Elriel month 2026 - May 21st : Intimate ( @elriel-month)
After a copious dinner, the River House filled with the soft hum of contentment. Nyx was already asleep, tucked into Feyre’s arms, and the whole inner circle had moved to the foyer where the warmth of family lingered in the air.
Elain cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think it’s best if I sleep at the townhouse tonight, if it’s okay?” she said lightly. “I have an early meeting with some elders in town tomorrow morning. It will be easier if I’m already close by.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain herself. It wasn’t as if she weren’t her own person, more than capable of making her own choices. Feyre tilted her head, a small smile on her lips. “Of course. I’ll winnow you there.”
In her peripheral vision, Azriel said nothing, only exchanging a glance with her across the table. A small, teasing smile tugged at his lips, and she felt it like a spark - no words were needed, he understood perfectly.
Feyre stood, gently passing Nyx to Rhys as she prepared to winnow Elain. “Ready?” she asked. Elain nodded, letting herself be drawn into the shimmer of Feyre’s magic. Moments later, she appeared in the foyer of the townhouse. After bidding Feyre goodnight and thanking her for the evening, she began slowly removing her shoes, as she felt a sudden wind from the Illyrian who had just landed in the garden.
“Azriel! How many times did I ask you not to do that? You know the anemones are delicate and can’t take strong gusts of wind.” He couldn’t help the small snort that escaped him. Elain fussing over her garden had become one of his favorite things lately. “Do not laugh,” she continued, crossing her arms and turning up her nose. With her posture, he could definitely tell she was Nesta's sister. “Or I won’t let you in.” “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll help with the weeds tomorrow to make up for it, alright?”. Elain pondered the idea for a moment, before acquiescing and making a sign for him to come in. Azriel stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him. The townhouse welcomed him in silence, the kind of quiet that made everything outside feel distant. After shedding their outer clothes in a quiet, almost intimate ritual, Azriel signaled her to settle in the foyer while he prepared tea for both of them. It was a small habit they had developed over time. Everywhere else, Elain was the one making tea, baking, and cooking for others, but here, he insisted on doing it for her. He argued that while he knew she could manage, he wanted to care of it - of her really - every once in a while.
Once they were both settled on the floor between the sofa and the fire, mugs in hand, Elain asked, her voice curious, “Don’t you think they’ll notice if you don’t go back to the House of Wind tonight? Nesta and Cassian?” Azriel smirked, leaning sideways against the sofa. “Honestly? They’d probably be too busy fighting or fucking to notice anything” he said, letting the words hang in the air with a teasing lilt. Elain’s cheeks flushed, a small, almost embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. She was not yet used to such crude language, but she found herself caring less and less. “I see,” she murmured, eyes dropping to her tea for a moment before meeting his again, a quiet warmth threading through her gaze.
They started talking about everything and nothing, letting the hours stretch in easy, unhurried conversation. Laughter came naturally, sometimes soft and shy, sometimes bright and full, punctuated by pauses where they simply looked at each other, comfortable in the shared stillness.
Somewhere along the way, their conversation drifted to the past. Azriel began recounting tales of his teenage years and young adulthood - the awkward, scandalous, and occasionally ridiculous moments that had shaped him and his brothers. He was currently telling her about a particularly vivid memory of sixteen-year-old Cassian. “He once tried to impress a young female in the middle of the training yard. Rhys thought it would be hilarious to sabotage him by discreetly tying the laces of his boots together, so he asked me to send a wisp of shadow to do the trick. Cassian didn’t notice until he took a running start and face-planted into the mud, bringing the poor girl with him.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t think she ever forgave him for that.”. Elain laughed, soft and delighted, covering her mouth with one hand. “It’s probably good he didn’t know Nesta then. She would have ended him, and both of you, by the way, then and there,” she said, almost gasping at the mental image. “And that was just the beginning,” Azriel continued, warming to the memories. “There was the time Rhys thought it would be clever to ‘teach’ me flirting. Very official, very methodical. Except I had zero experience and very little understanding, and it ended with me accidentally kissing Cassian during one of our tutoring sessions, Rhys nearly dying laughing. He had used a glamour on both of us, but did not expect it to go this far. I think Cassian still tells the story every few decades, though he swore he wouldn’t.” Elain let out a small squeak of surprise, nearly spilling her tea. “You… kissed Cassian?” she asked, aghast and trying not to laugh. “Yes,” he said, “unfortunately.” His eyes twinkled with the faintest mischief. “And that was me in my prime : awkward, ungraceful, and very much learning the fine art of survival in a house full of idiots who thought they were gods of charm.” Elain giggled, shaking her head. “And yet you became the infamous spymaster of the Night Court. Known for your impeccable skills in every register.” A faint blush touched his cheeks. “I don’t think I can fully agree with that. There are still plenty of things I struggle with, especially in the flirting department depending on the company,” Azriel said knowingly, risking a glance at her, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
Elain’s gaze softened, a small blush gracing her cheeks. “I love hearing this, listening to you talk like this,” she murmured. “It makes you feel more real. Not just whatever label everyone is pushing on you.” Azriel’s expression softened, his eyes flicking briefly to the fire before returning to hers. “I rarely get the opportunity to tell anyone most of this,” he admitted, voice low. “And I don’t particularly feel the need to with most. But it’s easier to speak when it’s not just about wars and missions - especially with you.” Elain leaned slightly closer, letting her fingers brush against his hand, which had somehow found its way to rest on her leg in the midst of it all. “I’m glad you’re telling me,” she whispered. She studied him, eyes moving from his to the fire and back again.
He hesitated, then nodded, the faint trace of a smile vanishing, replaced by a small frown. “There’s more,” he said quietly, “that I would like to share with you. But, ” He paused, at a loss for words. How could he tell her without risking the way she saw him? He could bear pity from others. But to see it in her eyes…
Elain’s eyes softened further, full of curiosity and concern. For several minutes, he said nothing, his gaze drifting between the fire and their intertwined hands, as if searching for something steady enough to hold onto.
“Before Rhys and Cassian entered my life,” he began at last, voice quieter now, “it was completely different.”
He exhaled slowly, fingers shifting slightly in her lap.
“I wasn’t raised with them - not at first. I was kept elsewhere. In a cellar, most of the time.” His tone remained even, almost detached. “I wasn’t allowed out unless it suited my father, or when he wanted something. My stepbrothers…” He paused briefly, jaw tightening. “They found ways to entertain themselves. Fire was one of them.”
The flames crackled softly, casting shadows across the floor, filling the silence he left behind.
“I was young,” he continued, eyes fixed on the shifting light. “Too young to understand it at first. I thought it was just… how things were supposed to be. That I had done something to deserve it.” A faint breath escaped him. “I learned quickly not to react. Not to make a sound. It didn’t stop them, but it made it easier to endure. By the time I got out of all this and stayed with Rhys’ family, it was too late to salvage my hands. Madja said they would stay that way, forever torn in this monstrous way”
Elain wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t true, but she could see he wasn’t finished yet. She didn’t dare interrupt.
His hands stilled, the firelight glinting over the scars that marred them.
“I saw my mother once a week,” he went on, softer now. “An hour. That was all my father allowed. She tried to make it feel normal. Something good. As if that one hour could make up for everything else.” He shook his head faintly. “It never did. But I held onto it anyway. I think I started measuring time by those moments. Everything in between was just waiting for it to be over.”
The room fell quiet again, but his voice didn’t stop this time.
“I don’t fear fire anymore,” he admitted, discreetly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I had to learn not to. You don’t survive something like that otherwise. Over time, it became manageable. Something I could sit in front of without thinking too much about it.”
His gaze lingered on the flames. “But I’ve never been able to see it as anything good, as the source of warmth of a home. Not really. It’s always tied to something else. Something I can’t quite separate from it.”
He exhaled, slow, quivering slightly at the edge, as if releasing more than just breath. His gaze turned back to her. “I tolerate it,” he finished simply. “Most days, that’s enough. But the memories… they’re always there.”
After a few seconds, Elain let go of his hands and pushed herself onto her knees, cupping his face in her palms. Her breath trembled slightly, but her hands remained steady, thumbs brushing gently beneath his still-damp eyes where he had just wiped them.
She leaned in and kissed him. Slowly at first, tentative, as if giving him time to pull away, to reconsider. But he didn’t. He stayed still, save for the sharp inhale that filled his lungs as her lips pressed against his. When she drew back just enough to look at him, their foreheads nearly touching, his gaze searched hers - confused, overwhelmed, something fragile breaking through the control he held so tightly.
“Elain…” he breathed, voice soft, both a question and a warning.
She didn’t let him finish. She kissed him again, deeper this time, more certain, her fingers tightening slightly against his jaw as if anchoring him there.
“It doesn’t have to stay like that,” she murmured against his lips, her words warm against his skin between kisses. “What happened to you… it doesn’t get to decide everything that comes after.”
Another kiss, softer, lingering.
“You can change it,” she whispered. “You can make new memories. Good ones.”
Her lips found his again, slower now, deliberate.
“It can be warmth,” she breathed, voice barely more than a thread. “Comfort. Something safe.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, hands sliding from his face to rest on his shoulders as she shifted closer, knees pressing into the floor between his. “I can help you,” she added, quieter. “If you let me.”
And then, with a small, almost nervous breath, her hands moved behind her back. The laces of her dress loosened under her fingers, one by one, the fabric easing open before slipping down to gather at her waist. She stopped for a moment, gaze flickering up to his - hesitant, almost self-conscious, a trace of vulnerability breaking through her usual quiet composure. It was a bold move, one her human self would likely never have dared, but if there was one person she could trust to share this with, it was him.
Azriel didn’t move. For a heartbeat, he forgot how. The firelight caught on her skin, soft and golden, tracing the curve of her shoulders and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Something in him unraveled. Centuries of restraint, distance, and watching life from the edges collapsed into this single moment.
Her. Standing before him. Choosing him. Loving him.
Cauldron, he loves her. Loves, loves, loves her. Not a sudden realization, but something that had always been there. He reached for her, almost reverently, and kissed her again. Deeper. Hungrier. All hesitation gone.
The movement carried them both downward, slow and deliberate, until she was beneath him, the rug brushing her back, the fire crackling softly beside them as the only witness. He braced himself on his arms on either side of her head, careful not to crush her. For a moment, they didn’t move. They just looked at each other. Everything unspoken passed between them in that silence. Every glance, every brush of fingers, every moment they had held back when they shouldn’t have.
Her hands rose, tentative at first, then surer, sliding along his shoulders, his chest, peeling away the layers between them. Slowly. Patiently. Learning him as she went. When his turn came, he was less patient. The remaining fabric of her dress gave way beneath his hands. She would have to find a way to explain to the Rainbow’s seamstress why her latest work was torn in the middle.
And then, there was nothing between them. Just warmth. Skin against skin.
They stilled again, bodies pressed together, the firelight curling around them, though it was nothing compared to the warmth building between them.
Azriel lowered his head, lips finding her shoulder first, then tracing her collarbone, reverent, unhurried. He explored every curve with his lips, every responsive shiver, letting her sighs and moans guide him. Not an inch was spared. He was intoxicated by her, her scent, the supple heat of her body, the soft silk of her hair, the timid smile that blossomed into desire, the hungry, loving gaze she offered him.
Elain’s hands rose, capturing his chin and tilting his face back toward hers. Her eyes, wide and open like he had never seen them before, said it all : I trust this. I want this. I want you.
With no barriers left between them, he paused for a heartbeat, brushing a few strands of hair behind her pointed ears. His gaze searched hers, need and caution mingling in equal measure. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice low, careful.
Elain’s lips curved into a soft, certain smile. Her eyes flicked between his eyes, silently conveying the depth of her devotion, the infinite love she held for him. She simply nodded.
Slowly, deliberately, she drew him closer. Their lips met again, hungry, demanding, and her hands slid along his shoulders, down his back, careful of his wings, memorizing the strength beneath his skin, anchoring herself to him.
Azriel inhaled sharply against her mouth, hands cupping her face, holding her as if the world could fall away entirely and nothing would matter but this - the warmth of her body, the heat of her skin pressed to his. She shifted, wrapping her legs around him, guiding him inside her with patient insistence. The connection, electric and intimate, sent a shiver racing up her spine. She clung to him, letting the firelight and quiet of the room dissolve every lingering fear, every shadow of doubt.
It was as if time had frozen.
Both of them gasped at the sudden, overwhelming awareness of their bodies finally connected. Elain’s breath hitched as she briefly closed her eyes, a soft wince crossing her features at the unfamiliar stretch. It had been so long, and her only point of reference in that regard had been Graysen.
It was safe to say he had not quite met fae standards. Azriel, however… he far exceeded them. By an almost unfair margin.
A fleeting memory surfaced, of her sisters bickering, half-serious and half-teasing, about which of their respective mates had the so-called “larger wingspan,” before reluctantly agreeing that Azriel likely outranked them both. They had been right. Entirely, overwhelmingly right. She would have to find a way, somehow, to let them know the rumors were true.
The thought barely had time to settle before it dissolved, chased away by the feel of his fingertips brushing gently along her cheek—impossibly soft despite everything they had endured.
“My love,” he murmured, voice low and unsteady, “tell me you’re okay.”
She felt it then, the restraint in him. The tension coiled tight beneath his stillness, the care in the way he held himself back, refusing to move even an inch before he was certain she was comfortable, before she had time to adjust.
“I’m okay, Azriel. More than okay, even. Are you?”
He almost laughed at that. Only she would think to ask him such a question in a moment like this.
But the answer didn’t come. Instead, he found himself truly considering it.
His mind drifted, unbidden, across the long stretch of his life, centuries of it. Years marked by suffering, silence and questions that had never found answers. By those darker thoughts he had learned to bury, to outlive rather than confront. Somewhere along the way, he had come to believe that happiness was not something meant for him. Love, even less so.
He had seen it, though. Lived beside it. Watched it unfold in the lives of others - close enough to recognize its warmth, its meaning, but never close enough to reach for it himself. He had only ever known it vicariously.
And yet, here he was. With her. Elain.
Everything he had only ever witnessed from afar felt suddenly, achingly real when he looked at her. His gaze lingered on her, almost disbelieving, as if she might vanish should he look away for too long. She was extraordinary, a goddess among them, shaped by the Mother herself. There was no other word for it. One whose beauty held no equal, not only in the way she looked, but in the way she was. In her kindness, chosen not because life had been gentle with her, but in spite of everything it had taken. In her softness, her strength, her power and all things that made her the female she was. She was breathtaking. Entirely, undeniably so.
The thought alone unraveled something deep within his chest. His heart surged, too full, too unsteady, as if it did not know how to hold something like this. Because for the first time in his long, solitary existence, he was no longer standing at the edge of it. He was in it. Feeling it.
His vision blurred slightly, the burn behind his eyes unexpected, impossible to ignore. He had spent so long believing this was not meant for him - that he was not meant for this - that even now, holding her, he could barely comprehend it.
But gods, he wanted to. He wanted her.
He did not realize he had gone distant until her hand came to his cheek, soft and grounding, pulling him back to her.
“Hey,” Elain murmured gently, her thumb brushing along his skin. “Where did you go just then?”
“Nowhere,” he said softly. “I’m right here. With you.”
And with that, Elain threaded her hands in his hair and started slowly moving her hips, slowly and tentatively at first, her eyes never once leaving his. Every breath, every shift of her body felt charged, a tension years in the making finally unraveling between them.
Azriel, feeling himself losing himself in the movement, felt the need to share a part of his thoughts with her before truly losing himself in her.
“I’ve spent so long…” he murmured against her lips, voice catching, starting to be out of breath by the intensity of it all, “thinking that this… happiness, love… it was never for me. That you would never be mine, even though I knew I’d always be yours.”
“You can have it,” she gasped, pressing her forehead to his. He could tell she was trying her best to form coherent sentences, progressively losing herself in the moment too. “Right here. Right now. Nothing else matters. It’s just us. I love you, and you love me. You can have me.”
The firelight danced across their skin, shadows curling and flickering, reflecting the sudden, overwhelming intimacy that went far beyond physical closeness. Her fingers scratched along his back, surely leaving marks. He hoped they would still be here come the morning, so he would be able to carry them with him as testament of their love-making.
Azriel groaned low when he felt her pressed herself fully to him, feeling her moving with more confidence as she suddenly flipped them so that she was on top. His brain short-circuited. He looked at her on top of him, her naked form in all its glory. The way her hands gripped his biceps lightly, how her hips were rocking back and forth in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. He got a brief glimpse of her half-lidded eyes, full of lust and love, before she let her head fall back, losing herself completely in the moment. He would gladly let her take whatever she needed from him, knowing he could probably come just by the sight of it. It was truly a sight to behold, Elain in a state of pure ecstasy, taking something for herself, regaining her full agency. And he felt blessed to be the one witnessing it. The only one.
He started drawing a lazy pattern on her thighs, encouraging her to continue whatever scheme she devised to make their pleasure stretch as long as possible. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, already struggling like a youngling. Centuries of experience simply did not prepare him to Elain Archeron. Nothing could have, nothing even came close to it. But he’ll definitely make sure he’d keep going long enough so that she finds the release she was currently chasing.
He felt her coming down to him, her lips finding his again, slower this time. Her body kept moving against his, learning, melting in him. He marveled at the way she fit, at how natural it all felt despite how impossible it had seemed in thought and in longing. A soft, tremulous moan escaped her lips against his, fragile and raw. And then she shuddered fully, her body trembling and folding into his, surrendering, leaving him to hold her through the wave of her orgasm. He didn’t hold back. The heat of her, the closeness, the trust she gave him, the way she clenched him , everything drove him over the edge. His own release hit, sudden and overwhelming, his body tense, every nerve alight. They remained like that, him still inside her, their bodies flushed.
The fire burned beside them, steady and warm.
And for the first time in a long, long while, Azriel did not see it as something that had only ever taken from him.
