Lucien And Eris>>> @vanserrasimp - Tumblr Blog

it's nice to have a friend (3)

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: alcohol intoxication, vomiting (brief, from the alcohol), reader has some possessive thoughts sue her, some grinding?, language, more angst and yearning I'm sorryyy

word count: 9.6k

synopsis: Azriel was always meant to be yours.

trope: childhood friends to lovers

part 1 ~ part 2

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

“Let me guess,” a low and familiar voice murmured into your ear. You fumbled with the jewel crested knife, nearly slicing your palm in your attempt to catch it. “Not flashy enough?”

You cast a sheepish smile to the merchant glowering at you behind the table before carefully setting the knife down. You twisted around to glare at Azriel, whose eyes danced with mischief. “It’s not for me, you ass,” you grumbled, stepping away from the table to continue weaving through the merchant stalls.

Azriel easily fell into step beside you. “Oh, I know,” he said. “You have a habit of gift shopping at the last minute.”

You merely cast him a sideways glance, knowing you had no defense. You half-heartedly examined a pair of leather gloves on another table, rubbing the fabric between your fingers before placing it back down. Really, how could you find a unique gift for a male that you had spent centuries of birthdays with?

“So, what are you thinking?” Azriel asked, walking beside you as you perused the tables.

You shrugged. “What did you get him?”

Azriel’s silence made you glance up, your eyes narrowing as Azriel toyed with a pair of gloves in a rotten shade of chartreuse. You forced out a disbelieving laugh, indignation licking at your spine. “You have to be kidding me,” you said. Azriel’s ministrations over the fabric paused. “You ignored me for four days, and now you want my help?”

shadowdaddiesclub

The Things We Left Unsaid - Pt 1

Azriel x Reader Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Jealousy Part 2

Twenty years ago, you left Velaris with no intention of ever returning. When Rhysand's wedding invitation arrives, you convince yourself you can endure one night beneath familiar stars. One night among old friends. One night in the same room as the male you spent centuries loving and decades trying to forget. You were dead wrong.

Returning home had not been on your bingo card.

When you had left Velaris all those years ago, you had done so with every intention of ensuring it would be a very long, very merciful stretch of time before you ever set foot in the City of Starlight again. Not because you hated it. If anything, that had been the cruelest part. Velaris had never been the sort of place one could hate easily, not when its river caught the stars each night as though the sky itself had spilled into the Sidra, not when music drifted from open windows in the Rainbow and laughter carried through streets that had once known your footsteps better than any road in the world. Velaris had been beautiful. Velaris had been safe. Velaris had been home in a way no court, no palace, no kingdom across the sea had ever managed to become after you left.

And home, unfortunately, had teeth.

It was not the city itself that had driven you away, though for years you had allowed people to believe that because it was easier than explaining the truth. It was easier to let them imagine wanderlust, ambition, restlessness, politics—anything other than the fact that you had crossed oceans because remaining here had begun to feel like pressing your fingers into an open wound and pretending you did not bleed every time you saw him.

Azriel.

Even thinking his name after all this time felt like reaching toward a flame you had once mistaken for warmth.

When Rhysand’s wedding invitation had arrived several weeks ago, sealed in dark wax and marked with the crest of the Night Court, you had stared at it for nearly an hour before gathering the courage to open it. You had known, even before reading the elegant words written inside, that you would come. Rhys was your friend, one of the oldest and dearest pieces of a life you had tried so desperately to fold away, and if he had found the sort of happiness people wrote songs about and built legends around, then you would stand beneath whatever sky he chose and smile for him. You would be glad. You were glad. Truly, painfully glad.

Yet the moment your fingers had brushed the parchment, something had stirred beneath your skin.

Lightning.

It had gathered at your fingertips in thin, restless threads, a quiet pulse of silver-white heat crawling over your knuckles as though your power had recognized the danger before your mind had allowed itself to name it. You had closed your fist until your nails bit into your palm and forced the storm back into the hollow spaces of your bones, but even then, even months ago, some part of you had understood that returning to Velaris would not be a simple act of friendship. It would be an excavation. A reopening. A walking willingly into a room full of ghosts and pretending none of them still knew your name.

Now, standing on one of the House of Wind’s marble terraces with the wedding celebration glowing behind you and the whole city stretched beneath you in impossible beauty, you wished you had listened to whatever warning your magic had tried to give.

Nothing had changed.

That was what made it unbearable.

The Sidra still shimmered below, winding through Velaris like liquid starlight. Lanterns still glowed along the streets. Music still rose from the celebration behind you, soft and warm and full of joy, mingling with the murmur of voices and the occasional burst of laughter from guests who had no idea that you were gripping the balcony railing as though it were the only thing keeping you from splitting apart. The mountains still stood dark and eternal beyond the city, cradling it in their ancient arms, and above them the stars burned with the same devastating brilliance you remembered from a hundred nights spent telling yourself you would leave soon, that you would stop waiting soon, that one day loving Azriel would become something distant and survivable.

It should have comforted you to find Velaris unchanged.

Instead, it made your chest ache with a grief so sharp it felt almost humiliating.

Because the city had remained exactly as it was while you had spent twenty years learning how to exist without it.

Without him.

“Gods, you look like you’re about to throw yourself into the Sidra.”

Dorian’s voice slid into the quiet beside you, smooth and amused and far too aware, and you turned your head just enough to glare at him.

He only smiled, stepping closer until his shoulder nearly brushed yours, the moonlight catching the elegant lines of his face and the dark sweep of his hair. There had been a time, years ago, when Dorian’s smile had made you forget how much you hurt. There had even been a time when both of you had tried to believe that friendship might become something easier, something safer, something that did not involve bleeding out over a male half a world away. It had not worked, of course, because Dorian had been too clever and you had been too haunted, and eventually you had both laughed about the failure over too much wine and settled into something far rarer than romance.

He knew you.

Worse, he understood you.

“It is a wedding,” he reminded you, leaning his forearms against the railing as though the sight of the city was merely pleasant and not currently carving you open. “A happy event, from what I have gathered. People do occasionally smile at those.”

“I am smiling.”

“You look like you’re attending a funeral.”

You rolled your eyes, though the gesture lacked any real force. “I brought you here as moral support, not as commentary.”

“I can multitask.”

You glared at him, then smiled with all your teeth, "That's better."

"It wasn't a smile."

"It was close enough."

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched.

Dorian immediately pointed.

"There she is."

"Shut up."

His laughter echoed softly between you.

His shoulder bumped yours lightly, and the familiarity of it loosened something in your chest for half a breath before the pressure beneath your skin surged again. Dorian must have felt it, because his amusement faded just enough for concern to slip through. The air around the terrace had begun to shift, the warmth of the evening sharpening with the electric promise of a storm not yet visible in the sky. You hated that he noticed. You hated that anyone could notice, but your magic had always been the most honest thing about you, even when you wished it would learn the value of silence.

Storms gathered easiest when your emotions escaped your control.

Anger, fear, grief, longing—your power did not care which wound had been touched. It answered all of them the same way. Lightning in your veins. Pressure in the air. Clouds drawn over clear skies like curtains pulled across a stage. You had spent centuries mastering it, had learned how to call thunder with a flick of your wrist and split battlefields apart with a single raised hand. Men had trembled before that power. Courts had whispered about it. There were kings beyond the sea who still spoke your name like a warning.

Yet for all your strength, you had never fully mastered the curse hidden inside it.

You could hide your thoughts. You could school your face into perfect indifference. You could lie so sweetly that even ancient creatures believed you.

But the sky always knew.

And tonight, the sky was listening far too closely.

Dorian’s hand found yours beneath the fall of your sleeve, his fingers warm around your cold ones, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles with the steady patience of someone coaxing a frightened animal back from the edge of flight. “Breathe,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You looked away from him, toward the city, because his kindness made the ache worse. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Yes, but correct.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched, and Dorian’s smile returned faintly, though it did not reach his eyes this time. “If you want to leave, we can leave. I’ll offend someone important on our way out if you need a convincing reason.”

The offer settled between you with surprising heaviness.

Leave.

For a heartbeat, the temptation was so strong you nearly turned toward the door.

You could leave before the ceremony became the reception, before the old faces found you, before Rhys pulled you into a hug and made you feel guilty for staying away, before Mor cried and Cassian shouted your name across a room, before Amren looked you over and said something dreadful and accurate. You could leave before the true danger found you.

Because while Rhysand’s wedding was the reason you had returned to Velaris, it was not the reason your hands would not stop shaking.

Dorian knew it.

You knew it.

And if anyone from your old life looked at you closely enough tonight, they would know it too.

Your gaze drifted to the stars above the terrace, and the sight of them almost undid you. You had forgotten, somehow, how Velaris made the sky feel close enough to touch. Across the sea, there had been beautiful places, glittering courts and ancient cities and ports where the sun bled gold into the water every evening, but none of them had ever managed to make the stars feel like old friends. Here, they seemed to look back at you. Here, they remembered.

Gods, you had missed them.

That was the first betrayal of the night.

The second came when you realized that missing Velaris still felt painfully similar to missing him.

The ceremony itself was beautiful, which was almost cruel.

Rhys had never looked happier. You had known him through arrogance and grief and war, had seen him wearing power like armor and sorrow like a second skin, yet nothing in all your years of friendship had prepared you for the expression on his face when Feyre walked toward him. It softened him completely. Not weakened him, never that, but changed him. He looked like a male who had finally found a place to set down the weight of centuries, and Feyre, radiant beneath the glow of lanterns and starlight, looked at him as though she had no intention of letting him carry it alone ever again.

You had smiled for them.

You had meant it.

Yet beneath the happiness, beneath the warmth spreading through the gathered court as vows were spoken and rings were exchanged, something old shifted inside you with slow, aching cruelty. Once, a very long time ago, before pride and silence and cowardice had turned wanting into a weapon, you had imagined what it might be like to be looked at that way. Not by just anyone. You had not wanted just anyone. That had always been the problem.

By the time the celebration moved fully into the night and guests spilled across the terrace with glasses of wine and laughter bright on their tongues, your nerves had become a living thing beneath your skin. You turned toward Dorian, intending to say something sharp enough to distract yourself from the hollow place behind your ribs, and then the world stopped.

Not poetically.

Not gently.

It simply stopped.

Because across the terrace, half-hidden between a cluster of guests and a spill of golden faelight, stood Azriel.

Your body recognized him before your mind could protect you.

The betrayal was immediate and total.

Your breath caught so sharply that it hurt. Your fingers tightened around your glass until the stem nearly cracked. Every sound around you dulled at once, the music and laughter and conversation falling away as though the entire celebration had been plunged beneath water, and suddenly there was only the impossible distance between you and the male you had spent twenty years trying not to love.

He looked exactly as you remembered him.

No, worse.

He looked like memory had been kind to you, and reality had arrived to punish you for surviving it.

Time had sharpened him, carving new edges into a face already too beautiful for mercy. A scar you did not recognize cut faintly above one dark brow, pale against the warm brown of his skin. His hair was longer than it had been when you left, falling with careless elegance over his forehead, and he was not wearing his leathers tonight, not the familiar armor that had always made him look like something forged for violence. The dark formal jacket he wore instead should have softened him.

It did not.

If anything, it made the sight of him more devastating.

He still wore his siphons.

The blue stones gleamed faintly at his hands, and for one breath—one foolish, impossible breath—you thought they flared when his eyes found yours.

Azriel went utterly still.

Not simply paused.

Stilled.

As though every muscle in his body had forgotten its purpose.

His expression did not change at first, and perhaps that was what hurt the most, because you knew that face. You knew the mask he wore when feeling too much would be dangerous. You knew the quiet, controlled nothingness he offered the world when something inside him had moved too violently to be trusted in public. But then, beneath that restraint, something flickered. Shock first. Not surprise. Shock. A raw, unguarded fracture in the careful lines of his face. Then relief, so brief and terrible that it made your heart twist. Then something deeper, something that disappeared so quickly you almost convinced yourself it had never been there at all.

Longing.

The word formed in your mind before you could stop it.

You hated yourself for it.

Hated the way your heart stumbled toward him, stupid and loyal and apparently untouched by the passing of decades. Hated the warmth that spread through your chest at the sight of him alive and whole and looking at you as though you had stepped out of some dream he had never admitted to having. Hated the small, traitorous part of you that whispered that perhaps time had been cruel to him too. That perhaps you had not been the only one who carried the ghost of what might have been.

Twenty years, and still your body reacted to him as though no time had passed at all.

That was the third betrayal.

Azriel had not moved.

Neither had you.

The crowd flowed between you, laughing and brushing past with glasses of wine and bright wedding smiles, but the two of you remained caught in a silence that felt separate from the rest of the world. His gaze traveled over your face with such careful intensity that it almost felt like touch. Not polite observation. Not casual recognition. He looked at you as though he were trying to reconcile memory with reality, as though he had imagined this moment often enough to know exactly how it would ruin him and still found himself unprepared.

You wondered if he could hear your heart.

Because you could feel it everywhere.

In your throat.

In your wrists.

In the restless lightning gathering beneath your skin.

A distant rumble rolled across the mountains.

Dorian, standing beside you, followed your gaze and went quiet in a way he almost never did. For once, he did not immediately make a joke. He simply studied Azriel for a long moment, then leaned closer and murmured, “I assume that is him.”

You could not answer.

Dorian glanced at the sky as another low growl of thunder moved over the city. “Right,” he said softly, and though there was still a trace of humor in his voice, it had gentled around the edges. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You should have looked away.

You did not.

Across the terrace, Azriel finally moved.

A single step.

Then another.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Not rushed enough to betray eagerness, not hesitant enough to suggest doubt. He crossed the space between you with the same controlled grace you remembered from battlefields and council rooms and quiet hallways long after midnight, but the closer he came, the more you saw the truth beneath the calm. His shadows had gone unnervingly still around him. Not absent. Not quite. They hovered at his shoulders and wrists like creatures holding their breath.

Your stomach dropped.

You had imagined seeing him again more times than you cared to admit. In some versions, you were cold. In others, cruel. Sometimes you said everything you had swallowed twenty years ago. Sometimes he apologized. Sometimes he did not. Sometimes you left before he could speak at all.

Not one of those imagined conversations survived the sight of him walking toward you.

Beside you, Dorian shifted, his hand still loosely holding yours. “If you need me to fake an illness, I can collapse beautifully.”

The absurdity of it should not have made you laugh.

It did.

Only briefly. Only softly. But the sound escaped before you could catch it, and unfortunately, Azriel arrived close enough to hear.

His gaze snapped to your mouth.

To the fading curve of your smile.

Something darkened in his eyes.

Not anger. Not exactly.

Something older and uglier and far more possessive than he had any right to feel.

The silence that followed stretched until even Dorian seemed to sense that joking now would be unwise.

Up close, the years became both kinder and crueler. You could see the faint lines at the corners of Azriel’s eyes, the new scars, the subtle silver threading near his temples, the way the shadows curled tighter against him as though they knew something their master refused to say. He was older. Harder, perhaps. More tired in ways only someone who had once known him well would notice.

And still, devastatingly, Azriel.

Your chest ached so fiercely that for a moment you feared your magic would answer it.

His eyes did not leave your face.

As though he were afraid that if he looked away, even for a heartbeat, you would disappear again.

“Hi,” he said at last.

One word.

So simple it should not have undone you.

But his voice was rougher than you remembered, lower somehow, and there was something caught inside it that made every careful defense you had built over the years shift uneasily.

You swallowed. “Hi, Azriel.”

His name felt dangerous on your tongue.

Familiar in the worst possible way.

It summoned too much. Every argument that had not truly been an argument. Every glance held a moment too long. Every near-confession buried beneath duty or fear or pride. Every Solstice night, every training ring, every brush of his shadows against your wrist when he thought you were not paying attention. Memory rushed through you so quickly that you almost swayed beneath it.

Azriel noticed, of course he did.

Nothing had ever escaped him, least of all you.

His eyes softened by a fraction, and the softness hurt more than indifference would have. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

There were too many things hidden beneath the words.

I looked for you. I wondered. I hoped. I was afraid you wouldn’t.

You heard all of them and trusted none of them.

“Of course I came,” you replied, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s Rhys.”

For a moment, Azriel said nothing.

His gaze stayed on yours, steady and unreadable, but something tightened near his jaw.

As though that had not been the answer he wanted.

As though there had been another answer he had hoped for, one neither of you had earned the right to say aloud.

Dorian cleared his throat gently, not because he was uncomfortable, you realized, but because he could feel the pressure thickening in the air. The storm had gathered faster than you intended. Somewhere above the House of Wind, clouds were beginning to smother the stars.

Right.

Dorian.

You dragged yourself back to the present and glanced between them, suddenly aware of Dorian’s hand still loosely around yours. “Azriel, this is Dorian.”

Azriel’s gaze lowered.

Not dramatically.

Not openly.

But enough.

His attention landed on the place where Dorian’s fingers touched yours, and something in the space around him sharpened. The shadows at his shoulders stirred for the first time since he had crossed the terrace. One slid down his arm like spilled ink, vanishing before it reached his hand, but not before you saw the slight flare of his siphons.

There.

A crack.

Small enough that anyone else might miss it.

Large enough to make your heart twist with cruel satisfaction.

“Azriel,” he said, extending a hand.

Dorian accepted it easily, his expression open and pleasant in the way it became when he had already learned everything he needed to know from a single glance. “Dorian.”

Azriel’s grip looked controlled.

Too controlled.

“Prince,” he said, and though the word was perfectly polite, you knew Azriel well enough to hear the blade hidden beneath it.

Dorian only chuckled, either unaware or deliberately pretending to be. “Just Dorian is fine. I try not to lead with the title unless I need someone intimidated, impressed, or deeply bored.”

Azriel did not smile.

Dorian did.

You nearly loved him for it.

The atmosphere grew heavier anyway, the air pressing against your lungs as though the storm above had begun descending toward the terrace. Dorian glanced upward, then back at you with the faintest raise of his brow. “You know, in most courts, this would be considered a weather concern.”

Before you could answer, movement behind Azriel caught your eye.

A female approached through the crowd, and your stomach sank before you could understand why.

She was beautiful in the sort of effortless way that felt unfair. Not dazzling. Not striking. Simply beautiful. The kind of beauty people trusted immediately. Long chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, and laughter still lingered in her eyes from whatever conversation she had just left behind.

She looked kind.

Gods, that almost made it worse.

Because she didn't carry herself like someone trying to impress Azriel.

She carried herself like someone who already knew she belonged near him.

That, more than anything, was what struck you first.

Not her beauty.

Not the way people turned slightly as she passed.

The ease.

The familiarity.

Azriel sensed her before she reached him.

You saw it happen.

A slight turn of his head.

A subtle shift in his stance.

Not much.

Never much with him.

But enough to tell you that he had expected her presence, or at least was no longer surprised by it.

Something cold moved through you.

The female smiled at him first, bright and gentle, then looked to you with curiosity blooming across her face. She seemed kind. That was the worst part. There was nothing sharp or cruel in her expression, no calculation, no triumph. Only interest and warmth and a faint excitement that made you feel suddenly, viciously ashamed of the bitterness already rising in your throat.

Azriel looked between you, and for the first time all evening, he seemed uncertain.

Not outwardly.

Not enough for Dorian to notice, perhaps.

But you noticed.

You noticed everything about him, even now, especially now.

“Y/N,” Azriel said carefully, and the caution in his voice made the cold inside you spread. “This is Selene.”

The pause before he continued was brief.

Tiny.

Almost nothing.

It wounded you anyway.

“Selene, this is Y/N.”

Selene's face lit with recognition. “Oh,” she breathed, stepping closer before you had time to prepare yourself. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

The words struck with ridiculous force.

Heard so much about you.

You looked at Azriel before you could stop yourself.

What had he told her?

What version of you had survived twenty years inside his mouth?

Had he told her you were an old friend?

A former ally?

A mistake?

A woman who had once been stupid enough to refuse a necklace because accepting it would have meant admitting she wanted more than he was ready to give?

The questions rose like thorns, but Selene had already reached for your hands with a smile so genuine that you forced yourself to meet it. Her fingers were warm around yours, her delight painfully sincere, and you hated that your first instinct was to search her face for evidence of things she had not done to you.

None of this was her fault.

You knew that.

The knowledge did not soften the ache.

“I’m glad to finally meet you,” she said, still smiling. “Azriel never says much, but when he does, people tend to listen.”

You could not help the faint, humorless curve of your mouth. “That sounds like him.”

Azriel’s attention flicked to you, swift and sharp.

For a heartbeat, something like memory passed between you.

Then your gaze dropped.

Not intentionally.

Not meaning to find anything.

But it did.

The delicate chain rested against Selene's throat like a secret made visible, the stone at its center catching a sliver of faelight and throwing it back in a soft, familiar gleam.

Your entire body went still.

No.

For a moment, your mind refused to understand what your eyes had already recognized.

The shape.

The setting.

The small, almost hidden detail at the clasp that you had once touched with trembling fingers beneath Solstice lights, staring at the gift Azriel had placed before you with that careful, guarded expression that had made you want to cry even then.

The necklace.

Your necklace.

No.

Not yours.

That was the cruelty of it, wasn’t it?

It had never been yours.

You had not taken it.

You had looked at the beautiful thing he offered you and seen every unspoken word between you reflected in the stone, every possibility, every danger, every reason accepting it might shatter whatever fragile thing you had been pretending not to feel. So you had pushed it back toward him with a smile you still remembered hating and told him it was too much.

You had meant: I am terrified of what this means.

He had heard: I do not want it.

And now it rested against Selene's skin as though it belonged there.

As though it had found a home after you refused to be one.

The terrace tilted beneath your feet.

Or perhaps you did.

Dorian’s hand tightened around yours.

Azriel saw exactly where you were looking.

You knew the moment he realized.

It happened quickly, but not quickly enough. His face changed, the mask slipping in a way so brief and devastating that you almost wished it had not happened at all. Regret flashed across his features first, naked and immediate. Then pain. Then something that looked dangerously close to panic.

Too late.

The thought arrived with such quiet cruelty that it nearly made you laugh.

Too late, Azriel.

Because there it was.

The answer to a question you had spent twenty years pretending you were not still asking.

You had been stupid.

Unbelievably, humiliatingly stupid.

Some secret, stubborn part of you had come back to Velaris believing that perhaps distance had lied. That perhaps the years had not buried everything. That perhaps, when you saw him again, there might be something left between you worth aching over.

And perhaps there was.

Perhaps that was the worst part.

Because Azriel was looking at you as though you had just found the knife he had forgotten was still buried in your chest.

His mouth parted. “Y/N—”

“No.”

The word left you softly.

Too softly.

Not angry. Not sharp.

Worse.

Calm.

Painfully calm.

The sort of calm that never truly meant peace. The sort that arrived when the clouds had already gathered and the storm was only deciding where to strike first.

Selene glanced between you, confusion dimming some of the brightness in her eyes, and guilt lanced through you so quickly you almost flinched. She did not deserve this. She did not deserve the storm gathering above your head or the venom sitting beneath your tongue. Whatever Azriel had done, whatever history had led to this moment, she had merely walked into a wound she had not known existed.

So you smiled at her.

Truly smiled, even if it cost you something.

“It’s lovely to meet you.”

Her answering smile was smaller now, uncertain but kind. “You too.”

Then you looked at Azriel.

Really looked at him.

At the male you had loved too long and hated too poorly.

At the shadows curling anxiously near his wrists.

At the siphons glowing faintly again, betraying what his face was desperately trying to conceal.

At the regret in his eyes, deep and immediate and useless.

Your smile did not falter.

“Nice necklace.”

The words were polite.

Pleasant, even.

Anyone listening might have mistaken them for a compliment.

Azriel heard the funeral.

You saw it in his face, in the way something behind his eyes went utterly still, in the tiny, helpless movement of his hand as though he meant to reach for you and had finally remembered he no longer had the right.

Dorian moved before you had to ask.

His fingers laced with yours properly this time, not possessive, not performative, simply steady, and you let him guide you back toward the open doors where light and music spilled from the celebration inside. You did not look away from Azriel as you passed him. Not once. You held his gaze with every shard of anger and misery and old love still burning inside you, because if he was going to watch you walk away again, then you wanted him to understand exactly what he had placed around another female’s neck.

Behind you, the first crack of lightning split the sky over Velaris.

The thunder followed a heartbeat later, violent enough to silence the terrace.

And when the storm finally broke above the House of Wind, you did not need to turn around to know that Azriel was still standing exactly where you had left him.

---

A/n : well well well, the ansgt is BACK !! I loved writing this part, I had this idea for such a long time ! Hope you enjoyed it 💙

I pictured our sweet Dorian from TOG, so just think of his face here 🤪

I don't know if I'll turn in into a serie yet, let me know !

UPDATE : PART 2 IS HERE

MAIN TAGLIST : @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @spookypersondinosaur @sunmoonsweets @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

#HELLO??#This is incredible

shadowdaddiesclub

The Things We Left Unsaid - Pt 1

Azriel x Reader Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Jealousy Part 2

Returning home had not been on your bingo card.

And home, unfortunately, had teeth.

Azriel.

Even thinking his name after all this time felt like reaching toward a flame you had once mistaken for warmth.

Yet the moment your fingers had brushed the parchment, something had stirred beneath your skin.

Lightning.

Nothing had changed.

That was what made it unbearable.

It should have comforted you to find Velaris unchanged.

Instead, it made your chest ache with a grief so sharp it felt almost humiliating.

Because the city had remained exactly as it was while you had spent twenty years learning how to exist without it.

Without him.

“Gods, you look like you’re about to throw yourself into the Sidra.”

Dorian’s voice slid into the quiet beside you, smooth and amused and far too aware, and you turned your head just enough to glare at him.

He knew you.

Worse, he understood you.

“I am smiling.”

“You look like you’re attending a funeral.”

You rolled your eyes, though the gesture lacked any real force. “I brought you here as moral support, not as commentary.”

“I can multitask.”

You glared at him, then smiled with all your teeth, "That's better."

"It wasn't a smile."

"It was close enough."

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched.

Dorian immediately pointed.

"There she is."

"Shut up."

His laughter echoed softly between you.

Storms gathered easiest when your emotions escaped your control.

Yet for all your strength, you had never fully mastered the curse hidden inside it.

You could hide your thoughts. You could school your face into perfect indifference. You could lie so sweetly that even ancient creatures believed you.

But the sky always knew.

And tonight, the sky was listening far too closely.

You looked away from him, toward the city, because his kindness made the ache worse. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Yes, but correct.”

The offer settled between you with surprising heaviness.

Leave.

For a heartbeat, the temptation was so strong you nearly turned toward the door.

Because while Rhysand’s wedding was the reason you had returned to Velaris, it was not the reason your hands would not stop shaking.

Dorian knew it.

You knew it.

And if anyone from your old life looked at you closely enough tonight, they would know it too.

Gods, you had missed them.

That was the first betrayal of the night.

The second came when you realized that missing Velaris still felt painfully similar to missing him.

The ceremony itself was beautiful, which was almost cruel.

You had smiled for them.

You had meant it.

Not poetically.

Not gently.

It simply stopped.

Because across the terrace, half-hidden between a cluster of guests and a spill of golden faelight, stood Azriel.

Your body recognized him before your mind could protect you.

The betrayal was immediate and total.

He looked exactly as you remembered him.

No, worse.

He looked like memory had been kind to you, and reality had arrived to punish you for surviving it.

It did not.

If anything, it made the sight of him more devastating.

He still wore his siphons.

The blue stones gleamed faintly at his hands, and for one breath—one foolish, impossible breath—you thought they flared when his eyes found yours.

Azriel went utterly still.

Not simply paused.

Stilled.

As though every muscle in his body had forgotten its purpose.

Longing.

The word formed in your mind before you could stop it.

You hated yourself for it.

Twenty years, and still your body reacted to him as though no time had passed at all.

That was the third betrayal.

Azriel had not moved.

Neither had you.

You wondered if he could hear your heart.

Because you could feel it everywhere.

In your throat.

In your wrists.

In the restless lightning gathering beneath your skin.

A distant rumble rolled across the mountains.

You could not answer.

You should have looked away.

You did not.

Across the terrace, Azriel finally moved.

A single step.

Then another.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Your stomach dropped.

Not one of those imagined conversations survived the sight of him walking toward you.

Beside you, Dorian shifted, his hand still loosely holding yours. “If you need me to fake an illness, I can collapse beautifully.”

The absurdity of it should not have made you laugh.

It did.

Only briefly. Only softly. But the sound escaped before you could catch it, and unfortunately, Azriel arrived close enough to hear.

His gaze snapped to your mouth.

To the fading curve of your smile.

Something darkened in his eyes.

Not anger. Not exactly.

Something older and uglier and far more possessive than he had any right to feel.

The silence that followed stretched until even Dorian seemed to sense that joking now would be unwise.

And still, devastatingly, Azriel.

Your chest ached so fiercely that for a moment you feared your magic would answer it.

His eyes did not leave your face.

As though he were afraid that if he looked away, even for a heartbeat, you would disappear again.

“Hi,” he said at last.

One word.

So simple it should not have undone you.

But his voice was rougher than you remembered, lower somehow, and there was something caught inside it that made every careful defense you had built over the years shift uneasily.

You swallowed. “Hi, Azriel.”

His name felt dangerous on your tongue.

Familiar in the worst possible way.

Azriel noticed, of course he did.

Nothing had ever escaped him, least of all you.

His eyes softened by a fraction, and the softness hurt more than indifference would have. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

There were too many things hidden beneath the words.

I looked for you. I wondered. I hoped. I was afraid you wouldn’t.

You heard all of them and trusted none of them.

“Of course I came,” you replied, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s Rhys.”

For a moment, Azriel said nothing.

His gaze stayed on yours, steady and unreadable, but something tightened near his jaw.

As though that had not been the answer he wanted.

As though there had been another answer he had hoped for, one neither of you had earned the right to say aloud.

Right.

Dorian.

You dragged yourself back to the present and glanced between them, suddenly aware of Dorian’s hand still loosely around yours. “Azriel, this is Dorian.”

Azriel’s gaze lowered.

Not dramatically.

Not openly.

But enough.

There.

A crack.

Small enough that anyone else might miss it.

Large enough to make your heart twist with cruel satisfaction.

“Azriel,” he said, extending a hand.

Dorian accepted it easily, his expression open and pleasant in the way it became when he had already learned everything he needed to know from a single glance. “Dorian.”

Azriel’s grip looked controlled.

Too controlled.

“Prince,” he said, and though the word was perfectly polite, you knew Azriel well enough to hear the blade hidden beneath it.

Dorian only chuckled, either unaware or deliberately pretending to be. “Just Dorian is fine. I try not to lead with the title unless I need someone intimidated, impressed, or deeply bored.”

Azriel did not smile.

Dorian did.

You nearly loved him for it.

Before you could answer, movement behind Azriel caught your eye.

A female approached through the crowd, and your stomach sank before you could understand why.

She looked kind.

Gods, that almost made it worse.

Because she didn't carry herself like someone trying to impress Azriel.

She carried herself like someone who already knew she belonged near him.

That, more than anything, was what struck you first.

Not her beauty.

Not the way people turned slightly as she passed.

The ease.

The familiarity.

Azriel sensed her before she reached him.

You saw it happen.

A slight turn of his head.

A subtle shift in his stance.

Not much.

Never much with him.

But enough to tell you that he had expected her presence, or at least was no longer surprised by it.

Something cold moved through you.

Azriel looked between you, and for the first time all evening, he seemed uncertain.

Not outwardly.

Not enough for Dorian to notice, perhaps.

But you noticed.

You noticed everything about him, even now, especially now.

“Y/N,” Azriel said carefully, and the caution in his voice made the cold inside you spread. “This is Selene.”

The pause before he continued was brief.

Tiny.

Almost nothing.

It wounded you anyway.

“Selene, this is Y/N.”

Selene's face lit with recognition. “Oh,” she breathed, stepping closer before you had time to prepare yourself. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

The words struck with ridiculous force.

Heard so much about you.

You looked at Azriel before you could stop yourself.

What had he told her?

What version of you had survived twenty years inside his mouth?

Had he told her you were an old friend?

A former ally?

A mistake?

A woman who had once been stupid enough to refuse a necklace because accepting it would have meant admitting she wanted more than he was ready to give?

None of this was her fault.

You knew that.

The knowledge did not soften the ache.

“I’m glad to finally meet you,” she said, still smiling. “Azriel never says much, but when he does, people tend to listen.”

You could not help the faint, humorless curve of your mouth. “That sounds like him.”

Azriel’s attention flicked to you, swift and sharp.

For a heartbeat, something like memory passed between you.

Then your gaze dropped.

Not intentionally.

Not meaning to find anything.

But it did.

The delicate chain rested against Selene's throat like a secret made visible, the stone at its center catching a sliver of faelight and throwing it back in a soft, familiar gleam.

Your entire body went still.

No.

For a moment, your mind refused to understand what your eyes had already recognized.

The shape.

The setting.

The necklace.

Your necklace.

No.

Not yours.

That was the cruelty of it, wasn’t it?

It had never been yours.

You had not taken it.

You had meant: I am terrified of what this means.

He had heard: I do not want it.

And now it rested against Selene's skin as though it belonged there.

As though it had found a home after you refused to be one.

The terrace tilted beneath your feet.

Or perhaps you did.

Dorian’s hand tightened around yours.

Azriel saw exactly where you were looking.

You knew the moment he realized.

Too late.

The thought arrived with such quiet cruelty that it nearly made you laugh.

Too late, Azriel.

Because there it was.

The answer to a question you had spent twenty years pretending you were not still asking.

You had been stupid.

Unbelievably, humiliatingly stupid.

And perhaps there was.

Perhaps that was the worst part.

Because Azriel was looking at you as though you had just found the knife he had forgotten was still buried in your chest.

His mouth parted. “Y/N—”

“No.”

The word left you softly.

Too softly.

Not angry. Not sharp.

Worse.

Calm.

Painfully calm.

The sort of calm that never truly meant peace. The sort that arrived when the clouds had already gathered and the storm was only deciding where to strike first.

So you smiled at her.

Truly smiled, even if it cost you something.

“It’s lovely to meet you.”

Her answering smile was smaller now, uncertain but kind. “You too.”

Then you looked at Azriel.

Really looked at him.

At the male you had loved too long and hated too poorly.

At the shadows curling anxiously near his wrists.

At the siphons glowing faintly again, betraying what his face was desperately trying to conceal.

At the regret in his eyes, deep and immediate and useless.

Your smile did not falter.

“Nice necklace.”

The words were polite.

Pleasant, even.

Anyone listening might have mistaken them for a compliment.

Azriel heard the funeral.

Dorian moved before you had to ask.

Behind you, the first crack of lightning split the sky over Velaris.

The thunder followed a heartbeat later, violent enough to silence the terrace.

And when the storm finally broke above the House of Wind, you did not need to turn around to know that Azriel was still standing exactly where you had left him.

---

A/n : well well well, the ansgt is BACK !! I loved writing this part, I had this idea for such a long time ! Hope you enjoyed it 💙

I pictured our sweet Dorian from TOG, so just think of his face here 🤪

I don't know if I'll turn in into a serie yet, let me know !

UPDATE : PART 2 IS HERE

MAIN TAGLIST : @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @spookypersondinosaur @sunmoonsweets @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

chunkypossum

Art created by: @hornysadfrog who really went above and beyond for this. It took me a long time to take my jaw off the floor!! Her Eris is one of my most favorites. He’s so regal and lovely I could cry. Little frog you are a light in this fandom and I appreciate you so much!

A gift commissioned by me for @pippsmcgee and her word vomit in my DMs over the years about the wonderful stories in her brain. Even if you never write them I will cherish your talent for speaking them into existence anyway.

If it wasn't for you and your tenacious comments on my fics, I would have never gotten back on Tumblr, and I would have never met any of the wonderful people in this tiny corner of the fandom. I will forever be thankful for that and you. Your handle is all over ao3 in all the Azris comment sections passing out love and thoughtfulness that make it worthwhile for writers to post! Your amazing imagination is on my mind all of the time so I hope this gift is a reflection of that. 🖤🖤

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train:

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fieldofdaisiies @skyesayshi @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @yams-77 @ninthcircleofprythian @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @yourlazykitkat @shadowsandlint @acourtofbatboydreams @mistandmemories @chairofchaos @brunetterebel010 @astro-h0e-4azris @queercontrarian @molcat07 @baileybird71 @stargazingmellon @hornysadfrog @ejkreader @thesourcabbage @tessville @jolenes-library @betweenthelines888 @irithiadourden @theiudices @werehorsebite @skies-for-eyes-trees-for-knees @fourteentrout @frostystarlight @nus4yy @ysmtttty @lizzo78 @vanserreneity @krowiathemythologynerd @alexof90s @snugglesandsmut @clarranam @plumita-d-la-sangre @wrraccountant @theeternalstruggle @hieragalbatorixdottir @g00seg1rl

pellucid-constellations

To Feel At Home

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Winnowing out from Under the Mountain, you know you need to find him—it doesn't seem real, to feel so at home.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: A little angsty piece because I can't stop writing for some reason. I hope you enjoy :)

Main Masterlist ♡

On shaking legs, you pressed forward. Rhysand was still at the Moonstone Palace—still in Mor’s arms and coping with the impossible. You had made to stay, but Mor had given you a shake of her head that conveyed more than any words could have.

Mustering up the morsel of power that had returned to you after Amarantha’s death, you winnowed to Velaris.

Not in a good spot. You hadn’t had access to your power in over five decades and much of Rhysand’s wards were still in place. Given the circumstances, getting yourself to some random alley at the edge of Velaris was a feat.

The sun was blinding, invading your senses that had gotten so used to the darkness Under the Mountain. You brought a hand up to cover your eyes and trekked on.

itsswritten

wings universe masterlist

This is a world for Fairy x Azriel. There will be lots of one-shots and drabbles dedicated to them <3 Listed in chronological order.

Indicates smut - 𐦍

A New Chapter

Feels Like Home

Berry Stained Lips

Tell me about it

Teeny Tiny

Shadow Violet

Butterfly Kisses 𐦍

Just Some Flowery Fun 𐦍

Wings 𐦍 - can be read first <3

Finally

Earth's Song

Wings Universe Art - Stunning fanart created by my talented friend @deemsum

Wanna know more about fairy and Az? Then follow the #wings universe tag <3

velarisdusk

Something Precious

Azriel x Reader

word count: 2.1k content: [ nun crazy just reader having mega insecure thoughts lol ] summary: Azriel has always been steady, unwavering—but the way you look at him makes something shift. Small moments, fleeting words, a tension neither of you acknowledge… until it’s impossible for him to ignore. author's note: IM BACK BABEYY!!!!! this ones a bit short but i thought it'd be a good one to help get myself writing again. i really like how it turned out, just a nice, sweet lil fic nothin crazy :) also not beta'd bc i just needed to get something out NEOW. hope this is to your liking anon thank u for the req!! <3 ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its golden glow casting shifting patterns across the walls of the House of Wind. The night outside was crisp and quiet, Velaris resting under a blanket of stars, but here, in this small cocoon of warmth and firelight, everything felt still.

Azriel lay stretched out on the couch, wings spilling over the cushions in an easy sprawl. His shadows had retreated for the night, content to flicker lazily at the edges of the room, leaving nothing between you but firelight and the slow, steady rhythm of his breath.

pellucid-constellations

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Word count: 710

Warnings: ummm pining bucky, friends to pining, frat!bucky

a/n: Hi! I haven't been able to write for some time, so I'm having a drabble spree over the next week or so, writing based on prompts from this list. If you send me a category, I'll pick a prompt!!

This fic was based on this prompt in the Forbidden Love category: "You're the one person I promised myself I would never cross that line with."

____________________________________________

It was sudden, like the split decision to take an exit off the freeway and change your dinner plans. Bucky felt his life shift—just a fraction. Enough to be noticeable, but not enough to throw him off his axis. Maybe it had always been there, maybe it hadn't. But, either way, things felt different. He felt different, sitting in the horridly lit Denny's at two in the morning, his university-branded crewneck dipping off your shoulder as you inhaled a plate of fries.

"God, these are terrible," you moaned, drenching another floppy stick in ranch. "Why did we come here?"

"You begged me to," Bucky threw back, shifting in the booth uncomfortably.

"Tell me no next time."

"That hasn't gone over well, historically."

daycourtofficial

I’m Still Stuck in the Moment

Summary: a mistake on a mission causes you to lose your memories from the last five years, including the new mating bond between you and Azriel. Can he help you get your memories back, or will you never remember the past five years?

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Author’s note: this has been a wip since October I really hope you guys like it. It’s also my longest fic to date - so please enjoy! 💕

shadowdaddiesclub

When the Shadowsinger loses his mind

This part takes part BEFORE When the Shadowsinger rests (can be read as solo)

Azriel x reader fluff / pre-relationship / wing sensitivity / mutual pining / teasing / hurt-comfort (Before the mating bond) Azriel returns home injured after a mission, and all you want to do is help. You just didn’t know Illyrian wings were quite that sensitive.

Rain had been falling over Velaris for most of the evening, soft and steady against the windows while the fire crackled low in the sitting room and shadows stretched lazily across the walls.

Cassian occupied one end of the couch with all the elegance of a dying warlord, boots planted shamelessly across the table despite Rhys having threatened him over it often enough that the argument had become part of the house itself by now, while you sat curled into the armchair near the fire pretending to read.

Pretending being the important word.

Because every few minutes your attention drifted back toward the front door.

Toward the threshold.

Toward the absence of shadows.

Azriel had been gone for four days now, and Rhys had offered almost no details beyond some vague mention of trouble near the border that needed handling immediately. Which, apparently, meant Azriel once again being sent directly toward danger while everyone else carried on pretending the male was indestructible.

You hated that.

Hated how easily he threw himself into risk without hesitation, how little value he seemed to place on his own wellbeing compared to everyone else’s. Sometimes it felt as though Azriel only existed in pieces for himself, while the rest of him belonged entirely to duty.

And maybe that was why fear had settled so heavily in your chest tonight.

Because you loved him.

The realization itself was no longer frightening. It had lived inside you quietly for too long now, woven into every glance that lingered a second too long, every instinct that drew you toward him before thought could intervene. Everyone around you seemed to know it too. Cassian certainly did, if the looks he gave you whenever Azriel entered a room meant anything. Feyre knew. Rhys definitely knew.

The only person who never said anything about it was Azriel himself.

Azriel, who always stood too close and never close enough.

Azriel, whose shadows curled around your wrists like they already knew you.

Azriel, who looked at you sometimes with something so restrained and aching in his eyes that your chest hurt afterward.

You had spent years circling each other like this.

And tonight, for the first time, the thought of never breaking that distance terrified you.

What if one day he simply did not come home?

What if something happened to him out there before you ever found the courage to tell him?

What if tonight—

The lock clicked.

Your entire body went still.

Shadows slipped beneath the doorway before Azriel even entered, restless and sharp-edged as they spilled silently across the floor.

Then Azriel stepped inside.

Rainwater dripped steadily from his leathers onto the hardwood floor while exhaustion clung visibly to every line of his body, but your eyes snagged instantly on the streak of blood spread across one of his wings.

Not enough to panic.

Enough that something painful twisted low in your chest anyway.

Cassian noticed too, lowering his feet from the table as he straightened slightly. “Mother above,” he muttered, staring openly at Azriel, “you look like shit.”

Azriel shut the front door behind himself with visible effort before unbuckling Truth-Teller from his side and placing it carefully onto the entry table.

“You’re bleeding,” you said immediately, already rising to your feet.

Azriel glanced once toward the injured wing as though he had forgotten it existed entirely. “It’s superficial.”

“You once said that with a knife through your shoulder,” Cassian reminded him lazily. “You were actively hallucinating at the time.”

Azriel ignored him completely.

Your feet were already carrying you across the room before you had fully decided to move. By the time you stopped directly in front of him, close enough to see the exhaustion carved beneath his eyes, concern had entirely overridden any embarrassment you might have felt at standing so near.

“Upstairs,” you told him softly.

Azriel looked at you for a long second. “I can take care of it.”

“I know you can,” you replied. “That doesn’t mean you should.”

For half a heartbeat he only stared at you, something unreadable flickering behind his exhaustion before your fingers wrapped carefully around his wrist.

His shadows stirred instantly around your hand, shadows that usually reacted to strangers with sharp suspicion now curling briefly against your skin before retreating again, not alarmed or defensive in the slightest but strangely curious, almost familiar, as though they already knew you.

Azriel noticed the movement immediately.

So did Cassian.

The grin beginning to spread slowly across Cassian’s face already made you suspicious.

“You are leaving blood on the floor,” you continued while guiding Azriel toward the stairs before either male could say anything else.

“It’s alright,” Azriel said quietly. “I’ll clean it.”

“Of course you will,” Cassian called after you both with a smirk.

You shot him a look over your shoulder.

Cassian only lifted his drink in salute.

Azriel followed you upstairs without resistance.

That worried you more than if he had argued.

Usually helping Azriel required manipulation, threats, or Feyre physically cornering him with bandages while Rhys laughed nearby. Tonight he only looked tired enough not to fight you over it, his shadows trailing sluggishly behind him as you guided him toward the bathing room adjoining his bedroom.

Steam slowly filled the room while you searched beneath the sink for salves and clean cloths. Behind you, leather hit the floor piece by piece before silence settled softly between you.

Your throat bobbed.

This should not have felt different, but somehow it did. Maybe it was the quiet of the room, or the warmth curling through the steam-filled air, or simply the intimacy of standing here alone with him while rain tapped softly against the windows beyond. Whatever the reason, when you finally turned around again, your breath caught slightly.

Azriel sat on the edge of the bathtub now, broad wings partially unfurled behind him to keep the injured one from brushing the walls. Bruises darkened his ribs beneath old scars while several shallow cuts crossed his shoulders and chest, but your attention fixed immediately on the wing.

Several thin tears split through the membrane near the base.

Not severe, but still painful.

“Oh, Azriel.”

His eyes lifted toward you immediately at the softness in your voice.

“It looks worse than it is.”

“That sentence should honestly be banned from your vocabulary.”

A faint twitch touched the corner of his mouth before vanishing again.

You stepped closer carrying the bowl of warm water carefully between your hands before crouching beside the wing.

“Let me see.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Azriel murmured quietly.

Your eyes lifted to his through the mirror above the basin. “I know.”

For one suspended moment neither of you looked away.

Then you forced yourself to focus back on the injury.

Most of the blood had dried by now, dark against the membrane, though the torn areas still looked raw enough to make something unpleasant twist inside you.

Azriel remained completely silent while you inspected the damage, though you were deeply aware of the weight of his gaze lingering on you.

After nearly a minute, he said quietly, “You should see the other male.”

The laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and something in Azriel’s expression softened immediately in response. A small smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth, tired but real enough that your breath caught slightly all over again.

“I bet he looks worse,” you said.

Azriel’s quiet hum vibrated low in his chest while his gaze lingered on you for half a heartbeat too long before finally drifting away.

You dipped the cloth into warm water before carefully pressing it against the wing.

The second your fingers brushed the membrane, Azriel went unnaturally still beneath your hands.

Your brows pinched immediately.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.”

The answer came far too quickly.

Suspicion flickered through you, but you focused on the wing instead, carefully cleaning blood from the dark membrane while candlelight flickered gold against it.

Then you noticed his hand.

Azriel’s knuckles had gone nearly white around the edge of the tub, the muscles in his forearm tightening visibly beneath scarred skin before a sharp breath slipped through his nose.

Your hands stilled instantly.

“Okay,” you murmured carefully, “that definitely hurt.”

“It didn’t.”

The answer came a little too fast.

You glanced up at him just in time to catch the tightness lingering in his jaw before he turned his attention firmly toward the opposite wall.

“You sound deeply offended by the experience,” you observed.

Another controlled breath slipped through his nose, though this time the edge of the tub creaked faintly beneath his grip.

You softened your touch instinctively anyway while cleaning another thin line of blood lower along the wing.

Azriel’s fingers tightened harder around the edge of the tub.

Your attention lifted slowly toward him.

“…Azriel.”

“Mhm.”

“You look deeply distressed right now.”

“I’m injured.”

“That is clearly not the problem.”

Something dangerously close to a groan almost escaped him then before he swallowed it back down behind another measured breath.

Azriel closed his eyes briefly before muttering a quiet, strained, “Fuck.”

Your brows lifted immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That definitely sounded like something.”

“It’s fine.”

“You keep saying that while looking like you’re trying to survive an interrogation.”

Azriel tipped his head back slowly against the wall behind him and exhaled through his nose, long and controlled like he was counting through something silently inside his own head.

Then your fingers drifted slightly lower near the base of the wing.

Azriel’s entire body locked.

The rough sound that escaped him this time was unmistakably not pain, low enough that heat rushed instantly into your face while his grip tightened hard around the edge of the tub beneath your hands.

Your mouth fell open slightly.

Azriel closed his eyes harder. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Azriel.”

“Don’t.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared up at him. “You are reacting very strangely to this.”

“I’m aware.”

Another careful breath slipped through his nose.

Your gaze drifted slowly back toward the wing before lifting toward him again.

“That definitely did something.”

“It’s a wing.”

“Yes,” you replied slowly, still staring openly at him now, “but I don’t think wings are supposed to do that.”

Azriel groaned softly beneath his breath.

The sound sent unexpected warmth rushing instantly into your face.

You could only stare at him in fascinated disbelief while he sat there visibly fighting for every scrap of composure he still had left.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Carefully now, curiosity overriding common sense entirely, you brushed your fingertips lightly across the base of the wing again.

Azriel’s wing jerked violently.

His grip tightened hard enough around the edge of the tub that the wood groaned beneath his hands while another rough sound escaped him, lower this time, nearly swallowed back immediately afterward.

Your eyes widened slowly.

“Oh my gods.”

Azriel tipped his head back briefly before dragging another careful breath through his nose. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“I have absolutely no idea what’s happening.”

“That makes one of us.”

The answer came rough enough that heat rose instantly into your face.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, but the moment your gaze lifted toward him again, the sound died somewhere in your throat.

Azriel was already looking at you.

Really looking at you now, with all the careful restraint stripped painfully thin around the edges.

Your breath caught slightly.

Then the bathroom door opened.

Cassian walked in halfway through saying, “Rhys wants to know if you’re done brooding in—”

Then he stopped.

His gaze moved slowly across the room, taking in Azriel sitting rigidly on the edge of the bathtub, the white-knuckled grip he still had on the edge of it, the wing stretched carefully across your lap, and finally your hand resting far too close to the base of the membrane.

Silence settled heavily through the bathroom.

Cassian’s expression did not change immediately.

First came confusion.

Then suspicion.

Then horrifying, dawning understanding.

His eyes snapped back toward Azriel, whose expression now carried the exhausted resignation of a male who already knew exactly what was coming next.

“…Why the fuck,” Cassian asked carefully, “is she cleaning your wing like that?”

“Cassian,” Azriel said immediately, still without opening his eyes, “leave.”

That only made Cassian more suspicious.

Then the wing beneath your fingers twitched again.

Cassian froze.

The corner of Cassian’s mouth twitched.

Then twitched again.

“Oh,” he whispered.

Azriel groaned softly beneath his breath. “Don’t.”

Cassian lasted exactly one more heartbeat before doubling over laughing.

“Oh, no.”

You looked between them in confusion. “What?”

Cassian caught himself against the doorway as another wave of laughter nearly folded him in half.

“Brother,” he choked out, “you are fighting for your fucking life right now.”

“Shut up, Cassian.”

“No, I need confirmation,” Cassian said immediately, pointing toward the wing with horrifying seriousness despite the grin still breaking across his face. “Has she been touching the base of it this entire time?”

Azriel said absolutely nothing.

Which answered the question perfectly.

Cassian made a strangled noise before dragging a hand slowly down his face.

“Oh, you poor fucking bastard.”

Your brows pinched harder. “Will someone explain what’s happening?”

Cassian pointed toward Azriel with the dramatic horror of a male witnessing divine punishment firsthand. “You’ve been stroking the base of his wing for the last twenty minutes while he sits there trying not to completely lose his damn mind.”

Your jaw dropped open.

Heat flooded your face so fast it almost hurt.

Slowly, carefully, you turned back toward Azriel.

He looked like he wanted the floor to open beneath him.

“What?”

“The base of the wing?” Cassian repeated incredulously, another disbelieving laugh escaping him. “You might as well have climbed directly into his lap.”

“I was helping!”

“I know,” Cassian managed, visibly struggling to breathe normally again. “That’s what makes it so funny.”

Heat still burning across your face, you turned immediately toward Azriel. “You let me keep doing it.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes finally shifted toward yours, dark with humiliation and restraint stretched painfully thin around the edges.

“You seemed determined to continue,” he muttered.

Cassian folded against the doorway again with a strangled noise somewhere between laughter and actual pain. “She’s been innocently torturing you for twenty minutes and you just sat here suffering in silence?”

Azriel’s glare could have killed lesser males.

“Get out.”

“I knew I heard the growl of a male dying downstairs.”

Your eyes widened immediately as your gaze snapped back toward Azriel. “I thought I was hurting you.”

Azriel said nothing.

Which, honestly, felt like confirmation all on its own.

He only tipped his head back toward the ceiling again with the exhausted resignation of a male actively reconsidering every life choice that had led him here.

Cassian looked delighted.

“You really sounded feral, brother.”

You covered your burning face with both hands. “Oh my gods.”

“To be fair,” Cassian continued, still entirely too pleased with himself, “you were touching the worst possible place.”

“Cassian,” Azriel said darkly.

“What?” Cassian asked with exaggerated innocence. “I’m trying to educate her since you clearly weren’t going to.”

“You are absolutely not helping,” you muttered behind your hands.

Azriel shifted slightly like he meant to stand, but the moment the wing moved beneath your fingertips, another helpless groan escaped him before he could swallow it back down.

Silence crashed through the room.

Cassian made a strangled noise.

“Oh, Cauldron,” he whispered, staring openly at his brother now. “I cannot believe this.”

You jerked your hand back instantly. “Sorry.”

Azriel tipped his head back with the exhausted expression of a male rapidly losing the will to live.

“Please,” he muttered, dragging one hand slowly down his face. “Please stop talking.”

Cassian, unfortunately, looked physically incapable of stopping.

“You are so done,” he managed between uneven breaths, pointing toward Azriel while another wave of laughter nearly folded him in half again. “Completely done for.”

Azriel finally got to his feet with what remained of his dignity intact, though his shadows now lashed violently through the steam-filled room like they were debating whether murder was a reasonable solution.

You stepped back quickly, mortification still burning across your face. “I really didn’t know.”

Azriel paused.

Then his gaze lifted toward yours.

And just like that, some of the embarrassment softened around the edges, giving way to something quieter beneath all the restraint he had been clinging to with both hands since the moment you touched his wing.

“I know,” he said softly.

The words settled warm somewhere beneath your ribs before either of you could say anything else.

Then Cassian ruined it.

“Oh, no, don’t start looking at her like that now. I’m already traumatized enough.”

Azriel shut his eyes immediately.

You made a horrified sound.

Cassian leaned harder against the doorway, looking genuinely delighted with himself now. “This is the best night of my life.”

Azriel looked at him with lethal calm.

“Run.”

Cassian’s grin widened instantly.

Then he ran.

Silence settled through the steam-filled room almost immediately afterward.

You were still staring at the doorway in horror when Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose behind you.

“He’s never letting this go,” you muttered.

“No,” Azriel said quietly.

When you finally looked back at him, his gaze was already on you.

Not embarrassed anymore.

Just soft.

Warm enough that your chest tightened painfully beneath it.

Then his shadows curled slowly toward your wrists again, gentle this time, and Azriel glanced once toward the wing still stretched between you before dragging a tired hand down his face.

“I would appreciate,” he said carefully, “if we never spoke about this again.”

The laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Azriel’s mouth twitched slightly in response.

And somehow, impossibly, that felt far more dangerous than the growling had. --- Main taglist : @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @itsraininghyunebuckets @xlosttdreamss @nyxmoretti @sunmoonsweets @spookypersondinosaur

sweetpeaaquarius

Fire Wrapped in Flesh

Pairing: Lucien Vanserra x f! Archeron sister

Summary: Burdened by guilt and fear, Lucien keeps his mate at a distance, burying the bond that burns between them. What begins as quiet moments and stolen glances slowly unravels his silence, until he can no longer deny the mating bond aching to be claimed.

Warnings: slow-burn romance, light suggestive content, mentions of past trauma, emotional repression, guilt, jealousy, longing, mild language, slight angst, hurt-comfort themes

Word count: 3,412

amandapearls

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤: 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 🔥

@lucienweekofficial

Here’s a little gift to my lovely friend @separatist-apologist

This Lucien artwork was created by @dkt.artist

They did such an INCREDIBLE job drawing Lucien! He looks so hot! I can’t get over it—-I literally SCREECHED with happiness!

And all the little details on Lucien’s outfit are amazing.

Thank you so much @dkt.artist for this wonderful piece of art!

It was so much fun to work with you! You killed it as always! ❤️

Link to Instagram post

Character belongs to Sarah J Maas

eatsbooksarchive

do you think lucien begged for eris when jesminda was taken in? (first it was just pleading — she didn’t do anything wrong. it was me. i wouldn’t leave her alone. punish me. please, father, my lord, punish me. but then, when the screaming started, it was — where is eris? where is eris? please, eris, please, you said you would protect me. you said you said you said.) do you think beron told lucien that eris was invited to join in but decided it wasn’t worth his time to deal with the low-born faerie filth his brother defiled himself with? do you think beron told lucien that eris knew what was happening and simply didn’t care enough to stop it, that eris was upstairs, drunk and entertaining courtiers? do you think lucien was so fragile in that moment that he believed it without question? do you think lucien heard eris screaming as he was being punished for refusing to participate, but lucien didn’t recognize them because jesminda’s had finally stopped, and there was nothing left for him in the world, let alone a brother who was not there when he begged?

itsblobross

velarisdusk

What Was Bought, What Was Taken

Eris Vanserra x Reader

summary: He asked for your hand like you were a favor to be traded. When the mating bond snaps in the Court of Nightmares, furious but powerless, you're taken to Autumn. word count: 5,310 content: [ coercion, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, mating bond, all warnings that come with Keir and the Hewn City, dead parents, mentions of abuse, keir is y/n's grandfather ] author's note: thanks anon for this request! sooo i didnt end up writing any smut for this. the tone it took on as i wrote just didnt have the vibe for that, and it wouldve felt really forced. also i felt a strange power imbalance when i tried; not something i’d usually shy away from writing but i think this was a really pretty piece and i didnt want to muddle it with dubcon yk ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

You walked fast—nearly jogged, if you were honest—through the narrow hallway that led to the Council Chamber, your heels catching against the smooth stone as you tried not to make too much noise. Your pulse was already high in your throat, pushed higher by the low, measured toll of the nearby bells. You were late. Again.

He was going to skin you alive.

#Eris vanserra

acourtofimagines

Summary: Y/N was cursed to never see colors again until or if she finds her fated mate. @tamlinweek

🎻This is for day two of Tamlin Week. PROMPT: Prophecy / Cursed

I do take requests. Just check out the Request & Info page.

🌳🌸🌺🌻🌷🌳🌸🌺🌻🌷🌳🌸🌺🌻🌷🌳🌸🌺🌻🌷

Y/N had walked through a world of black, white, and gray hues for centuries now. Cursed by a fae witch, all because she refused the hand of the witch’s brother. “You will never see the beauty around you in color again until you’ve met the one the cauldron has made for you, if you ever do,” the witch’s voice has echoed those words in her head every day since. She still remembered watching the colors all around her fade. Slowly, she got used to her new colorless world. She traveled all over, hoping her fated one was out there somewhere. She wasn't even sure what court she was in at the moment as she walked on. The plants and grass where definately over grown and thick.

She just reached a semi clear path when she heard snarling. A creature with sharp fangs and claws rushed out of the bushes and lunged right for her. She tried to move, but it clawed her side. She stumbled and fell onto her back. Pain shot through her, but the creature was preparing to attack again. It leaped, pinning her to the ground. Just as it raised its claw to strike again a massive beast tackled the creature off her. The beast was strong and tore into the creature that attacked her. The beast had thick fur and curled horns on its head. The beast ended the monster with a sickening crunch, and all was silent. She watched as the beast’s form changed to that of a male high fae. Shirtless with trouser’s the seemed to be torn from transforming.

He walked over to her and kneeled down “Are you alright?” She looked up and froze as she looked into his eyes. His green eyes. She blinked once, then twice. She saw them, saw their color. A beautiful emerald shade with golden flakes. Then slowly, more colors seemed to spring to life as she looked him over. His tan skin. His golden blonde hair.

“You…you’re…” It was like she couldn’t fathom the words.

“Let me check your wound,” he goes to reach for the torn part of the tunic she wore, but she grasped his wrist, and when she did, they both felt the bond snap into place. “You are… we are..”

“Mates,” she finished for him. Tamlin ever so gently touched her wound and channeled his magic to heal her. She sighed once the pain eased. He then very gently scooped her up bridal style.

“What’s your name, my lady?” Tamlin asked.

“Y/N,” she said.

“Welcome home, Y/N,” and he headed off toward the manor, and for the first time in so very long, she soaked up all the beautiful colors around her. Especially the beautiful emerald eyes of her mate.

TAG LIST

@lilah-asteria

@positivelyruined

@viktoriaashleyyx

@vanserrasimp

tadpolesonalgae

I have a request. Azriel x reader fluff where Azriel tells the reader he loves her but she doesn’t say it back js to see his reaction and he gets all whiny and clingy till she says it back.

Also, I LOVED the oneshot where Azriel lays on top of the reader!

Azriel x reader: More Than Myself

A/N: I can’t explain how much joy I get from receiving a request, thank you so much (so glad you enjoyed the sleep Az one) <3

Visual Prompt here!

The sun peeked in through the drawn-to curtains, finding a way to thread into your shared time again and notify you that the day had begun. You sighed heavily before rolling out of Azriel’s warmth, legs swinging over the sides of your bed, a shiver travelling up your spine as the cool wooden beams met your bare feet.

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