it. His shadows hiss at him again. Coward.
The words hang between them like smoke. He waits—hopes—for her to look at him, to stop him, to say something. Anything. But she only stares at the fire, her silence louder than a scream.
Slowly, deliberately, he turns toward the door. Each step feels like dragging himself through tar. His shadows coil tight, hissing at him, coward, say it now, or lose her forever.
His hand hovers on the doorknob, his chest tight with the hope she’ll call him back. He wants her to call him back. Gods, he’s begging for it in silence.
“Don’t.”
The single word slices the air like a blade. His shadows jolt upright, startled. His wings perk up as relief surges through his chest, wild and aching.
He looks back at her, his heart hammering. “You want me to stay?”
His voice is barely a whisper, desperate, trembling.
“Don’t come back.”
The words punch through his ribs, brutal and final. He stills, his hand locked around the doorknob, knuckles white. His shadows collapse at his feet, silenced. The words root into his chest, hollowing him. He’s spent his whole life mastering silence, secrecy, pain—but nothing has ever terrified him like the permanence in her voice. Like being loved fully. Like losing it now.
The fire crackles behind her, the only witness to his undoing.
“You don’t mean that.”
The words rasp out of him before he can stop them. His wings twitch tight behind him, panic coursing through every nerve. His shadows writhe around his boots, clawing at the floor, some trying to drag him toward her, others yanking him back. He didn’t know which was worse—touching her and breaking her further, or letting her walk away forever.
“You don’t mean that,” he repeats, softer this time, like speaking it might make it true.
Her laugh—quiet, bitter—splinters the room. Splinters him.
“I do.”
He sways on his feet. His shadows surge forwards, restless, stretching toward her, only to recoil when she flinches at their touch. The rejection hits harder than steel. They coil low around his boots, ashamed.
“Don’t. Just—don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“You’re tired. It’s been a long day—”
“Azriel, this isn’t about today.”
Her voice cracks. His entire body locks at the sound. His shadows lash violently, as if struck by lightning. She’s crying—and it’s his fault. Always his fault.
One lone shadow—a small ribbon of night—curls at her feet discreetly. Protecting her from him. The betrayal burns, but he can’t find it within himself to be angry. It was only doing what he had never been able to; openly caring for her.
“It’s about every night you come only to forget. When your shadows get too heavy, when Mor’s name echoes in the marrow of your bones and her silence hollows out your chest. I’m the only thing that quieted that ache, and you made me think that mattered.”
Each syllable cuts deeper than steel. He staggers as if they’ve struck him physically. His shadows shriek in his ears, furious and condemning. User. Coward. You broke her.
“I want more than this, Azriel. I want to be more than a body you come to when the world outside is too heavy for you to hold. I want to be more than the arms you fall into when hers were never open for you.”
His lips part. Nothing comes. He feels the truth of her words like poison in his veins. His fingers flex helplessly. His shadows cinch tight around his wrists, shackling him. Even they won’t let him touch her now.
“You matter, Y/n. Gods, of course you matter.” His shadows whisper a truth he hasn’t let himself hear. She’s your everything.
Her rebuttal cuts clean.
“Do I? When’s the last time you stayed past sunrise? When’s the last time you asked me how my day went? Gods, when’s the last time we just talked? Have you noticed we never do anything anymore? You show up when it’s dark, we have sex, and then, when you think I’m asleep, you slip out before the sun can catch you. If I matter so much, why did I have to keep a drawer full of your apologies to remind myself that I did?”
Her words are knives, and each one hits because he knows them, because he’s replayed those mornings a thousand times—standing at her threshold, watching her breathe, and still choosing the door. Coward. Always a coward.
“I want something real. Not borrowed. Not broken. Someone I don’t have to beg for. I deserve better. I can’t be your band-aid, I can’t patch up the hollow Mor left behind. Not anymore.”
He flinches, because he knows she’s right. He’s told himself he deserves better every night he’s left her bed.
“That’s not fair,” he breathes, his voice trembling. “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?”
“I think you don’t know what hurt means if you think you can keep showing up like this without expecting something to break inside me every time.”
Her eyes are flames.
“I care about you.”
“Not enough. Never enough. You care just enough to keep me close, but never enough to stay.”
Her words gut him. His wings sag, his shadows coil flat to the ground, defeated.
“I can’t stay. Not the way you want me to. Not because you’re not worth it, but because I don’t know how.” The words taste like lies, because the truth—the unbearable truth—is he’s wanted to, every godsdamned night. He’s pictured her in daylight, laughter on her lips, her hand in his. But wanting her in the daylight feels like wanting to breathe in the middle of the sea: impossible, suicidal. Staying means being seen. And he doesn’t know how to survive that.
His shadows recoil from him, disgusted.
“And I can’t keep being convenient,” she whispers. “I can’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm, when you never even look back to see what you’ve burned down.”
Azriel’s face twists, rage and grief clawing at him, indistinguishable. His shadows writhe, thrashing helplessly at his sides.
“I can change. I will. I just- just give me time.”
Her eyes soften. For a heartbeat, he lets himself hope. But her words crush it.
“You’ve had years. I waited. I made excuses. I begged the stars—your stars—to carve me into something worthy of you. I told myself if I stayed long enough, if I gave enough of myself, you’d see me.”
Something in him breaks with a sound he can’t contain at the idea that she had begged his gods to make her worthy. His breath came ragged, his hand rising helplessly before his shadows shackled it tight, holding him back. As if even they knew his touch was poison to her now.
“I do,” he blurts, voice cracking. “Gods, I do—”
He reaches for her, despite knowing he shouldn’t, because he’s never been good at letting go anyways. His shadows like chains around his wrists, restraining him, like they know his touch will break her.
“No, Azriel. You’ve never seen me, not really. You see the comfort, the warmth, the silence. But you never see me. I don’t think you ever really knew me. I’ve never been more than the one patching you up, physically or more. You say you can’t get attached. That you’re not ready. That you’re broken. And I swallowed every excuse like it was love, because admitting the truth meant admitting I didn’t matter.”
Her words hit like hammer blows. His shadows shrink away from her, curling low, ashamed. He wants to argue, to protest, to tell her about the way her laugh carried him through missions, the way her hands steadied the cracks in his chest. He’s known her—in pieces, in shadows, in the quiet ways he never learned to name. But the words never reach his lips.
“I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know how to—”
“Then why didn’t you let me go?”
His lips part. Nothing comes. His shadows whisper it for him. Selfish. Afraid. Too late.
“I gave you time, Azriel, so much time. But you never changed. You just wanted the comfort I brought.”
Her smile is small. Shattered. He staggers, his wings dragging low.
“I do want you. Please, I can’t lose you.” His voice shakes. He steps closer, shadows writhing, chaining his wrists. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length I wouldn’t fall, but I did. Gods I did, I’ve been falling for years, I just couldn’t see it.”
He’s unraveling. His shadows thrash, shrieking in his ears. One brushes her ankle, begging.
Her gaze hardens.
“You aren’t in love with me Azriel, you’re in love with the way I make you feel—safe. And I deserve to be loved for all of me. Not just the parts that make your pain easier to bear.”
His hand drops. His shadows coil tighter, a noose around his neck.
“Please, love, I…I couldn’t let myself. I was scared, scared to fuck up. Scared to lose you.”
Her head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly.
“You never had me to lose. Not really.”
He flinches, not in anger but grief. His wings sag fully now, his shadows whimper low.
“Please, tell me what I can do,” he begs, desperation raw in his voice. “I’ll do anything, just don’t shut me out.”
“Az,” she says softly.
The name—his name—lands like mercy. Hope claws its way into his chest. His shadows lift, whispering frantically, she still sees you, she still sees you.
The bond snaps.
It doesn’t settle, doesn’t hum softly like others had described. No. It detonates inside him—searing, violent. Lightning tears his soul apart and stitches it to hers in the same breath. He staggers back as raw magic lashes through every single one of his nerves, clutching his chest as pain dances through his ribs. His wings flare wide, trembling. His shadows shriek, feral, a cacophony in his head, keening a single word: mate.
But she keeps moving. Moving away from him.
“I can’t do this anymore, please.”
“No,” he whispers, strangled. “No—no, please. Not now. Please.”
He rubs his chest, as though he can calm the bond’s violent thrashing, but it only burns hotter with every step she takes away from him. His shadows crawl desperately toward her ankles, begging her to stay, but recoil when she flinches.
This is the thing he’s run from, the thing he swore he couldn’t survive—love that ties, claws, demands. And it’s here. Irrevocable. And she doesn’t feel it.
The Cauldron tied him to her—but left her free.
He can’t breathe. His chest feels carved open, hollowed out. His shadows whimper like wounded creatures, curling low to the ground.
“I love you,” he breathes, broken. “I love you, and I was too much of a coward to say it before but gods I swear to you—I do. I didn’t let myself admit it because I thought love made you weak, and I couldn’t afford to be—but you make me want to be. You make me want everything I was afraid of.”
He steps toward her, voice desperate. “I’ll stay. Every morning. And I’ll come through the front door, like a man who has nothing to hide. And I’ll hold your hand in public. Let everyone know you’re mine.”
Another step. His hands cradle her face, trembling. “Azriel—”
“I’ll stop hiding,” he says, desperate now. “I’ll fight for this—for you. Just… please. Don’t walk away. Not now. Not when I finally see you.”
But she turns her face away. His hands fall. His shadows sob.
“I can’t, Azriel. Not when I’ve spent so long loving someone who didn’t want me. I gave you everything I had. I broke myself apart and used the pieces to heal you. I have nothing left to give. Not now. Maybe never.” His shadows swarm at her feet, begging her to give their master one last chance. “Go home Azriel, please…”
“Please.”
Her final whisper isn’t to him. It’s to the shadows. Please.
And they obey.
The door creaks open, dark tendrils pulling it wide. His own shadows betray him, giving her freedom when he cannot. A betrayal, yes—but also mercy.
She pauses on the stairs. Her voice is soft, final. “Goodbye, Azriel.”
He doesn’t stop them. He doesn’t stop her.
Because the bond might have claimed her as his, but she never would.
The door creaks wider as she makes it up the stairs, shadows curling around its edges like fingers prying him away from her. He resists for a heartbeat—he can’t leave her, not like this—but his own magic betrays him. His shadows shove at his shoulders, insistent, merciless.
Out. Out. Out.
They herd him through the threshold, the wooden frame scraping against his wings as though punishing him for daring to stay. The door slams behind him, the final sound of her absence.
He wants to fight them, to claw his way back inside, to beg until she believes him. But fear roots him—fear that staying will only make her walk further away, fear that loving her fully will destroy them both. Fear has always been the loudest voice. And now it’s the only one left.
The bond is a wildfire in his chest, searing, tearing, clawing at every vein. He staggers down her porch steps before his knees give way. His shadows collapse with him, writhing across the stone, keening their fury in a chorus of whispers that echo inside his skull:
You broke her. You lost her. You ruined her. Mate. Mate. Mate.
Azriel presses a trembling hand to his sternum, as if he could hold the bond in, as if sheer will might soothe the agony. But it only burns hotter, a merciless tether pulling tight, demanding what she’ll never give.
He bows forward, wings sagging, and sobs rip through him before he can stop them. His shadows gather like mourners, circling him, rocking with his shaking body. Some lash at him, angry, others curl close, trying to hold together what can’t be mended.
He doesn’t know how long he stays there—minutes, hours. The sky begins to pale, shadows stretching thin as dawn approaches. His throat is raw, his chest burning, but still he can’t move.
And then—he hears it.
Through the walls, through the distance: her heartbeat.
Steady. Gentle. Asleep.
He closes his eyes and strains his ears to hear it, focusing on that rhythm, letting it anchor him. He matches his ragged breathing to it, in and out, until the panic in his chest ebbs just enough to keep him alive. His shadows still too, rocking softly in time with the sound, clinging to the one piece of her they can reach.
As the sun rises, spilling gold across his broken face, he makes his vow, the bond thrashing in his chest. “I’ll do anything. Anything to win her back.”
The shadows hum low, dark agreement, sealing it like an oath.
And with her heartbeat steady in his ears, he believes it.
the fact that you can tell exactly when (i suspect??) the bond snapped for him… your writing is beautiful
👀👀👀
definitely what i wanted to hint at, or at least the possibility, because i’m a sucker for the right person wrong time (aka my life tbf), but also wanted to show that moment where the realization that he’s really losing her clicks, and what better than a one sided mating bond to showcase that ?
but genuinely thank you so much, it means a lot to me to know that people like what i’m writing ◡̈
Never enough (part 2) - Azriel x situationship!reader
Author's note : sooooo, i don't know how i feel about this, the editing was done at 2am because I leave for my holiday tomorrow and I wanted to finish this part before i left (so if you see any grammar/spelling mistakes, no you don't). I don't know if it's the end, or not, because I still have so many ideas i could expand on from this story, but i don't know if you guys would want that or not (so definitely tell me what you think of this piece)
Warnings : a few swear words i think, very tired editing, possible spelling/grammar mistakes, + english is not my first language (please keep it in mind lol)
Word count : 2.6k
Blurb : Reader and Az have been in a situationship for a while, and she's tired of being seen as nothing more than sex. (part 2)
part one
“Hey.”
You don’t turn, not at first. Once, the sound of his voice would’ve made your heart leap. Now, it lands like a weight on bruised ribs. His voice echoes in the silence of your apartment—and in the hollow of your heart. The word lingers in the air like smoke from a dying flame—thick, bitter unspoken. You stay facing the fire, arms folded around yourself, as if that could hold you together. Your fingers dig into your sleeves, anchoring you. If you move, you might just unravel.
The silence stretches between you. Not tense, just heavy, tired. Familiar, like the dull ache of an old wound you thought had healed.
He takes another step towards the sofa. You hear it—the creak of the floorboard, the scuff of his boots against the rug.
“You weren’t at the clinic today,” his voice is soft, tentative. Careful. As if even now, he’s afraid to step too close.
You don’t look at him, but your spine straightens, stiff with defense. “You used the window.” It’s not a question, nor is it marred by surprise or anger. A statement. He had used the window, as if you were something shameful, hidden behind curtains and shadow. Windows were for secrets—not for lovers.
A pause. Then, quietly, “You didn’t answer the door.”
“I know.”
The silence stretches, thick and aching. The fire in the hearth crackles behind the silence. The shadows around you flicker with it, but not his. His shadows stay still, as if they know. As if they, too, are holding their breath.
You think, maybe, if you stay quiet long enough he’ll leave. Maybe silence will do what words never could. He’ll understand that something in you has broken and can only be fixed by his absence. But he doesn’t leave.
His scent reaches you before he does, a storm of memories you wish you could erase, curling around you like smoke. He stops in front of the sofa, close enough for you to see his boots. Close enough for you to feel his presence in your bones.
“I’m tired, Azriel.”
You see it hit him, the way his name—his full name—slices the air between you. You haven’t called him Azriel in years. Not since he first smiled at you, with something close to affection, and asked you to call him Az.
His jaw clenches. One hand rises to rake through his hair but drops halfway, limp with hesitation. His shadows stir uneasily, curling around his ankles, as if bracing for a fall.
“I’m sorry I just thought- I mean, your lights were on-” He stops, looking at you for a few seconds, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He waits for you to speak, but you don’t, preferring to stare at the fire that burns in your fireplace, mirroring the burn in your eyes as the tears start to rise.
Azriel turns, heading for the door, slowly, deliberately, as if giving you the time to protest, to ask him to stay. He wants to stay. His hand on the doorknob, he pauses.
“Don’t.” A single word, but it slices through the air like a blade. Azriel will take anything over silence.
He looks back at you. “You want me to stay?”, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t come back.” You don’t raise your voice. You don’t need to. The way he stills—like a blade just missed him—tells you he heard every syllable. He always hears you, but never truly listens. The fire crackles in front of you, the only true witness to your unraveling.
Azriel doesn’t move. Not at first.
His fingers tighten on the doorknob, knuckles white. He turns, slowly, his expression unreadable in the firelight, shadows casting strange patterns over the planes of it. He looks like a half-formed creature. A man unmade.
Even his shadows—those watchful things usually swirling at his feet, who used to curl at your ankles like a prayer—have gone still.
You don’t move. Your stillness a statement etched into silence. Only your thumb moves, rubbing over a small scar on your arm—one he once kissed on the balcony under the watchful eyes of the stars.
“You don’t mean that.” His wings twitch, pulling taut behind him like they’re ready to fight or flee. It’s instinct, born out of panic. He speaks like a man grasping at smoke, refusing to believe the fire is already gone, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides.
You laugh. Quiet. Bitter. “I do.”
He steps toward you again, cautious, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. His shadows stir restlessly at his boots again, rising like mist—like they want to crawl to you and beg on his behalf.
“Don’t. Just—” you sigh, your gaze fixed on the fire. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“You’re tired. It’s been a long day—”
“Azriel, this isn’t about today.” Your voice cracks. Barely. But it’s enough for Azriel to stiffen up. His shadows flicker towards you, a subconscious extension of him. “It’s about every night you come only to forget. When your shadows get too heavy, when Mor’s name echoes in the marrow of your bones and her silence hollows out your chest. I’m the only thing that quiets the ache, and you made me think that mattered.”
He flinches slightly, as if your words struck him. He looks like he wants to deny it. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
His shadows reach towards you as you stand, like the arms of a child grabbing his mother’s legs, but the moment they brush your skin, you flinch. They recoil instantly. Your eyes catch the firelight, reflecting something raw.
“I want more than this, Azriel. I want to be more than a body you come to when the world outside is too heavy for you to hold. I want to be more than the arms you fall into because hers were never open for you.”
His mouth parts, but the words don’t come. Fingers flex at his sides, again, and again, as if he’s grasping at a phantom thing—hope, maybe.
“I want to matter to someone, you can understand that,” You take a step towards him, “Can’t you?”
“You matter, Y/n. Gods, of course you matter.”
“Do I? When’s the last time you stayed past sunrise? When’s the last time you asked me how my day went? Gods, when’s the last time we just talked? Have you noticed we never do anything anymore? You show up when it’s dark, we have sex, and then, when you think I’m asleep, you slip out before the sun can catch you, like a thief in the night.” Tears sting your eyes. Your throat burns. “If I matter so much, why did I have to keep a drawer full of your apologies to remind myself that I did?”
Your blood was pumping now, as warm as the fire in the hearth. He stares at you, devastated, his wings drooping slightly, edges folding inward as if trying to retreat into himself.
“I want something real. Not borrowed. Not broken. Someone I don’t have to beg for. I deserve better. I can’t be your band-aid, I can’t patch up the hollow Mor left behind. Not anymore”
“That’s not fair,” he breathes, “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?”
“I think you don’t know what hurt means if you think you can keep showing up like this without expecting something to break inside me every time.”
“I care about you.”
“Not enough. Never enough. You care just enough to keep me close, but never enough to stay.”
“I can’t stay. Not the way you want me to.” his voice trembles now, the mask beginning to slip. “Not because you’re not worth it, but because I don’t know how.”
“And I can’t keep being convenient,” you whisper. “I can’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm, when you never even look back to see what you’ve burned down.”
Azriel’s face twists—anger, grief, desperation. “I can change. I will. I just—just give me time.”
Your eyes soften at the underlying fear in his eyes. Fear of losing you. “You’ve had years. I waited. I made excuses. I begged the stars—your stars—to carve me into something worthy of you. I told myself if I stayed long enough, if I gave enough of myself, you’d see me.”
“I do,” he says quickly, voice breaking. “Gods, I do—”
“No, Azriel. You’ve never seen me, not really. You see the comfort, the warmth, the silence. But you never see me. I don’t think you ever really knew me. I’ve never been more than the one patching you up, physically or more.” Your voice sharpens, edges slicing open all the tenderness that once filled the space between you. “You say you can’t get attached. That you’re not ready. That you’re broken. And I swallowed every excuse like it was love, because admitting the truth meant admitting I didn’t matter.”
He takes a shaky breath, steps forward like he's walking through a war zone. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know how to—”
“Then why didn’t you let me go?” you ask, voice trembling. “Why did you keep coming back if you knew you’d never stay?”
His lips part, but you already know he has no answer. One shadow inches forward, then pulls back, as if ashamed.
“I gave you time Azriel, so much time. But you never changed. You just wanted the comfort I brought.”
The quiet between you hums with something unspoken. Something final.
“I accepted this, and accepted whatever scraps you could give me, because having part of you felt better than none of you. I thought I could earn your love, and that someday eventually maybe,” you look away, a tear rolling down your cheek, glistening in the firelight, “maybe you’d want me back. Want me the way I wanted you.”
He flinches.
“I do want you. Please, I can’t lose you.” He takes a step towards you, he’s shaking now “I know I’ve been distant but please—”, another step, “Please don’t do this.” Another step. He’s standing in front of you now, one hand lifts, but he doesn’t touch you. Can’t touch you. His shadows have wrapped tightly around his fingers—restraining him. Protecting you. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length I wouldn’t fall, but I did. Gods I did, I’ve been falling for years, I just couldn’t see it.”
His voice is unrecognizable—raw, and desperate. Even his shadows writhe, unsettled, as if they too can’t bear to watch this scene unfold. Your heart twists. Gods, it wants to believe him, but you don’t let it win. You can’t.
You take a shaky breath, letting the silence stretch. Your eyes fall to Azriel’s shadows, coiled around his wrist like shackles, begging him to stop, afraid he’ll step too far and break you beyond repair. “You aren’t in love with me Azriel, you’re in love with the way I make you feel—safe.” Your voice drops to a whisper, “And I deserve to be loved for all of me. Not just the parts that make your pain easier to bear.”
His hand drops.
“Please, love, I—I coudn’t let myself. I was scared, scared to fuck up. Scared to lose you.” He’s unraveling in front of you, you can tell. And some small, cruel part of you is glad. Glad because now he knows what it feels like.
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing slightly, “You never had me to lose. Not really.”
He flinches, not in anger, but in grief. His wings droop fully now, sagging like something sacred just slipped from his grasp.
“Please, tell me what I can do,” His eyes are wide—marked by raw desperation. “I’ll do anything, just don’t shut me out.”
“Az,” you look him in the eyes for what feels like the first time tonight, the familiar nickname rolls of your tongue, the only mercy you can give him now. “I can’t do this anymore, please.”
You take a step towards him, towards the door. He staggers back, like he’s been hit by an arrow, eyes wide. “No,” he whispers, his voice dripping with agony, “No... no, please. Not now. Please.” He’s rubbing his chest now, but you’ve walked past him, finally reaching the door.
Your hand lingers above the doorknob, hesitation seeping into your mind. Shadows swarm around your ankles, trying to hold you in place, as if they too have felt the shift in the air.
“I love you,” he breathes, voice raw. “I love you, and I was too much of a coward to say it before but gods I swear to you—I do. I didn’t let myself admit it because I thought love made you weak, and I couldn’t afford to be—but you make me want to be. You make me want everything I was afraid of.”
You risk a look at him above your shoulder. His eyes are glistening, a rogue tear on the soft skin of his cheek. You feel the pull, your heart yearning to go to him. To touch him. But you can’t.
“I’ll stay” he pleads. “Every morning. And I’ll come through the front door, like a man who has nothing to hide. And I’ll hold your hand in public. Let everyone know you’re mine.” A step for every sentence that drops from his mouth.
He’s behind you now, and you turn to face him, ‘One last time’, you tell yourself. His hands cradle your face softly, like he’s afraid if he holds you too tight you’ll vanish. “Azriel—”
“I’ll stop hiding,” he says, desperate now. “I’ll fight for this—for you. Just… please. Don’t walk away. Not now. Not when I finally see you.”
Gods, part of you wants to fall. Wants to believe him. Wants to collapse into the arms that were always safe, even when the heart behind them wasn’t.
But you can’t.
Not anymore.
You turn your face away from him, you can’t stand to look at him when you know you’re going to break him. You don’t miss the way his hands tremble against your skin before he drops them back to his sides, your rejection echoing in his bones.
“I can’t, Azriel. Not when I’ve spent so long loving someone who didn’t want me. I gave you everything I had. I broke myself apart and used the pieces to help fix the parts of you you thought were broken. I have nothing left to give. Not now. Maybe never.” Your voice is trembling, but you keep going. “Go home Azriel, please…”
You look at the shadows one final time. The same shadows that sat in the corner of your office, watching, just in case something went wrong. The same shadows that played with your hair, that turned the pages of your books, and that pulled a blanket over you every time you fell asleep on the couch. His shadows—your quiet companions, your silent protectors. They held you when he couldn’t. When he wouldn’t.
“Please.” You whisper is a plea. No longer addressed to the man you held you only in the dark, but to his shadows, who knew you needed light.
Your front door creaks open. A clear message. A parting gift from the ones who kept you company. Azriel looks above your head, at the door, opening his mouth to say something, but whatever he sees behind you must change his mind.
He looks back at you, his eyes heavy with words unspoken, but you only turn away, not to the door, but away. Towards your room. Your future. You don’t look back as you walk away. One foot in front of the other. You can feel his eyes on your back, watching you walk away from him, but he lets you—a small mercy.
As you reach the first step, you pause, whispering a ‘thank you’. You start up the stairs, then pause again. Another whisper, “Goodbye, Azriel.”
Never enough (part 2) - Azriel x situationship!reader
Author's note : sooooo, i don't know how i feel about this, the editing was done at 2am because I leave for my holiday tomorrow and I wanted to finish this part before i left (so if you see any grammar/spelling mistakes, no you don't). I don't know if it's the end, or not, because I still have so many ideas i could expand on from this story, but i don't know if you guys would want that or not (so definitely tell me what you think of this piece)
Warnings : a few swear words i think, very tired editing, possible spelling/grammar mistakes, + english is not my first language (please keep it in mind lol)
Word count : 2.6k
Blurb : Reader and Az have been in a situationship for a while, and she's tired of being seen as nothing more than sex. (part 2)
“Hey.”
You don’t turn, not at first. Once, the sound of his voice would’ve made your heart leap. Now, it lands like a weight on bruised ribs. His voice echoes in the silence of your apartment—and in the hollow of your heart. The word lingers in the air like smoke from a dying flame—thick, bitter unspoken. You stay facing the fire, arms folded around yourself, as if that could hold you together. Your fingers dig into your sleeves, anchoring you. If you move, you might just unravel.
The silence stretches between you. Not tense, just heavy, tired. Familiar, like the dull ache of an old wound you thought had healed.
He takes another step towards the sofa. You hear it—the creak of the floorboard, the scuff of his boots against the rug.
“You weren’t at the clinic today,” his voice is soft, tentative. Careful. As if even now, he’s afraid to step too close.
You don’t look at him, but your spine straightens, stiff with defense. “You used the window.” It’s not a question, nor is it marred by surprise or anger. A statement. He had used the window, as if you were something shameful, hidden behind curtains and shadow. Windows were for secrets—not for lovers.
A pause. Then, quietly, “You didn’t answer the door.”
“I know.”
The silence stretches, thick and aching. The fire in the hearth crackles behind the silence. The shadows around you flicker with it, but not his. His shadows stay still, as if they know. As if they, too, are holding their breath.
You think, maybe, if you stay quiet long enough he’ll leave. Maybe silence will do what words never could. He’ll understand that something in you has broken and can only be fixed by his absence. But he doesn’t leave.
His scent reaches you before he does, a storm of memories you wish you could erase, curling around you like smoke. He stops in front of the sofa, close enough for you to see his boots. Close enough for you to feel his presence in your bones.
“I’m tired, Azriel.”
You see it hit him, the way his name—his full name—slices the air between you. You haven’t called him Azriel in years. Not since he first smiled at you, with something close to affection, and asked you to call him Az.
His jaw clenches. One hand rises to rake through his hair but drops halfway, limp with hesitation. His shadows stir uneasily, curling around his ankles, as if bracing for a fall.
“I’m sorry I just thought- I mean, your lights were on-” He stops, looking at you for a few seconds, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He waits for you to speak, but you don’t, preferring to stare at the fire that burns in your fireplace, mirroring the burn in your eyes as the tears start to rise.
Azriel turns, heading for the door, slowly, deliberately, as if giving you the time to protest, to ask him to stay. He wants to stay. His hand on the doorknob, he pauses.
“Don’t.” A single word, but it slices through the air like a blade. Azriel will take anything over silence.
He looks back at you. “You want me to stay?”, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t come back.” You don’t raise your voice. You don’t need to. The way he stills—like a blade just missed him—tells you he heard every syllable. He always hears you, but never truly listens. The fire crackles in front of you, the only true witness to your unraveling.
Azriel doesn’t move. Not at first.
His fingers tighten on the doorknob, knuckles white. He turns, slowly, his expression unreadable in the firelight, shadows casting strange patterns over the planes of it. He looks like a half-formed creature. A man unmade.
Even his shadows—those watchful things usually swirling at his feet, who used to curl at your ankles like a prayer—have gone still.
You don’t move. Your stillness a statement etched into silence. Only your thumb moves, rubbing over a small scar on your arm—one he once kissed on the balcony under the watchful eyes of the stars.
“You don’t mean that.” His wings twitch, pulling taut behind him like they’re ready to fight or flee. It’s instinct, born out of panic. He speaks like a man grasping at smoke, refusing to believe the fire is already gone, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides.
You laugh. Quiet. Bitter. “I do.”
He steps toward you again, cautious, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. His shadows stir restlessly at his boots again, rising like mist—like they want to crawl to you and beg on his behalf.
“Don’t. Just—” you sigh, your gaze fixed on the fire. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“You’re tired. It’s been a long day—”
“Azriel, this isn’t about today.” Your voice cracks. Barely. But it’s enough for Azriel to stiffen up. His shadows flicker towards you, a subconscious extension of him. “It’s about every night you come only to forget. When your shadows get too heavy, when Mor’s name echoes in the marrow of your bones and her silence hollows out your chest. I’m the only thing that quiets the ache, and you made me think that mattered.”
He flinches slightly, as if your words struck him. He looks like he wants to deny it. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
His shadows reach towards you as you stand, like the arms of a child grabbing his mother’s legs, but the moment they brush your skin, you flinch. They recoil instantly. Your eyes catch the firelight, reflecting something raw.
“I want more than this, Azriel. I want to be more than a body you come to when the world outside is too heavy for you to hold. I want to be more than the arms you fall into because hers were never open for you.”
His mouth parts, but the words don’t come. Fingers flex at his sides, again, and again, as if he’s grasping at a phantom thing—hope, maybe.
“I want to matter to someone, you can understand that,” You take a step towards him, “Can’t you?”
“You matter, Y/n. Gods, of course you matter.”
“Do I? When’s the last time you stayed past sunrise? When’s the last time you asked me how my day went? Gods, when’s the last time we just talked? Have you noticed we never do anything anymore? You show up when it’s dark, we have sex, and then, when you think I’m asleep, you slip out before the sun can catch you, like a thief in the night.” Tears sting your eyes. Your throat burns. “If I matter so much, why did I have to keep a drawer full of your apologies to remind myself that I did?”
Your blood was pumping now, as warm as the fire in the hearth. He stares at you, devastated, his wings drooping slightly, edges folding inward as if trying to retreat into himself.
“I want something real. Not borrowed. Not broken. Someone I don’t have to beg for. I deserve better. I can’t be your band-aid, I can’t patch up the hollow Mor left behind. Not anymore”
“That’s not fair,” he breathes, “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?”
“I think you don’t know what hurt means if you think you can keep showing up like this without expecting something to break inside me every time.”
“I care about you.”
“Not enough. Never enough. You care just enough to keep me close, but never enough to stay.”
“I can’t stay. Not the way you want me to.” his voice trembles now, the mask beginning to slip. “Not because you’re not worth it, but because I don’t know how.”
“And I can’t keep being convenient,” you whisper. “I can’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm, when you never even look back to see what you’ve burned down.”
Azriel’s face twists—anger, grief, desperation. “I can change. I will. I just—just give me time.”
Your eyes soften at the underlying fear in his eyes. Fear of losing you. “You’ve had years. I waited. I made excuses. I begged the stars—your stars—to carve me into something worthy of you. I told myself if I stayed long enough, if I gave enough of myself, you’d see me.”
“I do,” he says quickly, voice breaking. “Gods, I do—”
“No, Azriel. You’ve never seen me, not really. You see the comfort, the warmth, the silence. But you never see me. I don’t think you ever really knew me. I’ve never been more than the one patching you up, physically or more.” Your voice sharpens, edges slicing open all the tenderness that once filled the space between you. “You say you can’t get attached. That you’re not ready. That you’re broken. And I swallowed every excuse like it was love, because admitting the truth meant admitting I didn’t matter.”
He takes a shaky breath, steps forward like he's walking through a war zone. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know how to—”
“Then why didn’t you let me go?” you ask, voice trembling. “Why did you keep coming back if you knew you’d never stay?”
His lips part, but you already know he has no answer. One shadow inches forward, then pulls back, as if ashamed.
“I gave you time Azriel, so much time. But you never changed. You just wanted the comfort I brought.”
The quiet between you hums with something unspoken. Something final.
“I accepted this, and accepted whatever scraps you could give me, because having part of you felt better than none of you. I thought I could earn your love, and that someday eventually maybe,” you look away, a tear rolling down your cheek, glistening in the firelight, “maybe you’d want me back. Want me the way I wanted you.”
He flinches.
“I do want you. Please, I can’t lose you.” He takes a step towards you, he’s shaking now “I know I’ve been distant but please—”, another step, “Please don’t do this.” Another step. He’s standing in front of you now, one hand lifts, but he doesn’t touch you. Can’t touch you. His shadows have wrapped tightly around his fingers—restraining him. Protecting you. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length I wouldn’t fall, but I did. Gods I did, I’ve been falling for years, I just couldn’t see it.”
His voice is unrecognizable—raw, and desperate. Even his shadows writhe, unsettled, as if they too can’t bear to watch this scene unfold. Your heart twists. Gods, it wants to believe him, but you don’t let it win. You can’t.
You take a shaky breath, letting the silence stretch. Your eyes fall to Azriel’s shadows, coiled around his wrist like shackles, begging him to stop, afraid he’ll step too far and break you beyond repair. “You aren’t in love with me Azriel, you’re in love with the way I make you feel—safe.” Your voice drops to a whisper, “And I deserve to be loved for all of me. Not just the parts that make your pain easier to bear.”
His hand drops.
“Please, love, I—I coudn’t let myself. I was scared, scared to fuck up. Scared to lose you.” He’s unraveling in front of you, you can tell. And some small, cruel part of you is glad. Glad because now he knows what it feels like.
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing slightly, “You never had me to lose. Not really.”
He flinches, not in anger, but in grief. His wings droop fully now, sagging like something sacred just slipped from his grasp.
“Please, tell me what I can do,” His eyes are wide—marked by raw desperation. “I’ll do anything, just don’t shut me out.”
“Az,” you look him in the eyes for what feels like the first time tonight, the familiar nickname rolls of your tongue, the only mercy you can give him now. “I can’t do this anymore, please.”
You take a step towards him, towards the door. He staggers back, like he’s been hit by an arrow, eyes wide. “No,” he whispers, his voice dripping with agony, “No... no, please. Not now. Please.” He’s rubbing his chest now, but you’ve walked past him, finally reaching the door.
Your hand lingers above the doorknob, hesitation seeping into your mind. Shadows swarm around your ankles, trying to hold you in place, as if they too have felt the shift in the air.
“I love you,” he breathes, voice raw. “I love you, and I was too much of a coward to say it before but gods I swear to you—I do. I didn’t let myself admit it because I thought love made you weak, and I couldn’t afford to be—but you make me want to be. You make me want everything I was afraid of.”
You risk a look at him above your shoulder. His eyes are glistening, a rogue tear on the soft skin of his cheek. You feel the pull, your heart yearning to go to him. To touch him. But you can’t.
“I’ll stay” he pleads. “Every morning. And I’ll come through the front door, like a man who has nothing to hide. And I’ll hold your hand in public. Let everyone know you’re mine.” A step for every sentence that drops from his mouth.
He’s behind you now, and you turn to face him, ‘One last time’, you tell yourself. His hands cradle your face softly, like he’s afraid if he holds you too tight you’ll vanish. “Azriel—”
“I’ll stop hiding,” he says, desperate now. “I’ll fight for this—for you. Just… please. Don’t walk away. Not now. Not when I finally see you.”
Gods, part of you wants to fall. Wants to believe him. Wants to collapse into the arms that were always safe, even when the heart behind them wasn’t.
But you can’t.
Not anymore.
You turn your face away from him, you can’t stand to look at him when you know you’re going to break him. You don’t miss the way his hands tremble against your skin before he drops them back to his sides, your rejection echoing in his bones.
“I can’t, Azriel. Not when I’ve spent so long loving someone who didn’t want me. I gave you everything I had. I broke myself apart and used the pieces to help fix the parts of you you thought were broken. I have nothing left to give. Not now. Maybe never.” Your voice is trembling, but you keep going. “Go home Azriel, please…”
You look at the shadows one final time. The same shadows that sat in the corner of your office, watching, just in case something went wrong. The same shadows that played with your hair, that turned the pages of your books, and that pulled a blanket over you every time you fell asleep on the couch. His shadows—your quiet companions, your silent protectors. They held you when he couldn’t. When he wouldn’t.
“Please.” You whisper is a plea. No longer addressed to the man you held you only in the dark, but to his shadows, who knew you needed light.
Your front door creaks open. A clear message. A parting gift from the ones who kept you company. Azriel looks above your head, at the door, opening his mouth to say something, but whatever he sees behind you must change his mind.
He looks back at you, his eyes heavy with words unspoken, but you only turn away, not to the door, but away. Towards your room. Your future. You don’t look back as you walk away. One foot in front of the other. You can feel his eyes on your back, watching you walk away from him, but he lets you—a small mercy.
As you reach the first step, you pause, whispering a ‘thank you’. You start up the stairs, then pause again. Another whisper, “Goodbye, Azriel.”
Tag list (for those who requested it <3) : @littlepippilongstocking @coc4aine @starryhiraeth @sheblogs @booksbypisces @alexof90s @cherry-hotline @betseloteee @the-one-fiestyfeline @asiriusmistake
Never enough (part 2) - Azriel x situationship!reader
Author's note : sooooo, i don't know how i feel about this, the editing was done at 2am because I leave for my holiday tomorrow and I wanted to finish this part before i left (so if you see any grammar/spelling mistakes, no you don't). I don't know if it's the end, or not, because I still have so many ideas i could expand on from this story, but i don't know if you guys would want that or not (so definitely tell me what you think of this piece)
Warnings : a few swear words i think, very tired editing, possible spelling/grammar mistakes, + english is not my first language (please keep it in mind lol)
Word count : 2.6k
Blurb : Reader and Az have been in a situationship for a while, and she's tired of being seen as nothing more than sex. (part 2)
part one
“Hey.”
You don’t turn, not at first. Once, the sound of his voice would’ve made your heart leap. Now, it lands like a weight on bruised ribs. His voice echoes in the silence of your apartment—and in the hollow of your heart. The word lingers in the air like smoke from a dying flame—thick, bitter unspoken. You stay facing the fire, arms folded around yourself, as if that could hold you together. Your fingers dig into your sleeves, anchoring you. If you move, you might just unravel.
The silence stretches between you. Not tense, just heavy, tired. Familiar, like the dull ache of an old wound you thought had healed.
He takes another step towards the sofa. You hear it—the creak of the floorboard, the scuff of his boots against the rug.
“You weren’t at the clinic today,” his voice is soft, tentative. Careful. As if even now, he’s afraid to step too close.
You don’t look at him, but your spine straightens, stiff with defense. “You used the window.” It’s not a question, nor is it marred by surprise or anger. A statement. He had used the window, as if you were something shameful, hidden behind curtains and shadow. Windows were for secrets—not for lovers.
A pause. Then, quietly, “You didn’t answer the door.”
“I know.”
The silence stretches, thick and aching. The fire in the hearth crackles behind the silence. The shadows around you flicker with it, but not his. His shadows stay still, as if they know. As if they, too, are holding their breath.
You think, maybe, if you stay quiet long enough he’ll leave. Maybe silence will do what words never could. He’ll understand that something in you has broken and can only be fixed by his absence. But he doesn’t leave.
His scent reaches you before he does, a storm of memories you wish you could erase, curling around you like smoke. He stops in front of the sofa, close enough for you to see his boots. Close enough for you to feel his presence in your bones.
“I’m tired, Azriel.”
You see it hit him, the way his name—his full name—slices the air between you. You haven’t called him Azriel in years. Not since he first smiled at you, with something close to affection, and asked you to call him Az.
His jaw clenches. One hand rises to rake through his hair but drops halfway, limp with hesitation. His shadows stir uneasily, curling around his ankles, as if bracing for a fall.
“I’m sorry I just thought- I mean, your lights were on-” He stops, looking at you for a few seconds, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He waits for you to speak, but you don’t, preferring to stare at the fire that burns in your fireplace, mirroring the burn in your eyes as the tears start to rise.
Azriel turns, heading for the door, slowly, deliberately, as if giving you the time to protest, to ask him to stay. He wants to stay. His hand on the doorknob, he pauses.
“Don’t.” A single word, but it slices through the air like a blade. Azriel will take anything over silence.
He looks back at you. “You want me to stay?”, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t come back.” You don’t raise your voice. You don’t need to. The way he stills—like a blade just missed him—tells you he heard every syllable. He always hears you, but never truly listens. The fire crackles in front of you, the only true witness to your unraveling.
Azriel doesn’t move. Not at first.
His fingers tighten on the doorknob, knuckles white. He turns, slowly, his expression unreadable in the firelight, shadows casting strange patterns over the planes of it. He looks like a half-formed creature. A man unmade.
Even his shadows—those watchful things usually swirling at his feet, who used to curl at your ankles like a prayer—have gone still.
You don’t move. Your stillness a statement etched into silence. Only your thumb moves, rubbing over a small scar on your arm—one he once kissed on the balcony under the watchful eyes of the stars.
“You don’t mean that.” His wings twitch, pulling taut behind him like they’re ready to fight or flee. It’s instinct, born out of panic. He speaks like a man grasping at smoke, refusing to believe the fire is already gone, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides.
You laugh. Quiet. Bitter. “I do.”
He steps toward you again, cautious, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. His shadows stir restlessly at his boots again, rising like mist—like they want to crawl to you and beg on his behalf.
“Don’t. Just—” you sigh, your gaze fixed on the fire. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“You’re tired. It’s been a long day—”
“Azriel, this isn’t about today.” Your voice cracks. Barely. But it’s enough for Azriel to stiffen up. His shadows flicker towards you, a subconscious extension of him. “It’s about every night you come only to forget. When your shadows get too heavy, when Mor’s name echoes in the marrow of your bones and her silence hollows out your chest. I’m the only thing that quiets the ache, and you made me think that mattered.”
He flinches slightly, as if your words struck him. He looks like he wants to deny it. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
His shadows reach towards you as you stand, like the arms of a child grabbing his mother’s legs, but the moment they brush your skin, you flinch. They recoil instantly. Your eyes catch the firelight, reflecting something raw.
“I want more than this, Azriel. I want to be more than a body you come to when the world outside is too heavy for you to hold. I want to be more than the arms you fall into because hers were never open for you.”
His mouth parts, but the words don’t come. Fingers flex at his sides, again, and again, as if he’s grasping at a phantom thing—hope, maybe.
“I want to matter to someone, you can understand that,” You take a step towards him, “Can’t you?”
“You matter, Y/n. Gods, of course you matter.”
“Do I? When’s the last time you stayed past sunrise? When’s the last time you asked me how my day went? Gods, when’s the last time we just talked? Have you noticed we never do anything anymore? You show up when it’s dark, we have sex, and then, when you think I’m asleep, you slip out before the sun can catch you, like a thief in the night.” Tears sting your eyes. Your throat burns. “If I matter so much, why did I have to keep a drawer full of your apologies to remind myself that I did?”
Your blood was pumping now, as warm as the fire in the hearth. He stares at you, devastated, his wings drooping slightly, edges folding inward as if trying to retreat into himself.
“I want something real. Not borrowed. Not broken. Someone I don’t have to beg for. I deserve better. I can’t be your band-aid, I can’t patch up the hollow Mor left behind. Not anymore”
“That’s not fair,” he breathes, “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?”
“I think you don’t know what hurt means if you think you can keep showing up like this without expecting something to break inside me every time.”
“I care about you.”
“Not enough. Never enough. You care just enough to keep me close, but never enough to stay.”
“I can’t stay. Not the way you want me to.” his voice trembles now, the mask beginning to slip. “Not because you’re not worth it, but because I don’t know how.”
“And I can’t keep being convenient,” you whisper. “I can’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm, when you never even look back to see what you’ve burned down.”
Azriel’s face twists—anger, grief, desperation. “I can change. I will. I just—just give me time.”
Your eyes soften at the underlying fear in his eyes. Fear of losing you. “You’ve had years. I waited. I made excuses. I begged the stars—your stars—to carve me into something worthy of you. I told myself if I stayed long enough, if I gave enough of myself, you’d see me.”
“I do,” he says quickly, voice breaking. “Gods, I do—”
“No, Azriel. You’ve never seen me, not really. You see the comfort, the warmth, the silence. But you never see me. I don’t think you ever really knew me. I’ve never been more than the one patching you up, physically or more.” Your voice sharpens, edges slicing open all the tenderness that once filled the space between you. “You say you can’t get attached. That you’re not ready. That you’re broken. And I swallowed every excuse like it was love, because admitting the truth meant admitting I didn’t matter.”
He takes a shaky breath, steps forward like he's walking through a war zone. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know how to—”
“Then why didn’t you let me go?” you ask, voice trembling. “Why did you keep coming back if you knew you’d never stay?”
His lips part, but you already know he has no answer. One shadow inches forward, then pulls back, as if ashamed.
“I gave you time Azriel, so much time. But you never changed. You just wanted the comfort I brought.”
The quiet between you hums with something unspoken. Something final.
“I accepted this, and accepted whatever scraps you could give me, because having part of you felt better than none of you. I thought I could earn your love, and that someday eventually maybe,” you look away, a tear rolling down your cheek, glistening in the firelight, “maybe you’d want me back. Want me the way I wanted you.”
He flinches.
“I do want you. Please, I can’t lose you.” He takes a step towards you, he’s shaking now “I know I’ve been distant but please—”, another step, “Please don’t do this.” Another step. He’s standing in front of you now, one hand lifts, but he doesn’t touch you. Can’t touch you. His shadows have wrapped tightly around his fingers—restraining him. Protecting you. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length I wouldn’t fall, but I did. Gods I did, I’ve been falling for years, I just couldn’t see it.”
His voice is unrecognizable—raw, and desperate. Even his shadows writhe, unsettled, as if they too can’t bear to watch this scene unfold. Your heart twists. Gods, it wants to believe him, but you don’t let it win. You can’t.
You take a shaky breath, letting the silence stretch. Your eyes fall to Azriel’s shadows, coiled around his wrist like shackles, begging him to stop, afraid he’ll step too far and break you beyond repair. “You aren’t in love with me Azriel, you’re in love with the way I make you feel—safe.” Your voice drops to a whisper, “And I deserve to be loved for all of me. Not just the parts that make your pain easier to bear.”
His hand drops.
“Please, love, I—I coudn’t let myself. I was scared, scared to fuck up. Scared to lose you.” He’s unraveling in front of you, you can tell. And some small, cruel part of you is glad. Glad because now he knows what it feels like.
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing slightly, “You never had me to lose. Not really.”
He flinches, not in anger, but in grief. His wings droop fully now, sagging like something sacred just slipped from his grasp.
“Please, tell me what I can do,” His eyes are wide—marked by raw desperation. “I’ll do anything, just don’t shut me out.”
“Az,” you look him in the eyes for what feels like the first time tonight, the familiar nickname rolls of your tongue, the only mercy you can give him now. “I can’t do this anymore, please.”
You take a step towards him, towards the door. He staggers back, like he’s been hit by an arrow, eyes wide. “No,” he whispers, his voice dripping with agony, “No... no, please. Not now. Please.” He’s rubbing his chest now, but you’ve walked past him, finally reaching the door.
Your hand lingers above the doorknob, hesitation seeping into your mind. Shadows swarm around your ankles, trying to hold you in place, as if they too have felt the shift in the air.
“I love you,” he breathes, voice raw. “I love you, and I was too much of a coward to say it before but gods I swear to you—I do. I didn’t let myself admit it because I thought love made you weak, and I couldn’t afford to be—but you make me want to be. You make me want everything I was afraid of.”
You risk a look at him above your shoulder. His eyes are glistening, a rogue tear on the soft skin of his cheek. You feel the pull, your heart yearning to go to him. To touch him. But you can’t.
“I’ll stay” he pleads. “Every morning. And I’ll come through the front door, like a man who has nothing to hide. And I’ll hold your hand in public. Let everyone know you’re mine.” A step for every sentence that drops from his mouth.
He’s behind you now, and you turn to face him, ‘One last time’, you tell yourself. His hands cradle your face softly, like he’s afraid if he holds you too tight you’ll vanish. “Azriel—”
“I’ll stop hiding,” he says, desperate now. “I’ll fight for this—for you. Just… please. Don’t walk away. Not now. Not when I finally see you.”
Gods, part of you wants to fall. Wants to believe him. Wants to collapse into the arms that were always safe, even when the heart behind them wasn’t.
But you can’t.
Not anymore.
You turn your face away from him, you can’t stand to look at him when you know you’re going to break him. You don’t miss the way his hands tremble against your skin before he drops them back to his sides, your rejection echoing in his bones.
“I can’t, Azriel. Not when I’ve spent so long loving someone who didn’t want me. I gave you everything I had. I broke myself apart and used the pieces to help fix the parts of you you thought were broken. I have nothing left to give. Not now. Maybe never.” Your voice is trembling, but you keep going. “Go home Azriel, please…”
You look at the shadows one final time. The same shadows that sat in the corner of your office, watching, just in case something went wrong. The same shadows that played with your hair, that turned the pages of your books, and that pulled a blanket over you every time you fell asleep on the couch. His shadows—your quiet companions, your silent protectors. They held you when he couldn’t. When he wouldn’t.
“Please.” You whisper is a plea. No longer addressed to the man you held you only in the dark, but to his shadows, who knew you needed light.
Your front door creaks open. A clear message. A parting gift from the ones who kept you company. Azriel looks above your head, at the door, opening his mouth to say something, but whatever he sees behind you must change his mind.
He looks back at you, his eyes heavy with words unspoken, but you only turn away, not to the door, but away. Towards your room. Your future. You don’t look back as you walk away. One foot in front of the other. You can feel his eyes on your back, watching you walk away from him, but he lets you—a small mercy.
As you reach the first step, you pause, whispering a ‘thank you’. You start up the stairs, then pause again. Another whisper, “Goodbye, Azriel.”
Author’s note : hi so i did in-fact disappear, but here’s a bit of angst to make up for the fact that i never finished writing anything. this is greatly inspired by conversations I’ve actually had with men so, yeah. when life gives you a man, throw a chair at them—at this point, it’ll have less consequences. No joke, have not been this inspired or found it this easy to write in ages. Conclusion, hating european men feeds female inspiration.
Word count : 1.4k — this is a short piece, but i’m gonna write the confrontation at some point (i have to plan what to say to my situationship but trust this will help me clear my thoughts so it will be written like tomorrow)
Blurb : Reader and Az have been in a situationship for a while, and she’s tired of being seen as nothing more than sex.
The knock on your door is no surprise. It never is. He always shows up at your door after a mission, like muscle memory. You never know where he’s been, or what shadows may have followed him home, but you know he’ll always come to you, like a ghost haunting the only place that still feels real.
Azriel had told you once that you made him forget the blood on his hands, the weight of lives taken, the cost of his loyalty to the Night Court. That you were the breath between battles. A place of comfort in a life made of blades and shadows. You used to think that meant something. To you, it had meant everything. And you—foolish, desperate you—had let that be enough. You were never his home. You were his escape. And you, desperate to matter to someone, mistook that for love.
But years had passed, seasons had shifted, and somewhere along the way, you became nothing more than a secret kept between crumpled sheets and the silence of his shadows. The hope you’d had, once bright, had long drowned quietly in the tears you never let him see.
Some might call it friends with benefits. But friendship requires tenderness, and benefits suggest mutual gain. This was neither. Not anymore.
Years ago, maybe—before he became Azriel the Shadowsinger, before the titles, before the shadows stuck to him like second skin, turning him into a man you could barely recognize, a man carved from silence and steel. Before, back when he was just Azriel, the wounded Illyrian warrior who had stumbled into your garden, you had been friends, real friends. You could still recall the day he showed up on your front porch, in torn leathers and bleeding all over the wooden floor. You’d always had a soft heart, and healer’s hands, and had never been able to turn away a wounded creature, so, you had let him in. Patched him up. Listened.
After that, he kept coming back. Wounded, quiet, and with invisible scars that ran so deep not even your powers could erase them. Yet you kept patching him up, thread by thread, every time he showed up on your doorstep, until his eyes were a little less dull and his heart a little less heavy. Until one night, he showed up, asking you to come to Velaris with him, to fill the healer’s position that had opened in the clinic.
You were young. Hopeful. Foolish. When he opened the door to a new city and a new life, you had stepped through it, like a girl chasing a dream that didn’t quite belong to her.
Your first night in Velaris should have been the beginning of something new. Instead, it was the start of a slow unraveling, of a thread you didn’t realize had already begun to fray.
He found you as you were closing the clinic, pulling you close with a sideways smile, eyes alight with mischief and something gentler hidden underneath, whispering something about dancing and celebrating. And you, naive little thing, had followed him to Rita’s like a moth drawn to light.
You danced in his arms, your laughter tangling with his, and got drunk not just on the wine, but on the illusion of being wanted. Of being seen. And when he leaned in with a boyish grin, whispering sweet nothings into your hair, you had let yourself believe it meant more than it did. You let him kiss you like a man starving, let him tilt your world off its axis, and when he asked if you wanted to go home, with him, you said yes. You didn’t know he’d vanish at dawn.
In the morning light, you found a note, and a box of lemon pastries—your favorite. A parting gift you pretended was truly affection.
‘I’m so sorry, something came up and I had to go meet Rhys, but I’ll stop by the clinic later today! I had a great time last night, I’ll see you later today - Az’.
You had smiled when you read it, ate a pastry, and told yourself that it was just a one time thing. That he’d come back. That it mattered. That you mattered.
The note still lives in a box at the back of your cupboard, along with every other sign of hope you never let go—apologies scribbled on torn pieces of napkins, pressed petals from a bouquet he gave you, coasters from a bar you went to a few times. You could never bring yourself to truly let go or throw away the crumbs of a man you never stayed long enough to become yours, as if keeping them could somehow make the nights last longer.
Azriel doesn’t leave you notes anymore. He just slips out at dawn, assuming you’ll understand, assuming you’ll be there the next time he knocks.
You always are.
But it’s not his fault, not entirely. You were the one who had agreed to this arrangement. You let him draw the lines and stepped carefully within them, obedient, quiet, letting him carve out a space for you in the margins of his life, because part of Azriel, even miniscule, was better than none, or so you thought.
You can still remember that day in the park. The feeling of the tree trunk digging into your skin. The bite of the cold against your hands. The way the breeze played with the loose strand of hair he tucked behind your ear, as he whispered, “I think, in other circumstances, you and I could have—no, would have—worked, but I just can’t get attached to anyone. Not right now.” As if saying it made the truth less cruel.
His hand on your cheek. His thumb stroking your skin. He mumbled something about Mor. It was always about Mor. Not that you could blame him.
Him pulling you closer, shielding you from the cold. He spoke with a sigh, something about not having the time for anything serious, about not being able to settle down, about not having strong feelings for you, but that that could change with time.
You had listened to him explain that he still wanted to see you when he could, but that you were allowed to see other people, even if he admitted he didn’t truly want you to. You had said nothing, swallowed every tear, every insult. You had let him set the rules, and then you had lived inside them like a bird in a gilded cage.
You waited. For change. For him. You had let him convince you time would allow his feelings to catch up with yours. You thought affection would grow with effort, that love could be coaxed. That if you stayed long enough, that if you were good enough, he would finally see you. But dinners and nights out turned into quiet nights in. Conversations turned into sex. And eventually, the soft moments and looks disappeared as well.
Now he comes only in darkness, barely leaving the shadows, and leaves before the sun can catch him, when he thinks you’re asleep, even if you’re only pretending so you don’t have to watch him leave.
You had locked all your feelings away, along with the crumbs of intimacy and the hopes that one day he would truly see you. But his scent still clings to your sheets, like the last moments of a dream cling to your mind. His touch lives in your skin, like ink that won’t wash off, no matter how many times you scrub until your skin turns raw.
You ache in places no one sees. A slow, persistent agony that wears the face you can’t help but love. The kind of pain that knocks twice a week and never stays, but never truly leaves.
And tonight, once again, Azriel knocks. Like he always does. Like you always knew he would. Only tonight, you don’t rise to let him back into your life. The knock echoes through your apartment, met only by silence. He knows you’re home. And you know him well enough to know he won’t stay outside forever. Still, you don’t open the door.
The floorboards of your living room creak behind you. A scent that once meant comfort, that once meant hope, now brings nothing but suffering as it reaches you. A sigh, another creak of the floorboards. You don’t turn. You don’t breathe. You feel him behind you, the ghost, the man who never stays. Then, quietly, almost as if he wishes you couldn’t hear him, he says, “Hey.”
i kind of died sorry lol, did not think i would survive the semester (thank you freud) but here i am.
i'm still working on like the olympics inspired acotar fics, but i also had another idea and i cannot get it out of my head so i need to xrite it before it disappears into oblivion :
picture this, modern AU where reader is a close friend of mor's who works on her family ranch/farm, and mor asks for a favor cos rhys needs a job to prove to his dad he's capable of working. reader agrees, and rhys also asks if him and his brothers (who are also in a band lol) can work as well bc they need money to fund the band that his father refuses to provide for.
so we have city!batboys meet ranch!reader, specifically cityboy!azriel meets ranch!reader. azriel, who streetraced motorcycles in high school to make ends meet because he refused to have rhys help him, who falls head over heels (bc we love men that yearn) for reader, but also angsty bc technically they're only there for the summer so reader isn't convinced that he actually likes her, fin bref, i can't get it out of my head.
like ranch!cassian is just *chef's kiss* and azriel being kind of awkward but good with animals and the animals hating rhys and him being so jealous of az for it
Blurb : You run into Azriel in the Olympic village and he can't seem to get you off his mind, but when you see him again you are convinced the handsome guy with amber eyes doesn't like you, so you go out of your way to avoid him. (Part 2)
Word count : 1.6k (sorry it's short but i'm having issues and hopefully i write the rest soon!)
Author's Note: so ummmmm... i kind of died sorry. Uni is kicking my ass physically, and men are kicking my ass emotionnally so i have not been able to write for ages, so yeah sorry about that. but hopefully i'm backkkk.
warnings : english is not my first language so please excuse any/all grammar errors, not entirely proofread, swearing, and i think that's it honestly
lemme know if I missed any and I'll add them ! hope it's okay and that you enjoyyyy !
-~~-
Azriel didn’t understand. One minute you were smiling and waving at him, and the next you were avoiding him. It had started a few days ago, on the day he had bumped into you for the first time.
When he had looked around the cafeteria to see where Amren had gone, the last thing he had expected was to see her sitting at what he assumed was your table. He was convinced the odds had been in his favor for once, because what were the odds of him seeing you again after that morning, considering the number of athletes and volunteers? Azriel would never admit this to anyone, especially Amren, but he was glad she was seeing her Varian, considering it allowed him to figure out who you were.
You were wearing your Olympic team colors this time, and he recognized the different shades of teal, blue, and white as belonging to Summer. He still didn’t know what sport you competed in, or even your name, but he would. Somehow he would find out.
You had turned to see what everyone at your table was talking about, and your eyes had met his, and he swore he was drowning in them. You looked so innocent compared to him and his mangled hands, and when you smiled at him, something tightened in his stomach. Although he was drawn to you, Azriel was certain nothing could ever happen between the two of you.
He had watched as you waved hello, and he had felt himself grow flustered. You were most likely just trying to be polite, but he had wanted it to mean something, and he still wanted it to mean something. You had clearly waved hello to him, and not to the whole table, or maybe he was imagining things. Before he could even think of smiling back, you had turned back to your table, and away from him. Gods he was stupid. Of course you were just being polite by saying hello. You probably hadn’t even thought twice about running into him that morning, yet he couldn’t get you out of his mind.
He felt someone slap him on the back, and he snapped out of his daydream.
“Well I’ll be damned, has a girl truly rendered our Shadow speechless? Our little Az is all grown up.” He turned to Cassian as he heard him speak, and watched as he wiped away a fake tear and wrapped his arms around him.
“I’m older than you asshole,” he tried to push the man’s arms off him but it was no use. He felt his cheeks grow red as the whole table joined in on the teasing.
“Awh look he’s blushing, isn’t that cute!”
“Nesta I swear to the Mother you better sleep with one eye open tonight.” Gods why wouldn’t they leave him alone?
He felt Rhys reach to pinch his cheeks, and he finally broke out of Cassian’s hold to swat his hand away, “Can you all fuck off?”
Azriel looked back toward you as his table broke into laughter, and he saw you quickly glance back at him before quickly turning back to your table.
Nesta, Mor, and Feyre, whose backs had originally been facing towards you, had all turned around to see exactly who they had been talking about and had very clearly seen you glance at them, at him.
Mor gave him a small smirk, “Well isn’t she pretty? If you won’t talk to her Az, I will.” She made a move to stand up, and he shot out of his seat, “Mor…”
His tone said enough, and all his friends began laughing again, before Cass pushed him, “Well go on loverboy, we’re watching you.”
He started walking towards your table, at least to get away from his friends, but he had no idea what he was doing. What did he say? Did he apologize for running into you this morning? Or just hello? Why were you making him so nervous?
Before he could even think about what to say, he watched you get up and say something to your table and walk away, not sparing a single glance back at them, or him.
-~~-
That had been days ago, and he still had no idea who you were. He had barely seen you in the cafeteria since. Every time they walked in, you were quick to finish your meal and walk out, and he hadn’t run into you again. It was driving him mad, and his friends had all noticed.
He had wanted to ask Amren about you because clearly she knew you, or at least knew your name, but he didn’t want to do it in front of everyone. Even if they could see something was bothering him, he didn’t want to admit that it was a girl.
Nothing had ever destabilized him like this before. Azriel was known for being calm, controlled, and never letting his emotions take control or make him act rashly. Even on the field, people always said they could see that he was always analyzing, and plotting whatever moves the team should be making
But now, he was distracted, even at practice. Why were you always on his mind and why did he not want you to leave his mind, even if you were throwing him off his center?
He swore luck was on his side for once when he entered the cafeteria for breakfast and saw Amren sitting alone at a table. She looked up and raised an eyebrow as she saw him approach slowly and sit in front of her.
“Sooo, Amren. How are you this morning?” He hoped she was in a good mood, or at least a good enough mood so that he could finally get some answers.
“What do you want, batboy?”
“What? Nothing! I just wanted to know how you were doing.” The stare he received in response told him she absolutely did not believe him, and with a sigh, he asked “Who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“Amren.”
“Azriel.”
He sighed again, “The girl from Summer, you know the one who sits at your table every time you eat with Varian.”
He saw her smirk and Azriel knew he was never going to hear the end of this. “Oh, you mean Y/n? You should have been more specific from the start.” She knew exactly who he had been talking about, of course, but it was a rare occasion to be able to tease Azriel, let alone about a girl, so, of course, she had to take it.
“Yes yes okay, so, Y/n? Tell me about her.”
“Why?”
“Amren please.”
“Wow, begging? This is a new look for you.”
Before Azriel could even think of a response, he heard Cassian’s laughter, and knew his friends were about to join them, prompting him to throw Amren a look that clearly said ‘Don’t mention this.’ All he got in response was a smirk.
-~~-
You’d never been this stressed before. You were lucky enough to qualify to compete in multiple events, but that meant you had multiple heats to go through. You really wanted to at least make it to the finals, to at least have a chance to compete for the win, but that meant having the best scores in the heat round, in the semi-finals, and then ideally in the finals, which technically was only three things, but that didn’t make it any easier.
You had two events today, women’s 400m freestyle heat, and then the final tonight if you ranked high enough this morning, and you truly hoped you did well as it would set the pace for the rest of your competitions.
You had walked into the cafeteria to grab a quick breakfast before going back to the pool, going over your coach’s latest comments in your mind, when you heard someone call out your name, and recognized the voice as Amren. Turning around to find her, you saw her sitting at an empty table. Well almost empty, save the man you had been avoiding for days. She waved you over, and you didn’t want to seem impolite, so you grabbed your apple and cup of tea before heading over to where they were sat.
“Hey, Amren, how are you?” You plastered on a small smile, hoping you would be able to go as soon as possible because as much as you appreciated Amren, you hadn’t spent days avoiding the man sitting in front of her and convincing yourself you didn’t care about him and his friends laughing at you just to fall back in again and start caring.
“I’m great, have you met Azriel before? He’s on the rugby sevens team for Velaris,” she spoke while raising a hand towards the man, prompting you to look at him. You did, and found him already staring at you.
You gave him a small smile and a small nod in greeting, “Nice to meet you Azriel,” you looked back at Amren, “Look, it was nice to see you, but I kind of have to-”
“You should join us! We almost never talk at dinner,” she shooed Azriel, “Az move over so she can sit. Come on Y/n, sit.” The look she gave you didn’t really give you the option to disagree, so you gave a small sigh and sat down next to the man, Azriel she had said, and prayed to the Mother you were not about to go through the most awkward breakfast of your life.
Medals and Misunderstandings - an ACOTAR Olympics AU
Azriel x swimmer!reader
Blurb : You run into Azriel in the Olympic village and he can't seem to get you off his mind, but when you see him again you are convinced the handsome guy with amber eyes doesn't like you, so you go out of your way to avoid him. (Part 1)
Author's Note: AHHHHH here is the first part of my Olympics inspired Acotar AU. I will most likely do multiple short series or oneshots for different characters (if you have any ideas/ requests please send them in), and I will most definitely write a second part for this, I just wanted to get this first part out before overthinking it and disappearing from the face of the Earth! This is my first time writing fanfiction for ACOTAR, and my first time writing fanfiction in a long time (live, laugh, love the inspiration draught), so please don't expect me to turn into Jane Austen. Other than that, hope you enjoy !!
warnings : english is not my first language so please excuse any/all grammar errors, not entirely proofread, slight mentions of injury, slight mentions of burn scars (Az's hands), swearing, reading thinking people are laughing at her
lemme know if I missed any and I'll add them !
-~~-
You couldn’t believe your alarm hadn’t rang. You thought back to the night, before when you had set it to make sure you would have enough time for breakfast before practice, as you ran to exit the Olympic Village. The good news was that the pool wasn’t too far from the village, but as you looked back at your watch you felt your panic rise. No matter how close the pool was, you were still very late, and you knew your coach would be extremely angry when you showed up.
Before you could even contemplate what she would say to you, you felt yourself run head-first into something, and the next thing you knew you were sprawled out on the pavement. Pain shot up your spine at the impact, and you were grateful you had packed painkillers in your bag last night.
A hand appeared in front of you, to help you up you assumed. As if your morning couldn’t go any worse, of course you had to run head first into someone. You looked up as you grabbed the hand held out to you, and your eyes fell on what you were sure had to be one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. He helped you up with a sheepish smile, but all you could focus on was his eyes, like pools of molten gold.
The stranger cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, I should have been more focused on where I was going, are you alright?”
His deep, slightly raspy voice broke you out of your daydream, and you realized in panic that you were still extremely late to practice. You grabbed your bag that had fallen off your shoulder when you ended up on the floor, and looked back at him before spluttering “I’m okay, um, it was my fault really, I was the one running and I-”, your phone ringing in your pocket, most likely your coach, told you that it was really time to get to practice, “I have to go, sorry!”
You were already running as you uttered your apology, leaving behind the mysteriously attractive man with honey eyes, and heading to practice, where you were certain to get an earful from your coach.
-~~-
As Azriel walked back to the cafeteria to grab breakfast with his teammates, he couldn’t help but think of the girl he had run into this morning. Well, technically, the girl who ran into him. He had gone for an early morning walk to clear his head of the nightmares that had plagued him and had made it impossible for him to get enough sleep, when you had barreled into him at full speed. He hadn’t seen you coming, and before he could react you were on the floor in front of him. He had hesitated before holding his hand out to help you up, the burn marks on his hands often causing people to avoid touching him as though he carried some sort of disease, yet you had grabbed it without a second thought and let him pull you up.
Maybe you hadn’t noticed, or just didn’t care, but your reaction had caused him to falter slightly. You had run off about as quickly as you had run into him, and you would probably not think twice about him today, but he couldn’t seem to get you off his mind. You had looked so effortlessly beautiful, with your hair up, and your slightly red cheeks, although he wasn’t sure if it was from running or embarrassment. Were you an athlete? Or maybe a volunteer?
Azriel didn’t have much more time to think about who you were as he had already made it to the cafeteria, and he saw two of his teammates and friends sitting while waiting for him. He sat next to Cassian, who passed him a black coffee and a few slices of toast that he had grabbed, knowing that Azriel didn’t like anything too complicated for breakfast. He gave a small smile at how well the man knew him before sipping on his coffee.
His mind once again drifted back to you, as he listened to Cassian rant about his girlfriend, Nesta. He hadn’t recognized the colors you were wearing, but maybe you had decided to wear something other than your olympian uniform, which made finding out who you were a lot more complicated. There were thousands of athletes participating in the games this year, and even more volunteers, what were the odds of him running into you again?
Azriel could feel someone’s eyes on him, and looked up to find Rhys, another teammate and his team captain, looking at him with a calculating gaze. Cassian, who had stopped talking when he realized neither man was listening to him complain about how much time his girlfriend spent reading instead of with him, whined, “How come you guys never care when I’m having relationship problems?”
Azriel and Rhys both let out a laugh. They were used to his dramatics of course, having grown up together, but that never made his reactions any less entertaining. Before he could complain any more, Rhys shot him a look before turning back to Azriel. “What’s on your mind, Az?”
He wasn’t sure how Rhys knew something was bothering him. He had always been able to see when Azriel had something on his mind, even if Azriel was convinced he didn’t show it, almost as though he could read his mind. But then again, they had known each other for years, and were incredibly in tune with each other, which is why all three of them worked so well on the field, or perhaps Azriel just wasn’t as discrete as he had always thought he was.
“Nothing’s bothering me, I’m just a little tired I guess,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders.
He could see Rhys’ eyes narrow as he looked over his face. Whatever he saw convinced him to drop the subject, but he sent Azriel a look that very clearly told him that the conversion was not over. Cassian must have sensed that the conversation would not go any further, and broke all seriousness as he exclaimed, “Now can we get back to the matter at hand? Nesta loves her books more than she loves me!” and sent the two other men into a laughing fit.
-~~-
You had underestimated how angry your coach would be because of your tardiness. Not only had she yelled so loud you were certain everyone within five kilometers of the pool had heard her, she had also pushed you a lot harder; more core strength exercises that had left your abs throbbing, and so many more laps than she usually made you do. You were already slightly sore when you had sat with Tarquin at dinner, but you were sure tomorrow it would be much worse.
Varian and Cresseida had joined the two of you about twenty minutes ago with their food, as you guys had been doing since the Olympics had begun a few days ago, and were currently arguing over who the faster runner was. It was a silly argument, considering neither of them were runners, and you were pretty sure the only time you had seen Cresseida run was when there was a sale in one of her favorite shops. Suddenly, the table fell quiet and a cocky smile appeared on Varian’s face, and you knew exactly who had approached your table.
It was a routine by now; Tarquin, Varian, Cresseida and you would sit down for dinner all together, and half way through, Amren, Varian’s girlfriend or something of the sort at least, would join. No one truly knew what those two were, and your questions remained unanswered everytime you brought it up, but everyone knew they were something and that was enough.
You turned your head to give her a small smile, which she answered with a slight nod towards you before heading to sit next to Varian. She often came off as quite cold and disinterested, but you had grown to see beyond her facade over the years of her “dating” your friend, and had also grown to appreciate her calm presence, a big contrast to Varian’s ever present energy.
The two broke off into their own conversation, so you turned back to your other friends, who were already looking at you. They exchanged a quick look and before you could try and detect what they had communicated in that instant, Tarquin looked back at you, “So how badly did you get rammed into this morning by Coach Claire?”
Cresseida was quick to reach across the table to smack his arm, “You fucking idiot, we said we would ease into it! God, I should have known you would be useless,” her irritated tone softened when you sighed and she asked, “You okay Y/n? We all know how bad she can be…”
“Yeah I’m fine, don’t worry. I think she’s just stressed, you know? And I know she expects perfection at every moment of every day, but god it’s exhausting. Plus I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow.”
Both your friends smiled in compassion. It was no secret how strict Coach Claire was, and how much she valued perfection above all. You were just glad your qualifying rounds didn’t start tomorrow, as it would give you a bit more time to overcome the soreness that was slowly increasing in your legs.
You all turned to Amren and Varian when you heard her scoff and throw up a middle finger to another table in the cafeteria. “I swear if they don’t stop staring I’m going over there and hitting all three of them. Any time I sit with anyone else they take it so personally as if I’m not allowed to have a life that doesn’t revolve around them.” Amren shook her head and you heard her mutter “Illyrian babies” under her breath, which prompted you to turn and see what table she was talking about.
Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met with the honey-colored eyes of the stranger you bumped into this morning, sitting between two other guys. You took the opportunity to look him over, as you hadn’t had much time when you had seen him earlier. He had messy black hair that kind of flopped over his forehead, as though he often passed a hand through it in frustration, or when he was thinking, and he was buff. You expected him to be, considering you thought you had run into a streetlight when you ran into him, but still, he was more buff than you had thought. His arms were huge, and when you mentally compared them to yours, you found the image ridiculous. Your eyes drifted over his chest, where his dark navy blue, almost dark purple, shirt stretched, and you narrowed your eyes to try and read the silver writing you could see on his top. Velaris.
So he represented Velaris? Just like Amren then. Velaris was pretty well known across the United Courts of Prythian, and although it belonged to Night, it often participated in competitions as an independent federation. You looked back at his face and offered him a small smile, all while raising your hand in greeting. Although you were very embarrassed about your encounter this morning, it was no reason to be rude, especially if these were people that Amren was close to.
You felt your cheeks redden in embarrassment when he simply stared at you with those amber eyes, and did not smile back, or even give an indication that he recognized you. You quickly turned back to your table, slightly humiliated. Cresseida raised an eyebrow as she looked at you, clearly having seen the interaction go down, and you simply shook your head as your cheeks became even more red.
A boisterous laugh broke out somewhere behind you, and you instinctively glanced at the table where you knew the Velaris athletes were sitting, and your humiliation only worsened. The laugh belonged to the man sat on the right of the one you had run into, and you noted that although your mysterious stranger was buff, the one laughing was somehow even more muscular, and had more of a rugged look. The one on the other side was also laughing, although his laughter was more controlled. The five girls, three of which had originally been facing away from you, were all looking at your table, no, they were all looking at you, and to make matters worse, the stranger from that morning was still looking at you, but you knew he recognized you.
Your eyes quickly shifted to the hands that were in your lap, and you found yourself playing with your ring to avoid focusing on the burning slowly growing in your eyes. Were they really laughing at you? You wanted to say they weren’t, but considering they were all looking at you, the odds really weren’t in your favor. Okay so maybe bumping into him this morning had been embarrassing, but was it really that bad? Or perhaps they were laughing at your humiliating attempt to be nice and saying hello. Or maybe your hair looked like a bird’s nest. Did you have something in your teeth? God why had no one told you you looked bad when you had arrived at dinner. You knew you should have made more of an effort, but practice had been so exhausting that you truly didn’t have the energy.
You blinked back the tears as you felt someone put their hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Y/n what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Tarquin. You met his blue eyes and gave him the best smile you could muster, despite the turmoil in your head. “I’m just sore, I think I’m gonna go to bed early,” you pushed yourself out of your chair and gave them all a small smile, choosing to ignore the concerned look on everyone’s faces, “Goodnight guys, see you tomorrow,” and walked out of the cafeteria, to go find sanctuary in your room, without a single glance back to your table.
A single glance would have shown you Azriel’s beet-red face as he stood up from his table to escape his friends mocking him, and would have shown you Azriel heading to your table, as if to talk to you. But you did not look back, and as you lay in bed that night, thinking back to the mysterious athlete from Velaris, you decided that it was okay if he didn’t like you, and it was okay if they had all laughed at your expense. You were at the Olympics and would not let anyone, especially a man, ruin that experience for you.
-~~-~~-
And voilaaaa the first part! Please do tell me what you think and what you thought!
@julesvanslutta i wasn't sure if you wanted me to tag you for a specific character or not, but here you go !
okay so i made a new account purely to write this : acotar x olympics au. i keep seeing olympics content and i cannot get it out of my head.
feyre as an archer. the batboys as rugby sevens players maybe. or cass as wrestling or judo, az as a speed needing sport (like running bc i just picture him as always moving so fast). nesta and the valkyries as some combat sport, or fencing, or even nesta as artistic gymnastics (from her love of dancing). amren i don’t actually know. mor maybe gymnastics ? elain only going in support of her family. summer court being the best swimmers or divers. eris and lucien competing together in a sport. helion as a commentator.
the olympic village. night court and spring court rivalry. velaris and illyria competing as independent federations and being extremely competitive and aggressive when the face each other.
azriel x reader as an olympic couple, or based on the swedish athlete breaking his pole vaulting world record and running straight into his girlfriend’s arms.
eris x doctor!reader when he gets injured during a game, and his dad is getting mad because he didn’t do as well as he was supposed to. (he’s also his coach).
elain going to support her sisters, but seeing lucien “fire in his veins” almost glowing when he wins, throwing her a truly happy smile, makes her reconsider going out with him.
even amren and varian. varian winning, amren being in the stands, him running and lifting her up, and her pretending she hates it but breaks into a small smile and every camera is turned towards them because amren “the ancient one”, the coldest athlete in ages, has never been seen smiling.
nesta “lady death” because she never loses a match.
rhys being the son of some well known athlete and everyone expecting him to try and live up and compete with him, but he purposefully chose a different sport because the last thing he wants is to end up like his father.
the batboys working so well as a team and the team is their true family.
rhys proposing to feyre like the chinese badminton athletes.
the archeron sisters celebrating together.
helion and lucien content.
please tell me someone has written something or i will. it’s not a want it’s a need.
