#gwynriel drabble

[thevalkyriesshadow]

@freyjas-musings - A drabble for you! Inspired by a couple Gwynriel bathroom headcanons of mine as well as this steamy Instagram reel

💖 Enjoy 💖

The House was quiet as Azriel entered the dining room. No one was in the sitting room. No one lingered in the halls. Though as he neared his room, he did hear the distinct sound of water running in the baths situated between his room and The House's newest inhabitant -- Gwyneth Berdara's room.

And of course after two days of her being here, the personal bathrooms went on the fritz -- well, just his and Gwyn's.

The House, the clever structure that it was, created a new bathroom between their rooms as it worked out it's own problem. (Don't ask how or why The House was able to produce a new bathroom instead of just fixing the old...it vexed Azriel to no end.)

Not that he minded having to share a bathroom, but he did like the solitary usage of his personal one...

As he passed the bathroom to get to his room he heard another sound amidst the trickling of water; something he hadn't heard coming from the shared bathroom before.

Singing.

And it was ethereal. Beautiful.

Was that Gwyn?

He stood outside the door for a moment, letting the sound carry over him and wash away the tension in his shoulders. His jaw unclenched and he took a deep breath. Music was often a way to unwind and shake off the stress of a job, but this singing was...transcending, divine.

There were no words as the voice carried through the wooden doors. Just 'oohs' and 'ahhs'.

That had to be Gwyn right? Nesta wouldn't use it. She had her own bathroom.

Then the voice dropped an octave, and words began pouring out. A language he didn't recognize, but a voice he knew.

The acoustics of the bathroom amplified Gwyn’s voice. Her cadence ebbed and flowed.

For the first time in three days since he left for his mission, Azriel felt...calmed.

He may not recognize the language she sang in and the power of its words, but he yearned for the sensation that flowed over him -- through him -- serenity. Stillness.

No anxious thoughts pervaded his mind. No fears or worries.

Only peace.

And as he listened to her belt out the words at the top of her lungs, not a care who heard, Azriel felt a squeezing in his chest. A tug.

Her singing faded into the steady stream of the water. There was a loud squeak, and the water stopped.

The silence broke his reverie. Azriel hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes. Hadn't realized he'd leaned against the door as he listened and lost himself in teal blue eyes. Lost himself imagining how her mouth might move as she sings. Imagining what it would feel like to sing with her....

Not wanting to be caught lingering outside of the bathroom when Gwyn emerged, Azriel hurried off to his room to change and gather his own things for a shower.

---

Gwyn thought she'd finally be getting her own bathroom moving into The House, but of course, fate seemed to have it's own ideas.

Fate or The House was pranking her.

She wrapped herself in a towel as she got out of the shower, looking forward to putting on the silky, light blue pajamas The House provided her. She had an exhausting day of training the new Valkyrie recruits, assisting in the Library, and conducting research for Rhysand. She wasn't tired, tired, so she would probably be staying up to rearrange her books - again -

When she had moved in a couple weeks ago, she had only ten books to her name. But every day since she'd moved in, she would return to her room at the end of the day to find The House had dropped a pile of new books for her onto her bed. Some books she'd never even think to read, like ones about dagger making and types of rope knots. There were books on the history of Prythian. Another titled Espionage and You: An In Depth Discussion of the Moral Code, and of course, lots and lots of romance and adventure novels.

Gwyn slipped into her pajamas, ate the small plate of cookies The House provided her, then grabbed her toothbrush and headed back to the bathroom.

She had just put the toothpaste on the brush when the door to the showers opened. A billowing cloud of steam and shadows poured out.

Gwyn balked as Azriel emerged from the mist, a towel slung low on his hips. His shadows darted out, twirling around Gwyn’s hair and toothbrush.

Azriel froze in the doorway as he spotted Gwyn. Water dripped from tendrils of inky black hair. It ran in little rivulets down his neck and shoulders. Some of the water pooled into the little divet of his clavicle. Other streams continued over the tattoos on his chest and trailed down...down...

Her eyes darted back up to his.

The smallest of smirks tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Gwyn, by some unexplained reason, continued to brush her teeth while casually staring back at him. She waited for him to say something first.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched his shadows dance around her before joining her at the counter. His tore his gaze from hers, only to catch it again in the mirror as he picked up his toothbrush and began his nightly bedtime routine.

She tried, and failed then, to ignore Azriel’s reflection.

But gods damned those muscles as he moved his arm to brush his teeth....

It was like they were purposefully tormenting her, begging her to watch them as they tensed and flexed with every movement he made and --

Her gaze caught his brilliant hazel eyes watching her watch him in the mirror. The golden flecks amidst the green hues sparkled with amusement as a blush crept across her cheeks.

Gwyn peeled her eyes away from him, focusing on her own reflection.

Damn. She didn't realize how cropped her shirt was, or how noticeable her nipples were as they poked through the thin fabric. Maybe Azriel didn't notice.

She chanced another glance.

Oh, Azriel definitely noticed.

His eyes were currently sweeping over her in the reflection before he bent forward and spit into the sink, rinsing away his discarded toothpaste with a quick twist of the faucet.

It was his turn to blush as his gaze met hers in the mirror, knowing full well he'd been caught checking her out.

So...Gwyn held his gaze for a moment, then lowered it, unapologetically, taking in the lithe muscles of his shoulders and chest, the way his body sloped to a tapered waist.

A sensual warmth spread from her lower spine and pooled deep within her.

Her gaze certainly lingered longer than it should have on the smattering of hair that extended above the low hanging towel perched on his waist.

She spit her toothpaste into the sink and looked over at him. Not in the mirror this time, but at him directly.

The Shadowsinger was already looking over at her, brushing his teeth lazily, as if his mind momentarily forgot what it was doing until she caught his gaze.

Normally, when Azriel stared at someone, it was with an icy coldness.

But never with Gwyn.

With Gwyn, Azriel looked at her with reverence.

A rare softness fell over his features.

Then he drooled toothpaste and was pivoting to the sink to spit it out. His blush spread further across his cheeks and ears as he hastily finished brushing his teeth.

Then Azriel, the terrifying Spy Master of the Night Court, tapped his toothbrush on the sink, dropped it into the holder, and with a wink and a devilish smirk Azriel finally spoke.

"You have a lovely singing voice, by the way," he said, his voice dark and husky. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

Gwyn's eyes went wide, and something in her chest hummed and tugged as she watched Azriel saunter past her, willing her to follow him. Her gaze dropped to the dimples of his lower back, reveled at the way his muscles moved as he twisted back around to flash her another more sheepish smile before ducking out of the doorway.

Forget reorganizing her bookshelf. Tonight, Gwyn was going to pick up the juiciest romance she could find from her new drop today and indulge in a little self-care.

[shadowsingerofnight]

This right here is just a little drabble. I had this scene pop into my head and, you know, the following happened. Soooo let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy some nonsense fluff!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ gwynriel drabble

The lights were dim in the bedroom when Azriel made his way through the door. The floor was a mess, clothes and hats and shoes scattered everywhere.

He chuckled, taking in the scene in front of him.

Gwyn was sprawled on the tiny armchair in the corner of the room, face tired but content. She was wearing a party-gown of shimmering emerald, her hair resting on each of her shoulders in such a harmony of colours, a little gasp left his lips.

She gave him the biggest smile and his heart skipped a beat. She was so immensely beautiful.

He grinned back with genuine happiness in his whole body.

“So,” she sighed, dragging the last letter of the word, “we played dress-up today.”

Sat on the floor, Catrin was painting Gwyn’s toes, but seemed to have some trouble keeping the polish just on the nails.

“I can see that,” Azriel replied through a smile that had been permanently plastered on his face for some time now. Rhys and Cassian had thought he had fallen ill the first few weeks.

Gwyn chuckled, her hand covering her mouth.

“Daddy!” Catrin yelled. “Don’t make mommy laugh, she needs to stay still or I can’t work.”

She hadn’t even looked at him but he could see the little concentration lines on her forehead.

Some of his shadows gathered around her wrists as to strengthen her grasp around the polish wand. “Thank you, little ones,” she whispered.

“My star, you’re doing such a great job,” he said.

Big, hazel eyes turned to his own as to inspect if he really meant it and when the scrutiny was over- seemingly pleased, she said, “I know. Aunt Feyre once told me that you don’t always have to stay inside the lines when you create art.”

Gwyn’s gaze softened as she watched their daughter with admiration. Azriel knew very well how she was feeling, the depth of the pride that mirrored his own. Catrin was extraordinary.

They looked at each other for a moment, all the love and trust and hope they felt shining in their hearts.

Then Catrin’s head shot up from her work, her carbon black hair swaying with the movement.

“I have and idea!” She chirped enthusiastically.

“What is it, my love?” Gwyn asked, caressing her cheek. Their daughter smiled, mischief written all over her face.

“I think daddy needs his nails painted as well!”

Azriel and Gwyn burst out laughing at the same time and then he said, “That’s a wonderful idea!”

Catrin laughed too, a sound that was life and joy.

“What colour do you want, daddy?”

Azriel looked at his mate, her eyes full of tears and disbelief at the little cocoon of happiness they had created for themselves and knew the answer deep in his bones.

“Teal, please.”

[hlizr50]

Sooo remember yesterday when I reblogged that amazing art by elenana.art on Instagram?

Well, I couldn't stop myself from writing a drabble for my Gwynriel headcanon that it inspired... So here it is!

And there's no angst!!

Read on AO3

Nesta rolled her eyes, unwilling to give her sister the satisfaction of, well, being right.

“The drummer was kinda hot, I guess,” she muttered. ‘Kinda hot’ was a gross understatement for the colossal man who had manned the drums during the trio’s set. The Bat Boys, they called themselves. And that drummer had been nothing less than drool-worthy.

“What do you mean ‘I guess’?! Have you seen his biceps?” Feyre sputtered.

Oh yes. Yes, she definitely had.

“Okay, but what’s with all the tattoos?” Nesta demanded, lifting a brow. “They’re a band, Feyre, not the yakuza.” Her sister’s answering expression was unimpressed, to say the very least.

“I should’ve just brought Elain.”

The Hell she should have.

With another eyeroll, Nesta snapped, “Don’t be silly. Those tattoos would give Elain a heart attack. Besides, she’s—“

Her sentence was cut off when she ran face first into a wall of black.

“Hey!” She seethed. “Watch where you’re…” Nesta looked up, ready to give the offending obstacle her famed I-will-slay-my-enemies expression. Her gaze drifted up… and up and up. Over the collar of the tight fitting black tee and the tendrils of ink that peeked out over it. Over the jaw that was sharp as a knife. Over the beautiful lips, straight nose, and high cheekbones. Until her eyes were met with churning hazel — nearly gold. The bassist.

Holy fuck, was he pretty.

Nesta gaped at him, all lean muscle and height. Not as ruggedly handsome as the drummer, but unfairly gorgeous, nonetheless. Beautiful enough to make the two women gape as he stared back down at them, his face a mask of cool disinterest.

Absolute, awkward silence.

“Um… could you let me through, please?” His voice was as deep and rich as the instrument he played, even if it was soft as a whisper.

What planet of perfection had this guy come from?

“Oh, yeah,” Feyre stammered, pushing Nesta to the side. “Sorry.” The towering, tattooed god of a man passed between them as they stared, slack-jawed.

Forget the drummer. An angel had just appeared before them. Nesta dramatically sucked in a breath as her sister began giggling like a fan girl.

Typical.

But there was still a chance to shoot her shot—

“Az!” Someone called from behind them. And then, passing between them as the bassist had, a blur of cobalt blue topped with a curtain of copper bounded up to the tall, dark, handsome man.

And his whole demeanor… changed.

He’d turned just in time for the woman to barrel into him, and his whole face lit up. If Nesta had thought him attractive before, that bright white smile — complete with a little dimple on one side — sent him straight into drop-dead gorgeous territory.

“Bird. You made it,” the bassist — Az, apparently — murmured into the woman’s hair, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. Her arms were pale against his bronzed skin, and Nesta couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like…

“Gwyn?”

Her pin straight mane flew as the woman’s head jerked, meeting Nesta’s stare with wide, teal eyes.

“Nesta? What are you—“

“Wait, this is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Nesta didn’t need to wait for an answer. Not when Gwyn’s cheeks turned the most incriminating shade of pink.

With a nervous laugh, she replied, “Nesta, this is Azriel.” Icy eyes narrowed on the couple, keenly aware that Azriel’s hand had not moved from Gwyn’s hip and Gwyn’s arm had remained around the musician’s waist. “Azriel, Nesta.”

“I’m Feyre,” Nesta’s sister chimed in, earning a scathing side-eye.

The towering bassist chuckled, pulling Gwyn into his side and dipping his chin toward her. “Have you been keeping me a secret from your friends, Gwyneth?” He teased, only fanning her blush into a roaring red.

Turning to him with beseeching eyes, she exclaimed, “No!” Then she dragged her lower lip between her teeth and looked away from him. “I just… haven’t dated much and I wanted it to be… all mine. For a bit.”

Well, much to Nesta’s displeasure, that was incredibly sweet. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with Gwyn — the redhead she’d met at work was more like a sister to her than a friend, and she deserved only the most wonderful things.

It was the musician that was the focal point of her skepticism now. She’d been drooling over him only moments before, but a man would have to be nearly perfect to even get close to being deserving of Gwyneth Berdara.

Azriel leaned in and pressed his lips tenderly against Gwyn’s temple. “Of course, bird. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Well, he sure was smooth, wasn’t he?

“It’s nice to meet you both,” he added with a warm smile and a nod. “You can come back to the green room with us if you want. We have some food and a bar. And I’m sure Rhys and Cass would love the company.”

And with that, Azriel returned his focus to the freckle-faced woman at his side, guiding her gently down the hall. After a moment of stunned silence, Nesta shook her head and began to follow, dragging her sister along.

Perhaps the drummer would do, after all.

Tag List... I don't have my Gwynriel list handy, so sorry in advance...

@headcanonheadcase @daevastanner @beaumaismortel @vikingmagic33 @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @freyjas-musings @foreverinelysian @mystical-blaise @positivewitch @thecrispypotatochip @sv0430 @almosttenaciousmoon @aldbooks

[shadowriel]

Well that’s alright if you’re not planning to write part 2 but I really wanted to see the jealous Az when some guy from their class tries to flirt with her as others don’t know about their relationship 🙈🙈❤️❤️

You mean, like:

Az watches Gwyn with an intent focus as she talks to another man in their class.

He moves to sit in the seat behind her—his normal spot, even though they're now dating.

Gwyn leans back almost imperceptibly, as if sensing his presence.

And then: "She has a boyfriend, asshole."

Gwyn turns around, annoyed. (The other guy leaves). "Seriously, Az?! I can't have one conversation with another man?"

"Not when he's obviously flirting with you."

Gwyn shakes her head. "He wasn't."

"Believe me, Gwyneth, he was."

She starts to protest, but he leans forward, lips almost—almost—brushing her ear. She should hear the rustling papers and the sounds of their classmates sitting down, but all she hears is his impossibly low voice.

"The way he was looking at you... that was definitely flirting. And I thought we'd established that l'm the only one who gets to look at you like that."

[gwynniethenymph]

Well... it's been months since I last posted here or anywhere, but I was going through my drabbles and found this. I'm not really sure how I was planning to continue this, but it's actually good and... quite interesting. My mind was kind of working when I wrote this. So I'll leave it here because... yes.

Basically and apparently, drunk Gwyn and Lucien!

--------------------------------------------------

The taste of the whiskey felt odd, burning against her throat as Gwyn gulped down three shots in a row. Not a good idea, she knew, but Cassian had dared her and Gwyn never, ever backed away when dared.

A weakness, Azriel had pointed in training once, how she got riled up so easily. She peered at his smirk from the other side of the table now, fuming at the victorious expression he wore. Smug bastard.

The little bar Rhysand had chosen for the night was filled with tipsy females and males alike—either drunk on alcohol or on the light-headed, carefree atmosphere that seemed to permeate places like this. Simply being in a bar made people lighter, freer, dumber. Gwyn felt dumber. Ready to throw it all to the havens and see if the Mother would throw back something useful.

And she really couldn't say she cared. Gwyn was mad. Mad at the Mother, the Cauldron, the Priestesses... at herself. But, mainly, at him. The only reason she came tonight was Nesta and her dramatics. Please, she'd sighed, rolling her head against Gwyn's shoulder, save me from my forced-chosen family and this god-damned dinner.

Now, sitting at a table with more people she could count on her fingers, Emerie by her left side and a handsome, rough-looking male with a russet eye and flaming hair at her right, Gwyn had basically a privileged view of her mate — oh, sorry, her dense and clueless motherfucker of a mate — and the shy glances he kept throwing at the pretty, doe-eyed brunette in front of him.

Great.

Gwyn called in another shot, gulping on it quickly. No challenges needed.

---

Mate. Mate. Mate.

It pounded against his brain, all the time since he'd met her.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

It was all his heart sang, demanded, begged. Lucien wished he could give in to those needs just for the sake of shutting his head up, but it was not what Elain wanted, and he would never go against her wishes.

And her newest wish, apparently, was the oh-so-looming fucking Shadowsinger. Fucking amazing.

Did they still sell that black hair dye in Summer? Perhaps he could give it a shot. Spend a few hours in the sun to get that golden complexion. Anything to be what she desired. The wings might pose a problem, but—

His heart did a twist when he caught a glimpse of Elain's smile. She hadn't smiled since he got to the bar, and now... now, of course she had smiled at Azriel. Fucking hell.

Sighing, he turned away from them, deciding to analyze the female at his left, be it for the perks of making another person uncomfortable. It brought him happiness. She seemed to be trying to drown herself in whiskey since she got here, ordering round after round of shots without a pause. He snickered at her crunched nose, so alike... so alike his mother's crunched nose that a familiar warmth rose in his chest.

Huh.

She glared at his muffled laugh from beneath dark-copper lashes, frowning. Cauldron spare him. She was basically a younger version of his mother.

"What is it? Do I have something in my face?" She asked, sounding genuinely worried, and her voice had just the right cadence in the I's to match the dear Lady of Autumn.

Lucien sighed.

"Mind if I join you, lady?"

---

There had been one ongoing bet among the members of the self-proclaimed House of the Wind Gang for three weeks now. Their rendezvous started when Gwyn mentioned—among the stupidest of secrets only a truth-or-dare game night between three females under forty and two males past five hundred could reveal—that she'd never been drunk.

"Sure, I've drunk alcohol before," she’d snickered. "But only for religious purposes. Never felt the need to drink more, anyway."

It took five seconds after she left the House for her quarters in the library and four hurried glances exchanged between the remaining members for the bets to be placed. What is drunk Gwyn like?

Cassian was sure she was a happy drunk. How could she not be? She was basically his little sister by now, and he was a happy drunk. It ran in the family.

Nesta and Emerie had taken longer to ponder, finally deciding she must be a sad drunk. They knew how much she carried within herself, and what does alcohol do if not dredge up everything you keep buried?

Azriel had stayed quiet, brooding in silence as usual. When pushed, he bet she must be an angry drunk. No further explanation. Stupid, if you asked Nesta.

What none of them had predicted, however, was that drunk Gwyn would turn out to be the equivalent of a crazed, carefree female whose best friend was either Lucien Vanserra or the empty bottle of liquor she had drawn a face on with lipstick and now hugged.

Lucien was slightly less intoxicated than the priestess, Nesta assumed, but it didn’t stop him from stumbling over his own feet as he attempted to guide Gwyn back to their table. This, after she’d launched into a relentless rant about Pegasus sightings in the Day Court and then proceeded to corner a poor male she swore looked "exactly like Helion".

Nesta could only cackle at the sheer terror etched on the male’s face as Gwyn interrogated him with unwavering enthusiasm.

The rest of the table had paid little attention to the redheads until they stumbled back, Gwyn nearly toppling over her seat and Lucien drowning another shot as he sat down. Emerie, who had been engrossed in her conversation with Mor until now, turned to Gwyn with a raised brow, watching as the younger Valkyrie burst into laughter at absolutely nothing.

Nesta, however, shifted her gaze to the Seer and the Shadowsinger at the other end of the table. Both seemed incapable of tearing their eyes away from the chaotic pair. She smirked, a slow, knowing grin spreading across her face. This was going to be fun.

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynweekofficial Day 2 - Songbird - The soul of a singer

Some Gwynriel bcoz why not...

The sound of her voice reminded him of flying; the wind whispering to him as he flew over the ocean. His wings grazing the clouds as he admired the twinkling stars, then their reflections on the rippling surface of the water.

The peace that that voice made him feel brought him back to the hours spent with his mother amidst his sad childhood, her brushing his hair back, and him falling into a slumber at the sound of her soothing voice. Then later to his adulthood, when he was the one holding the hair brush and her sitting at the vanity, in her bedroom of the house he got for her, her eyes closing as he ran it through her silken locks.

The glow of her skin as she sang was like the sun shining upon the surface of the water; radiant and captivating; inviting him to dive in.

The story her song told reminded him of every beautiful moment he had shared with her. His songbird. Singing about beings falling in love as they were watched by the sky. Sunsets and sunrises, stormy middays and clear midnights. Deeper and deeper they fell, with every word and every smile.

Gwyn was many epitomes. Beauty and bravery, charming irreverence and headstrongness. Fierceness and sweetness. She was the personification of the song she sang. Ethereal. Magical.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

When the Lightsinger Calls (I Hear a Symphony)

An Azriel Drabble

Azriel daydreams of his mate -Inspired by ‘I Hear a Symphony’ by Cody Fry

I used to hear a simple song.

The warm winds of summer blew through the Illyrian mountains as Azriel sat sprawled on a thick branch fifty feet in the air, one leather covered leg dangling as the other stretched across the branch, his back resting against the trunk of an old Oak tree.

Cassian had been butting heads with Devlon for hours. Same shit, different day as they heatedly negotiated new terms for the training of Illyrian females. Devlon, of course, remained as stubborn as an ass. Even after decades of his bullshit, it never failed to chafe Azriel’s nerves that they were under the regime of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history yet had to make nice with stuck-in-their-ways pricks like him. Today in particular had left Azriel feeling less than giving.

Cassian booted Azriel out of negotiations in record time, which admittedly, was likely for the best. Azriel’s dominant stance, deadly gaze, and violent whirling shadows were not best suited for these futile attempts of “sweet talking” Devlon out of his deeply rooted misogyny. If Azriel had his way Truth Teller would do all the talking, but diplomacy unfortunately took precedence.

He may have put up more of a fight when storming out of the Camp Lord’s office had Cassian’s weapon of choice today not had a unique way of toeing that line between diplomacy and force in a way that even Truth Teller could not. No blood spillage necessary, though, Azriel thought with a smirk, the weapon could do just that as well.

The warmth of the suns rays shining through the rustling leaves and the scratch of bark lightly grazing the sensitive membranes of his wings - hitting those spots he could never quite reach - had Azriel drifting off into a light dream state.

As he began to doze, shadows hummed around him, the whistling breeze mixing in with their whirring as they sensed for any incoming threats.

Blending in with their simple song, the creek nearby babbled with the sounds of trickling water, crickets chirped beneath rocks below.

His thoughts became more vivid as his conscience drifted deeper into sleep.

His jaw ticked, wings jerking slightly as he dreamed glimpses of deep red coating his marred skin from the countless souls he’d drawn blood from, lifeless bodies scattered across bloody battlefields, dark cells, the bright flare of roaring fire scalding a child’s hands, his shadows melody becoming broken as they attempted to soothe their master.

The melody became lighter as the flame in his dreams became flashes of light, blurred glimpses of a lovely face appearing in and out of his dreams. A soft laugh intertwined itself with his shadows, the solemn hymn becoming lighter, with vibrant bursts of energy leaving his heart fluttering. More images of the ethereal face flickered through his mind, soft blush dusted cheeks, a radiant white smile, supple fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, plush lips on bare skin, all appearing to the beat of the rising staccato. His lips quirked upward in his sleep as his guard dropped lower and lower and the melody continued growing louder, building into the crescendo of the loveliest symphony he’d heard yet, even in Prythian’s most renowned concert halls.

The music filled Azriel’s entire being, leaving him light as shadow, his flaws forging themselves from ugly into something beautiful, something worthy, as the melody carried his soul toward the light.

Just as his body began to slump out of the tree a sing-song voice brighter than day awoke him. “Careful, Shadowsinger. One might think you’re sleeping on the job.”

He looked down to his beautiful mate, the face his dream had called him to. “My little Lightsinger, did you give Devlon hell?”

She beamed. “Worked a little on him. The girls get seven more hours per week and Cass or I can do spot checks whenever we please. I’ll push for more when we meet again in a few months.”

“That’s my girl.” His eyes shone with the pride filling his chest as he launched out of the tree and swept her off her feet.

“Let’s go home.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose. Azriel only blushed and did just as his lady said, the two falling into companionable silence as her light and his shadow mingled in harmony the entire flight back to Velaris.

And now I hear a symphony.

———————————————-

[thevalkyriesshadow]

@lplusl As per your request! A mini gwynriel fic when Gwyn asked Az for dagger handling lessons and constructing the ribbon beam (because I think we can all agree, Az definitely helped her construct it)

Enjoy!

“Shadowsinger! Hey -” Gwyn’s heart was pounding. She couldn’t believe she was about to pull the shadowsinger to the side and ask him, “- Are you free later today?”

Azriel’s brows rose, “I have to take Cassian and Nesta somewhere. Why do you ask?” He carefully placed a sword back on the rack. His fingers delicately handled the blade like it was the most precious item he’s ever touched.

Gwyn fidgeted with a strap on her leathers, “I find that I quite like the feel of a dagger -” Azriel stilled, his shadows swirling around his wings, “- and I want to be able to handle it with the same care and consideration in which you handle them.”

He swallowed hard, “You - want to practice dagger handling?” 

She smiled, “Yes! See I’ve gotten really good at pulling it out from its sheath and -” she drew her dagger, thrusting it quickly forward. The tip of the blade inches from Az’s stomach. He didn’t flinch a muscle, aside from the twitch in the corner of his mouth. “But then I don’t really know what to do with it beyond that…”

Azriel - who was usually so very contained - curled his fingers into fists. 

“I can show you,” he said, the words running together, “How to handle a dagger that is.”

Then Azriel fidgeted - the stoic spy master of the Night Court seemed to suddenly be in a rush, not to leave her, but to do whatever it was he needed to do with Nesta and Cassian.

“I’ll return shortly. Maybe…wait here? Or if you need to freshen up -” One of his shadows twirled around her disheveled braid. Caressed her cheek where a drop of sweat dripped down her temple.

“I can wait. I have my book with me so -”

“Oh? What are you reading?” He started making his way to the archway back to the House. Gwyn fell in step next to him, her face heating. 

“Uh- just an adventure novel with a little bit of…other stuff, but the political intrigue and fighting scenes are really the main event.”

Azriel searched her face, like he knew it was actually a romance novel she was reading. He stopped at the archway, turning to her, “Well I hope you enjoy your reading until I get back.”

With that, the shadowsinger was off, leaving Gwyn alone in the ring, well almost alone as one of Azriel’s shadows stayed behind, wrapping itself around her ankle, curling up like a cat in the sun.

—

Sweat poured from every inch of Azriel’s skin as he twisted around, grabbing Gwyn’s wrist and disarming her again. She huffed and growled in frustration. The sound had become Azriel’s favorite noise while they sparred in the ring.

He had returned from dropping Cassian and Nesta off in the human lands to find Gwyn perched on the wall around the ring, book in hand. He thought he had caught a slight whiff of a headier scent on the wind, but it was gone before he could assess further. 

Azriel knew Gwyn was reading a romance even before he saw the cover. He’d have to work on training her to control her tells if she wanted to be sneaky.

Now, Azriel and Gwyn stood chest to chest, her slender wrist trapped in his large hands. She glared up at him, as if he was the reason she couldn’t hold onto her dagger.

“That’s time, Berdara.” He smirked as her eyes narrowed and she ripped her hand from his and stalked to the water table. The sudden emptiness of her presence weighing on him. He followed her, “You did well for your first lesson -”

“No…I dropped the dagger every time -”

“Well, I’ve had years of practice -”

“Well, I’ve had years of practice -” She mocked him before adding, “- I have a goal shadowsinger. I want to be the first Valkyrie after centuries of the world missing them.” Azriel couldn’t help but watch her throat bob as she chugged her glass of water. He also couldn’t help the excitable pouncing predator inside him as she mocked him.

He leaned against the wall, glancing at the pole he had helped her construct. Gwyn wrapped her fingers tighter around her glass as if she too were remembering that moment he’d found her after training one day trying to put in the pole herself…

“Gwyn. What are you doing?”

Gwyn spun around, shovel in hand, dirt smeared across her face. She smiled, “Putting in a ribbon cutting pole.” She held the shovel higher and gestured to the wood laying on the ground.

“I see. And did you plan to be out here until tomorrow morning digging in the dirt? Because that’s going to take you all day and then some.”

She lowered her shovel, leaning on it as her other hand perched on her hip, “Generally, when you want to upright a beam, this is how you do it.”

Azriel glanced at the ground, then back at her, “You do realize under this dirt is solid stone, right?”

Gwyn’s cheeks reddened, “Obviously…” She tapped the dirt with the shovel, “How deep does the dirt go?”

He joined her by the side of the ring, “Not deep enough to hold up the beam.”

The look she gave him. If she had the power of death in her eyes, he’d be long gone. “So then what do you propose? I bet next you’re going to say that you and your shiny, Illyrian muscles can cut through the stone no problem?”

He chuckled. That’s exactly what he was going to suggest, “Well, I won’t be flexing my physical muscles. I could probably cut into the stone with my magic.”

She took a step back, her arm sweeping in front of her, “Be my guest. I got it started for you.” 

He quirked a brow. Gwyn was being rather cheeky today.

Turns out, Azriel had to do a lot more hard labor than he thought. His magic only cut through so much before he’d have to dig out the debris and hack at it again. He was sweating, bruised, and bleeding - thanks to a sharp rock - by the time he’d gotten the hole deep enough. Then of course the beam wasn’t actually constructed yet, but Gwyn had obtained all the right materials so at least they didn’t have to waste time finding them.

After fretting over the cut on his palm, and wrapping it in unnecessary medical wrap, Gwyn called for a break to eat and rehydrate before constructing the pole itself.

“Where did you get these materials?” He asked as Gwyn held the smaller support beams in place while Azriel screwed in the heavy lead bolts.

“Clotho knows a few people,” she said matter-of-factly. Azriel chuckled softly at that. The copper-haired priestess was resourceful, smart.

After assembling the pole and rooting it in the ground, Gwyn reached up and tied the long white ribbon onto the post. Gwyn crossed her arms and nodded her head in satisfaction as the ribbon billowed in the wind.

She turned to Azriel, “Thank you, shadowsinger - for assisting me.”

“Anytime -” his words were cut off as suddenly the ground beneath them trembled slightly and a hole, sized perfectly for the pole they’d just constructed, opened up a foot away from them. The wind blew in the trees like a tinkling laughter, the House creaked next to them.

Azriel and Gwyn shared an exasperated glance. Seems the House was also feeling cheeky today.

“I have no doubt you’ll reach your goal of becoming the first Valkyrie in five centuries, but perfection takes time and practice. We’ll meet after training twice a week -”

“Three times,” she interjected.

He held back his smile of amusement, “Three times,” he confirmed, his voice lowering. “Would that be all, priestess?”

She scrunched her lips to the side in contemplation. “Yes, that’ll do…for now.” She sauntered past him, “Have a good night, shadowsinger,” she threw over her shoulder, before disappearing into the darkness of the archway and down into the Library below.

[todreamadream]

Az and Gwyn would make a great Mr and Mrs Smith. Think about it, they are both the type to have a cover of a boring steady job (IT, librarian, etc) but they’re both adrenaline junkies. Besides, the BANTER. The suspicion. The original meet cute that makes them get married in the first place. That one scene when Brad Pit comes home and they look for their weapons and then fight in their home. All of it.

[ofduskanddreams]

Truth or Dare, Azriel?

For @panicatthenightcourt :) The request: Gwynriel and Elucien. Tipsy truth or dare and maybe things get a little bit messy? I chose to make this a modern AU since it wasn't specified hehe.

A/N: It's implied that they've been drinking but let me assure everyone that they're still fully in control of themselves. There is no infidelity in this fic, everything is consented to by all parties involved.

Gwynriel & Elucien ✦ Rated M ✦ 1.3k words ✦ on AO3

Azriel dropped his head onto Gwyn’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scents of sunscreen and lavender shampoo.

The bonfire was crackling merrily and carving a pool of orange out of the deep violet night. Crickets chirped, frogs trilled, and the lake water lapped gently at the sand.

He was tipsy.

Gwyn smelled fucking amazing.

There were still four days left of their vacation.

He was at his favorite place with his favorite people.

It was too….

No. 

Azriel sat up, blinking against the firelight and reminding himself that he was allowed to have this without the constant fear of it being stripped away.  

Some things were truly good. Other shoes didn’t always drop.

“Everything alright, Az?” Elain asked. She was curled into Lucien’s side across the fire from them.

“Yeah, fine. I just spaced out.” He hoped his face betrayed nothing. The last thing he needed was for Lucien to spend the rest of their vacation calling him Sadzriel again. 

“Okay,” Gwyn exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “We are going to play a game because it’s too early for us to be getting tired. Besides, we need to give them—” she jerked her head toward the house on the hill “—more time before the cabin will be safe.”

Half an hour earlier, Nesta had dragged Cassian away from the fire claiming she was “tired.” Rhys and Feyre made their excuses not long after.

Gwyn had a point. Even if they wanted to go to bed right now, Azriel knew none of them would be able to fall asleep due to the volume of the others' activities. It was the one downside of this pine-sheltered haven on the lake. 

“What kind of game?” Lucien asked.

Azriel turned to his right. The flames danced tangerine in the teal reflection of Gwyn’s eyes making them gleam with a devilish light. 

His girlfriend shot him a sly smile. “Truth or Dare.”

Elain grinned, “I’m in.” 

“Me too,” Lucien said with a huff of laughter. 

“Az?”

His past experiences of Truth or Dare weren’t what Azriel would call fond memories. Then again, maybe that was an unavoidable consequence of playing with Rhys and Cassian instead of being the fault of the game itself. And the way Gwyn was looking up at him all wide-eyed and lower lip caught between her teeth the way she knew drove him crazy….

“Fine, I’m in too.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Lucien chuckled and Azriel threw an empty beer can at his head.

“If you had my memories of Truth or Dare, you wouldn’t be so psyched about it either,” Azriel grumbled. 

It didn’t take long for the game to spiral in the direction that Azriel had been dreading. They made it once around the circle and then it was Elain’s turn again. He knew it was going to be bad no matter which option he chose. The world may think Elain Archeron the epitome of sweet kindness, but those close to her knew better than to fall to that facade. Elain Archeron could be the devil in disguise.

“Truth or dare, Azriel?” she asked, her tone intentionally disarming.

Knowing Elain for as long as he had, he knew she knew things about him that few did—that Gwyn didn’t. Not yet, at least. They’d been together for a year but some things he wanted to share were so weighty that a year might not be strong enough to hold them. To choose “truth” would be too risky.

“Dare.” Azriel leaned back, leveling Elain with a look of challenge to belie his fear of her next words.

“I dare you to kiss Lucien. For at least five seconds. With feeling.”

And Elain looked so smug at that, Azriel couldn’t help but laugh. Lucien was very attractive. Had they met in a bar and weren’t attached, he’d waste no time. “What do you say, Lucien?”

Lucien wore a smirk as he pushed off the log to stand. “If the ladies want a show, and you are willing, who am I to deny them?”

Azriel rose, moving until they were standing nearly chest to chest. “Oh, if it’s what the ladies want, I’m all in.” 

He shot a questioning glance toward Gwyn over his shoulder. It was only a fun game if everyone thought so, if she didn’t want him to do this he wouldn’t. But Gwyn was smiling, and she waved her hands as if to say by all means, please continue.

So, Azriel reached and tangled his fingers in the thick red hair at Lucien’s nape. He winked at Gwyn. “I always have had a thing for redheads,” and then he stepped into Lucien’s space.

Lucien was slightly taller than him. Azriel had forgotten until he had to tilt his chin at the last second. The kiss started out questioning: hi there, hello—drawing back, a second chaste brush and press—we’re doing this, yes we are.

Then it turned exploratory: how good of a kisser are you?—adding pressure—very good I’ll have you know—Lucien’s hands on either side of his jaw, tipping Azriel’s head as he took control. Azriel nipped Lucien’s lower lip in response to the challenge.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably Gwyn. Azriel took that as his cue to slow, and Lucien did the same.

The kiss ended sincerely: that was rather nice—a strong press—it was, wasn’t it—parting, then coming back for one last peck, featherlight and lingering.

They stepped away from each other, smiling. Lucien offered Azriel his hand, “Nice work.”

Azriel shook it, “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Lucien rolled his eyes and went back to sit beside Elain. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

Elain, whose red cheeks (though not as red as Gwyn’s when Azriel looked) were answer enough, but she huffed a laugh, “And then some. I don’t know what I expected but that was… something.” 

Lucien arched an eyebrow, glancing between Azriel and Gwyn with a silent question. Azriel couldn’t deny that the idea intrigued him, but that was something to think about for another night. Now he needed revenge.

“Elain—Truth or dare?” Azriel already knew which one she would choose, but they had to play the game. 

“Dare.” 

Just as he had hoped.

“I dare you to ask Gwyn to go skinny dipping in the lake with you right now.”

“Oh,” Elain feigned surprise. “So that’s how it’s going to be? What do you say, Gwyn, should we give the boys a taste of their own medicine?”

“Now hold on. That wasn’t—” Azriel’s half-hearted protest was interrupted when Gwyn stood up and tugged off her (it was actually his, but she’d stolen it) hoodie.

“There is nothing I would like more,” Gwyn replied with a wicked-looking grin aimed at Azriel. 

Elain and Gwyn walked down the beach, a trail of discarded clothes marking their path to the lakeshore. 

Slowly, Azriel and Lucien rose and turned as one, as if there were little more than puppets on strings. 

Inky water swallowed pale limbs and soft curves as they walked further out. The two women seemed to glow in the light of the nearly full moon reflecting off the breeze wrinkled surface of the lake. They were ethereal, otherworldly, like nymphs or sirens.

Azriel glanced at Lucien to find the man already looking at him. They exchanged nods, starting to follow the trail their girlfriends had left behind.

Gwyn and Elain stopped when the water was just below their shoulders. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew their hands were in each other's wet hair and they were kissing. 

“Fuck me.” The words sounded like they’d been punched out of Lucien’s gut.

“Yeah,” Azriel breathed. He shared the sentiment.

“Well boys,” Gwyn’s voice carried over the water. “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to join us?”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @talons-and-teeth @krem-does-stuff @iftheshoef1tz @thelovelymadone @mmiscbutterflies @shadowriel @foundress0fnothing @sunshinebingo @octobers-veryown @areyoudreaminof @moonpatroclus @separatist-apologist @kingofsummer93 @velidewrites @wittyrejoinder @bagelfyre @itsthedoodle @sv0430

[elliemarchetti]

Rotten Petals, Rotten Feelings

Sad Elriel drabble for my alphabet of flowers prompt list.

Modern AU, modern proof reading (which is none).

Part 2 if you're interested in Gwyn's POV

Prompt: Magnolia – Dignity

Words:685

Elain couldn't stop looking at the photo Feyre had sent her. It had been taken the previous evening, at Rita's. Elain hadn't wanted to join the outing organized by Cassian for his birthday, and not because she didn't love her sister's boyfriend, but because she didn't want to see Azriel. What had happened between them wasn’t a situationship, but it couldn’t even be called a simple friendship. They had kissed at the Christmas party, hidden in a corridor whose lights had remained off the whole evening. They had exchanged meaningful gifts in secret, away from prying eyes, and months of sexual tension had finally resulted in a kiss under the mistletoe. They had parted only when they heard approaching footsteps, and though they had been quick to go their separate ways, Elain was certain that Rhysand had caught them. For days she had been waiting for him to call, or at least text – he had her number, after all – but he never did, nor did he seem in the mood to broach the issue the next time they met. It had taken weeks before she’d found him alone, and he’d been quick to tell her he couldn’t give her what she wanted, even thought Elain never told him what she actually expected. So, with a cold and calculated sentence, whatever had blossomed between them had died in the bud, like flowers bloomed too early on a particularly warm winter day and caught off guard by the following frost.

It's all over now, she told herself when the weather started to get warmer, and her friends returned from their respective expensive holidays. By the time spring arrived, she was sure she no longer had any feelings for the elusive and mysterious guy who had stolen her heart during a snowy day.

It was just a stupid crush, it's normal to have those at twenty-three, she reminded herself when her beautiful garden began to paint the view from her room with the colours of the rainbow. She had believed it, she had felt healed, until Feyre had sent her that photo. She knew her sister hadn’t done it in bad faith. It was among many others, one of the usual reports she did when someone couldn’t attend this or that event. Only this time Azriel, who usually shied away from the camera, was featured in one of the shots, along with a red-haired beauty. The lucky stranger looked like a model, her cerulean off-the-shoulder dress something Elain would never have thought of wearing. It wasn’t overly revealing per se, but it seemed too sexy to be worn in public, more like a sleeved slip than an actual item of clothing. Her long, lean legs, so athletic they removed any doubt about her gym-goer routine, were accentuated by tight vintage boots, and every inch of exposed skin was covered in adorable freckles. Her manicured hands were resting on Azriel’s broad shoulders, halfway between the biceps and the deltoids, and their lips were united in a passionate kiss, decidedly more sensual than the one he and Elain had exchanged.

He's over me, was the first thought that crossed her mind when she saw the proof, but now she was spiralling into more self-deprecating ideas.

“I wasn’t enough,” she murmured, as she sat in the shade of her blooming magnolia. The petals of the flowers on the branches were beautiful, silky, fading from a deep pink at the base to the purest white at the tips, but the ones on the ground, the ones surrounding her, had already started to rot, an eyesore in contrast with the green and healthy grass.

In a fit of anger, or perhaps of newfound dignity, she deleted the photo along with all the others of Azriel she still had on her phone. There was no point in pining over someone who had dismissed her so quickly. For good measure, she also unfollowed him on social media, and deleted his number, to avoid asking for an explanation there really wasn’t any need for. He didn’t want her, and that should’ve been enough to move on.

[moonlitscrolls]

they’re so endgame

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 7 - Healing

For today's prompt, I've had the immense pleasure of collaborating on this amazing piece of art with @conebrain. Our goal was to show how Gwyn and Azriel - who both deal with guilt and the feel of unworthiness due to their traumas - can find comfort with each other and we hope that they can heal individually and together.

Thank you so so much @conebrain for making me a part of this. I adore this art. It was one of the best experiences I've had in the fandom. Thank you ❤️

Go show her art some love on Instagram

Please do not repost.

Azriel turned his back to her. “I don’t deserve your help.”

He started to stand but failed, as Gwyn launched forward and wrapped her arms around him to stop him from leaving.

“You do,” she said firmly. She rested her head on his. “Don’t ever think that you don’t deserve me. I... care for you. More than you can imagine.”

Azriel held her hand and sighed, something settling in him. Gwyn’s voice started to fill the room. The light from her invoking stone and that of her glowing skin illuminated the cocoon of darkness that his shadows had wrapped them in.

She sang a melody that closed the open wounds on his body, unaware that something else also started to heal deep inside him.

[freyjas-musings]

@thebeginnersclock ,

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

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

MASTER LIST - GWYNRIEL WORKS

Someone to stay

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The Priestess

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Clueless shadowsinger

Part 1

Part 2

Night Talks

One shot

Azriel's Bonus

Drabble

Frost and shadows

Drabble

Voided Echoes

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

House of healing

Drabble

SparksAwaken

One shot

The New chaperone

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Nobody

Drabble

Oleanna

Part 1

Part 2

By the rivers of Sangravah

Drabble

Rainy Reunion

Part 1

Part 2

Part 2.5

Part 3

Fluffy Wing

Drabble

Payback's a bitch

Drabble

First kiss

Drabble

Game night

Drabble

Gwyneth babydara

Drabble

Spill the tease

Drabble

Light and shadows

Part 1

Part 2

We accept the love we think we deserve

Part 1

Part 2

What's your favourite food

Drabble

Survival of the fishiest

Part 1

Part 2

Sellyn Drake

Part 1

Part 2

How I met your mother (ongoing)

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

Lightsinger

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Too Late

Drabble

Lullaby

Drabble

COUCH

Drabble

Twin Flames

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

[thevalkyriesshadow]

@gshadowsingern Ask and ye shall receive!

A little angsty hurt/comfort on this Sunday afternoon. I have to say I got halfway through this and realized he wasn't panicking enough for my liking, but then another little angsty drabble came to mind...should I write it and post it sometime later this week? 🤔

Enjoy! 💖

Azriel blinked his eyes open. The dust still settled around him. The ringing in his ears slowly dissipated, his heartbeat now the only sound he heard.

He moved his arm, reaching up to his head where a constant pounding beat against his skull.

One moment he and Gwyn were walking through a ravine in the Spring Court and the next the unmistakable sound of arrows flying through the air. Then an earth shattering rumble as rocks came falling down - and Gwyn…

Azriel picked himself up, blinking through the dust. He called out in pain as he put weight on his left foot, his ankle tender and unable to support him properly. His wings battered and beaten. The path ahead of him was clear, but behind him - behind him was a pile of rocks and debris and -

Gwyn.

The Valkyrie was sprawled face down in the dirt, small boulders scattered around her - a larger boulder on her leg, crushing the limb beneath it.

And an ash arrow stuck in her shoulder.

“Gwyn!” Azriel felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Maybe it had been…Gwyn had shoved him forward, out of the path of the ash arrow and the falling rock.

She’d saved him and -

Azriel looked around, not seeing whoever shot the arrow and fell to his knees beside her, the pain of the hard earth below digging into him. Tentatively, he reached out, one hand on her head, the other her back. His hand rose and fell. She was breathing. He placed two fingers against the pulse in her neck. Her heart still beat and it was strong. 

Azriel pushed the hair that fell from her braid away from her face. She had a deep gash on her temple, blood trickling down her cheek. Ripping fabric from his cloak, Azriel pressed the dark cloth against her head. Gwyn didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. 

A heavy pressure weighed on his chest as he took in her limp form. He should’ve been the one to take the arrow. He should be the one under these boulders. Not Gwyn…anyone but Gwyn. 

He eyed the boulder that sat atop her leg. He might be able to move it, but then he’d need to carry her, but his ankle…and the sun was already beginning to set, a slight chill falling across the lush, green lands. A chilly, spring night. They’d need shelter. 

Then there was the arrow. He’d need to roll her over to break it and pull it out….

“I’ve got you Gwyn…I’ll get you out of here.”

Azriel grit his teeth and stood, using a rock to steady him he planted his feet. His ankle throbbed, but he pushed through the pain. Took it and let him fuel him. With palms flat against the cool stone, Azriel pushed. 

Fuck. It was a lot heavier than he anticipated. Taking a step back to breath and focus. He shook his hands out and glanced at Gwyn. Her copper hair shining in the setting sun, her lips slightly parted. The blood still trickled down her face. 

His chest caved at the sight. Azriel took a deep breath, placed his hands back on the stone and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he heaved. His roar of effort echoed through the ravine as the stone slowly started to roll. 

With one final push, the stone rolled off her leg.

His shadows, which had been placated, as if they too were knocked around by the rock fall, whispered to him.

Our Valkyrie stirs.

A heartbeat later Azriel was down on his knees next to her and placed a hand on her back, breathing a sigh of relief, “Gwyn.” 

She moaned, the dirt stirring under her breath, “Az…what - argh!” She made to raise, but even the slightest movement had her cringing in pain.

“Keep still. You have an ash arrow through your shoulder and a boulder had fallen on your leg; I moved it, but the arrow needs to come out so your leg can heal.” Gwyn groaned, the sound pulling at his heart strings. “I’m going to snap off the back and pull the front out -” He noted her jaw clenching as she nodded.

“Do it,” she said through gritted teeth.

Without waiting a moment longer, Azriel snapped the back of the arrow and rolled her over, steadying her against his legs as he bent over her. Carefully, he grasped the tip of the arrow and pulled. 

Gwyn’s cries of agony sliced through the air, piercing him to his bones as he eased the ash weapon out. Throwing it to the side he ripped his cloak from his shoulders, ripping more fabric and placing pressure on her wounds. Her eyes were shut tight against the pain, but he wished she’d open them so he could see the bright teal of them.

“Gwyn, look at me.” She did. “You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.” She nodded and shivered. The cool, night breeze wrapping around them.

Curling one arm under her knees, the other around her upper back, he cradled her against his chest and stood. Gritting his teeth again against the pain, Azriel started walking. 

—

He found a small cave that was long abandoned by whatever animal used to live there. He started a small fire and then all other thoughts left him as he turned back to Gwyn to tend to her. Her head and shoulder wounds had stopped bleeding, but she had closed her eyes as Azriel carried her and didn’t open them again. Nor did she make a sound. The silence was…unbearable. 

He missed Gwyn’s stories, her thoughts on any and all topics, her jokes, her constant teasing of him…

She’d be okay. She had to be.

Panic rose in him. But what if she wasn't? What if there was more damage he couldn’t see and those few moments the arrow was in her, her body couldn’t handle it and …

His shadows swirled around him, fretting over her just as much as he was. They slithered along her body, constantly reporting to Azriel as they did so.

Breathing.

Heart beating.

No further injuries detected.

Azriel reached for the leg that was crushed under the boulder. Thank the gods for her pliant bones, otherwise her leg may have been shattered. He went to move her leg then to straighten it when she finally made a sound, a whimper against the pain.

Azriel’s head snapped up. Gwyn’s brows were furrowing, her jaw clenched. 

“Sorry…I need to set your leg,” he whispered. Gathering his cloak, Azriel rolled it up and wrapped it around the bottom of her foot and along both sides of her legs. Finishing it off with strips of fabric from Gwyn’s cloak to hold it in place. Gwyn’s hands balled into fists as he made the splint. 

Another breeze blew into the cave, colder this time, the steady beat of rain falling followed.

“Az…” She sounded so weak. “I’m cold,” she grimaced. Azriel lifted the cloth. Her wound was closing, but too slowly. Perhaps ash arrows affected nymphs differently? Or maybe it was also poisoned. He’d never seen someone in this state after being hit by an ash arrow. She shivered under his touch, her face pale. She needed warmth, but they didn’t have blankets. 

His heart raced, the cave walls closing around him. He could only think of one way to keep her warm. 

Placing a hand on the side of her head, he stroked her cheek with a scarred thumb, “I - can warm you up?” 

She shivered violently again and nodded, “Y - yes…please.” Her words came out like a whining plea. Azriel obliged her. 

Laying down next to her, Gwyn rolled into him instantly, as if drawn to him. With her back to the wall, Gwyn buried her face in his chest, her arms trapped between them. He wrapped his arms around her, his legs, then finally his wings, creating a warming cocoon around her.

Gwyn shivered violently for the first few minutes as he held her. His chest cracked wide open at the small whimpers and moans that eked out as she fought off the fever. Azriel held her tight, stroking her hair, her back. She fell asleep soon after. He didn’t leave her side wouldn’t leave her side. Not until she was awake and the fever broke. He vowed at that moment to never leave her side.

Gwyn was like no other. She was fiery, vivacious, smart, brave, loyal - and she accepted him for everything he was. He took all their moments together for granted. All the late night sparring lessons and library research and missions together. All the dinners where they sat next to each other, joking and laughing. All the challenges they set against each other. 

All those moments he may never get again. If this fever overtook her…

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Wouldn’t be able to be happy again, without her. Gwyn wasn’t just a fellow warrior. She wasn't just his best friend. She was so much more.

Azriel hugged her tighter, pressing his lips to the top of her head, breathing in her river moss and willow scent. 

He couldn’t lose her.

Azriel wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The rain was still falling outside the cave when Gwyn stirred, stretching against him, wincing. Her auburn hair stuck to her face, the sweat from her breaking fever soaked her skin and his leathers.

He pushed her hair back and wiped away the sweat from her forehead, “Gwyn?” She groaned in response. “How do you feel?”

Slowly, she blinked her eyes open and looked up at him. His whole world stilled as he beheld her teal eyes. 

“Awful. But I’m not cold anymore.” She glanced up and down, as if just realizing she was being held in his arms. Then saw the wing that arched over them. She didn’t try and push him away or wiggle out of grasp though. Instead she leaned into him. “Looks like I have you to thank for that.”

Every muscle he’d been tensing, relaxed. She was going to be okay.

As he vowed, Azriel didn’t leave her side and tended to her wounds until her body started healing quickly again. They stayed in the cave for the night, Azriel heating up soup for them, holding her cup since her shoulder was still sore. 

In the morning, she was able to stand, but still needed a crutch. So Azriel became her crutch, holding her upright.

“Thank you, Azriel, for taking care of me.”

Something in his chest pulled and tugged, right behind the rib cage at her words. “Anything for you, Gwyn.” She smiled and held onto him a little tighter.

[ofduskanddreams]

Like They Want To Lick You

For @octobers-veryown. The prompt: Gwynriel, Modern AU, on their honeymoon. Azriel's walking around in a very distracting shirt and Gwyn can't help feeling a little possessive.

Gwynriel ✦ Rated: T ✦ 619 words ✦ on AO3

“God, can you please stop undoing your buttons?” Gwyn huffs, truly exasperated.

Azriel stops, looking over at her with a puzzled look on his face. “It’s hot out… we’re on the beach.” He kicks up a spray of sea-smoothed pebbles to emphasize the latter point.

He’s clueless, Gwyn thinks, and not for the first time. 

The white linen button down Azriel’s wearing is slightly sheer in the bright sun, the dark patterns inked on his toffee skin peek through. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, the tattoos on his forearms displayed for all to see. Then there’s the fact that he’s undone nearly half of the buttons down the front, baring his sternum and the bluish-black designs traversing his chest.

It’s obscene. He is obscene.

And she is not the only one who thinks so. They’re days into their honeymoon in Ravello, a cinematically picturesque town on the Amalfi Coast, and Gwyn hasn’t been able to take Azriel anywhere without drawing the attention of appreciative eyes. This isn’t a new phenomenon, it happens back in Velaris when they go out but she rarely notices after all these years with him. 

The first day of their trip, Gwyn rather enjoyed the feeling of knowing she had the thing that everyone else wanted. She didn’t mind showing him off now and again but it’s a constant thing now, and it’s grating on her. 

“Gwyn,” he says her name softly, matching the volume of the gently lapping waves on their right. “What is it?”

He knows she’s upset, of course he does. Why is it that he can be emotionally obtuse to the point of infuriation and yet read her so well, so effortlessly? It’s never made any sense.

“People are staring,” she tells him, looking over his shoulder to the rows of beach loungers and the folks not so covertly watching them. 

Azriel still looks confused.

“They are staring at you,” she clarifies, then adds “like they want to lick you” for good measure. 

Those enigmatic hazel eyes blink once, twice, and then Azriel’s grinning, a wry laugh punching out of his lungs. “Like they want to lick me?”

She crosses her arms. “Yes.”

“Gwyneth,” Az begins in that voice that always prefaces trouble, “are you jealous?”

“I have every right to be,” she challenges, stepping forward and doing up all but the top two buttons of his shirt. “You’re mine. I don’t have to enjoy people looking at you like they wish you were theirs.” 

She means every word, but Azriel’s grin is smug and indulgent as he draws her into him, arms wrapping around her back as he drops his head into the crook of her neck. He breathes deeply, like he wants to inhale her, and she feels some of the ever-present tension melt from his shoulders beneath her palms.

“I like this possessive streak,” he admits quietly, the words caressing her neck and making it tingle.

“Do you now?” Gwyn’s smiling into his shoulder, both at the words themselves and the fact that Azriel freely tells her such things. He didn’t always do that. “Should I call you ‘mine’ more often?”

A rumbling affirmative hum sends a shiver up her spine and Gwyn laughs. “Is that doing something for you?” She already knows it is—can feel the evidence of it against her hip. 

Admittedly, it’s doing something for her as well.

“I think you should take me back to the hotel now and say that with fewer clothes on,” Azriel punctuates the request with a featherlight kiss to her pulse. 

“Hmmm,” Gwyn presses away from him, looking up into his face and noting the flush on his cheeks. “I think that can be arranged.”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @talons-and-teeth @krem-does-stuff @panicatthenightcourt @thelovelymadone @mmiscbutterflies @shadowriel @iftheshoef1tz @foundress0fnothing

Let me know if you wish to be added to/removed from my Gwynriel taglist :)