Moments Part III (Azriel x Reader)
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Summary: A collection of more moments with Azriel.
Authors Note: No warnings below. Self-established relationship with our favourite Shadowsinger. Moments inspired by mundane things and everyday life. In no particular order. I hope you enjoy 🖤
The first time it happened, you didn’t think much of it.
You were curled against Azriel on the balcony of your room at the River House, wrapped in a blanket against the evening chill while the city glittered below.
For the first time in a while, it was just the two of you.
No missions. No meetings. No emergencies.
His arm rested lazily around your waist, wings tucked loosely behind him as you sat half between his legs, your head resting against his shoulder while he absently traced patterns against your hand.
It was peaceful.
Rarely, wonderfully peaceful.
“I missed this,” you murmured.
His fingers stilled briefly against yours.
“So did I.”
You tilted your head to look at him, smiling faintly. “You know, normal couples probably see each other more than once every few days.”
“We’re very busy people.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse.”
A small flicker of amusement crossed his face.
Then—
A knock sounded against your bedroom door.
You both froze.
You were immediately annoyed.
Cassian’s muffled voice carried through the door. “Az! Rhys needs you downstairs.”
You let your head fall dramatically against Azriel’s shoulder.
“No,” you called back instantly.
Silence.
Then Cassian's voice comes through again. “…That wasn’t Azriel.”
“No,” you said louder. “And I meant it.”
Azriel’s chest moved once beneath your cheek in a quiet laugh.
“I guess you should go,” you muttered bitterly.
“I’ll come back,” he promised softly, pressing a kiss to your temple before reluctantly standing. “We’ll continue this later.”
You pointed a warning finger at him. “You said that yesterday.”
“This time I mean it.”
“You’re very convincing for a liar.”
That earned you another soft laugh before he disappeared inside.
You waited.
And waited.
And sometime around midnight—
You fell asleep alone on the balcony sofa.
The second interruption happened two days later.
You’d cornered him in the library this time.
Azriel had barely stepped inside after returning from a mission before you’d followed him in, shut the door behind you, and crossed your arms.
“You,” you informed him, “owe me time.”
His brows lifted slightly. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer slowly. “That sounds serious.”
“It is serious.”
“You’re very intimidating.”
“I know.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
Then you grabbed the front of his leathers and kissed him before he could say anything else.
The soft sound he made against your mouth was deeply satisfying. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you against him like instinct.
Finally.
Finally—
A sharp knock rattled the door.
You both ignored it.
You involuntarily gasped as your back met one of the bookshelves, giving Azriel access to swipe his tongue into your mouth as he pressed into you.
Another knock.
Louder.
Then—
“Azriel? Uncle Cassian said you’re hiding.”
You closed your eyes.
Azriel dropped his forehead against yours with a sigh.
Little Nyx knocked again. “I found you. Open the door!”
You whispered, horrified, “He’s learning.”
Azriel actually laughed this time. A real one. Warm and low.
“We'll finish this later,” he murmured against your forehead.
You narrowed your eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last time.”
“And this time I still mean it.”
“You’re impossible.”
His hands slid briefly up your back. “You love me anyway.”
Unfortunately, he was correct.
Later never came.
Because somehow every single time you got him alone someone needed him.
Rhysand wanted reports.
Cassian wanted sparring.
Mor needed help with something diplomatic.
Amren apparently “required” Azriel to reach something on a shelf despite being perfectly capable of winnowing.
At one point, you were nearly certain they were doing it deliberately.
Especially after catching Cassian smirking one evening when Rhys interrupted dinner.
You pointed at him immediately. “You’re involved.”
Cassian looked delighted. “In what?”
“This conspiracy against my happiness.”
Azriel nearly choked on his drink.
By the end of the week—
You snapped.
It happened in the River House.
You’d finally managed an uninterrupted evening together for the first time in what felt like weeks.
You'd had dinner and a few glasses of wine and now Azriel was nestled between your parted legs, pressing you into the cushions.
He'd barely settled properly against you, his hands slipped beneath your shirt , your back arching as he fumbled with your bra strap when—
A knock sounded at the door.
You didn’t move.
Neither did Azriel.
Another knock.
Then Rhys’s voice:
“Az?”
Your eye twitched.
Azriel sighed softly. “I’ll be quick.”
“No.”
He blinked down at you.
You sat up slowly and far too calmly. “Absolutely not.”
Another knock.
“Az, I just need—”
You stood and marched across the room, before you yanked the door open.
Rhysand stood there mid-sentence.
You smiled up at him far too sweetly. “No.”
Rhys blinked once. “…No?”
“No,” you repeated pleasantly. “You cannot have him.”
Behind you, Azriel had gone completely silent, watching the scene unfold with amusement and not doing a thing to stop it.
Rhys glanced over your shoulder slowly, shooting Azriel a baffled look, then back to you.
“…You realise you’re speaking to your High Lord.”
“And you,” you replied, “are interrupting date night.”
A dangerous grin spread across Rhys’s face. “Oh, so date night trumps High Lord business?”
“You’ve all stolen him from me all week,” you continued. “I’m reclaiming him.”
Behind you a very suspicious choking sound came from Azriel.
Rhys leaned casually against the doorway now, clearly enjoying this far too much.
“You’re reclaiming him?”
“Yes.”
“Like an object?”
You considered this. “More like a very overworked emotional support bat.”
Rhys looked delighted. “Cauldron save me, why don’t you have a little patience? Good things come to those who wait.”
“I lost patience three interruptions ago.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“I am saying something now.”
A pause.
"I just need him for a minute—"
"Rhys, if I don't get laid tonight I will burn this house down."
Rhys blinked.
Then lifted both hands in surrender. “You know what? Fair enough.”
You snorted. “That’s it?”
“I’m not stupid enough to come between a fed-up mate and the male she hasn’t seen properly in weeks.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” Azriel informed him from the sofa.
Rhys ignored him entirely, looking back at you with open amusement.
“For the record,” he said, “Cassian owes me five marks. He said you’d snap yesterday.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I knew it was deliberate.”
Rhys grinned, then wisely left before you could throw something at him.
The door clicked shut and silence settled.
You turned slowly.
Azriel was still sitting on the sofa staring at you, pure amusement flickering across his face.
“What?” you asked defensively.
“You called me an emotional support bat.”
“You left out the important part of that sentence.”
His brows lifted slightly. “Which was?”
You crossed your arms.
“That you’re mine tonight.”
The amusement vanished instantly.
Azriel stood slowly, a familiar heated look in his eyes, and you got the sudden impression you had turned into pray.
He crossed the room quickly until he was directly in front of you again, large hands settling on your waist.
“You know,” he murmured, voice low with unmistakable satisfaction, “I think that might be the most possessive thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Heat rushed to your face.
“They all drove me to it.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“No?”
“No.”
Then he leaned down slightly, forehead brushing yours.
“And for the record,” he murmured softly, “I was already planning on spending the rest of the night with you.”
"Thank the Mother," you declared.
Azriel's amused chuckle was swallowed by your lips latching back onto his.
The first note arrived three days after Azriel left.
You didn’t even notice it at first.
You were half-asleep at the kitchen table in the River House, staring miserably into your tea while rain tapped softly against the windows. The house was quiet for once—everyone else still asleep—and the silence only seemed to make his absence louder.
You hated missions.
Hated them.
Not because you doubted Azriel’s skill.
Never that.
But because when he was gone, it felt like someone had quietly removed a piece of you.
You sighed softly, rubbing tiredly at your eyes.
And froze.
Something cool brushed against your wrist.
One of Azriel’s shadows curled lazily around your hand.
You blinked at it.
“…Hello to you too.”
The shadow twitched once—
Then dropped something into your lap.
A tiny folded piece of paper.
Your breath caught immediately.
Slowly, carefully, you unfolded it.
Three words greeted you in familiar, slanted handwriting.
Make sure you eat properly.
You stared at the note.
Then at the shadow.
Then back at the note.
And despite yourself—
A laugh escaped you.
Quiet and disbelieving.
“He sent you all this way just to bully me?”
The shadow curled almost smugly around your wrist.
You smiled so suddenly it almost hurt.
The notes kept coming after that.
They were never predictable and never announced.
Sometimes they appeared tucked into your books.
Sometimes beneath your teacup.
Once, one of his shadows dropped a folded note directly onto your face while you were trying to nap.
You unfolded it with deep suspicion.
Don’t sleep on the sofa again or you’ll hurt your back.
You sat upright immediately, glaring at the shadow hovering above you.
“You’re spying on me.”
The shadow swayed innocently.
“You absolutely are.”
Another note appeared in your lap.
Yes.
You gasped.
“You traitors.”
The shadows seemed deeply unrepentant.
The worst part, or perhaps the best, was how Azriel the notes were.
Short. Minimal. But somehow still devastatingly sweet and thoughtful.
Wear the warmer coat today.
Missed you at dinner.
Cassian put too much salt on the eggs. Don’t let him cook unsupervised.
Go to sleep.
That one arrived at nearly two in the morning after you’d been sitting awake in bed restlessly turning pages without absorbing a single word.
You stared at it for a long moment.
Then muttered toward the ceiling:
“You’re both annoying.”
The shadows curled happily around your shoulders.
Weeks passed, the mission dragging on longer than expected.
And though the bond still hummed steadily beneath your ribs, there were moments where the distance ached.
Moments where you’d reach across the bed in the middle of the night only to find cold sheets.
Moments where you’d hear a laugh in the street that sounded vaguely like him and your chest would tighten before you could stop it.
The notes became your favourite part of the day and somehow Azriel always knew where you were and what was going on.
He was the Spymaster after all.
It was comforting, knowing despite him being across Prythian, you were still on his mind.
The rest of the Inner Circle soon became accustomed to a note being dropped into your lap at random times.
Feyre caught you smiling down at one particular note over breakfast. She leaned against the kitchen counter, smirking slightly.
“You know,” she mused, “normal people usually write full love letters.”
You immediately covered the note with your hand. “It’s private.”
“That defensive, huh?”
You narrowed your eyes.
Feyre laughed softly. “What did this one say?”
You hesitated, then reluctantly slid the note across the counter.
She unfolded it and immediately burst out laughing.
Stop glaring at Rhys. He’s enjoying it.
You buried your face in your hands. “He can see me glaring from another court?!”
“Apparently,” Feyre said, still laughing.
You groaned. “I hate him.”
“You adore him.”
Unfortunately—
She was correct.
The final note came nearly a month after he’d left.
You were standing on the balcony outside your bedroom, wrapped in one of Azriel’s sweaters while the evening wind curled around you.
You were restless again. Missing him desperately.
One of his shadows drifted silently from the dark.
You smiled faintly before it even reached you. “There you are.”
The shadow brushed your cheek softly, then placed a folded note into your hand.
Your chest tightened immediately because this one felt different somehow.
You unfolded it slowly.
There were only four words.
Turn around, sweetheart.
You stopped breathing.
Then spun.
And there he was.
Standing in the doorway behind you.
Tired. Windblown. Beautiful.
Home.
You made a small, broken sound that you’d absolutely deny later before practically throwing yourself at him.
Azriel caught you easily, arms wrapping around you with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.
“There you are,” he murmured against your hair.
You clung to him harder. “You took too long.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been gone for weeks.”
“I know.”
“You sent your shadows to emotionally torment me.”
A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. “They said you liked the notes.”
You pulled back just enough to glare at him. “I’m starting to think your shadows like gossip.”
“They absolutely gossip.”
You huffed softly, though it melted quickly when his hand slid up your back slowly, carefully, like he was reassuring himself you were really there.
Gods, you’d missed him.
Azriel rested his forehead against yours with a soft exhale.
“I missed you.”
They were simple words, but they hit harder than any grand declaration ever could.
You swallowed thickly. “…I missed you too.”
A small silence settled between you.
Comfortable and warm.
Then you narrowed your eyes slightly.
“Did you really send a shadow across Prythian just to tell me to stop glaring at Rhys?”
Azriel’s mouth twitched faintly. “I didn’t want our High Lord to burst into flames.”
You laughed then, for what felt like the first time since he’d left.
And Azriel watched you like he’d missed the sound most of all.
Velaris was melting.
There was no other explanation for it.
The city had been trapped beneath an oppressive heatwave for nearly a week now, and every day somehow felt hotter than the last.
Even the Sidra looked exhausted.
You certainly were.
Which was why, when Azriel finally returned from yet another meeting with Rhys, he found you sprawled dramatically across the bathroom floor.
You were defeated.
The cool stone tiles had become your refuge hours ago.
You were lying flat on your back, one arm flung over your eyes, wearing what could generously be described as the bare minimum necessary to maintain your dignity.
A damp cloth rested across your stomach. Another had fallen onto the floor beside you.
The room was silent.
Until the door opened and Azriel stepped inside. He stopped and stared.
A beat passed.
"...What are you doing?"
Without moving, you answered:
"Waiting for death."
Silence.
Azriel released a slow exhale, the kind he reserved for Cassian.
"I see."
"It was nice knowing you."
"You said that yesterday."
"I meant it yesterday."
You heard him set something down on the counter, followed by footsteps.
Then—
His shadow fell across your face.
You cracked one eye open.
Azriel was standing over you, arms folded, looking entirely too composed for someone who wasn't currently being boiled alive.
His dark hair was slightly mussed from the heat. His skin was glowing with a light sheen of sweat which only accentuated his golden skin. His sleeves were rolled up.
And somehow he still looked perfectly comfortable and incredibly attractive.
You hated him.
"I assume Rhys kept you trapped for three hours discussing important High Lord things?"
"Four."
You groaned dramatically. “Was he trying to kill you?”
A faint twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. "You've become very dramatic."
"I’ve always been dramatic."
He snorted in response. “Have you been lying on the floor since I left?”
"It's the only place in the house that isn't actively trying to kill me."
Azriel looked down at you. "...Did you try opening a window?"
You slowly lowered your arm and stared at him.
The betrayal. The audacity.
"The air outside is hot."
"Fair point."
You glared at him, then replaced your arm over your eyes.
Your conversation was clearly over.
Several moments passed. You expected him to leave.
Instead—
The room suddenly darkened.
The bright afternoon sunlight vanished from the walls. The temperature dropped almost immediately. A cool sensation brushed across your skin.
You froze, before slowly peeking out from beneath your arm.
His shadows. Dozens of them.
They drifted lazily through the room, covering the windows, pooling across the ceiling, cooling the air as they moved. Another brushed gently across your bare shoulder.
Cool. Blessedly cool.
You nearly cried. "Oh."
A second shadow slid across your forehead.
You sighed so deeply it was almost embarrassing. "Marry me."
Azriel snorted. "I already did."
"Do it again."
One of the shadows curled smugly around your wrist.
You grabbed it immediately, holding it against your face. "Oh, that's nice."
Azriel watched the entire display completely expressionless, except for the unmistakable amusement in his eyes.
"You know," he said, "most people would simply ask for help."
"I did."
"You informed me you were dying."
"Same thing."
Within minutes, the bathroom had become significantly cooler. You were no longer contemplating your own demise, which was a nice change.
Azriel eventually lowered himself to sit beside you against the vanity.
One knee bent, watching you still spread across the floor. Despite the cooling temperature of the room you still refused to move.
"You can get up now."
"No."
"The room is cool."
"I'm too comfy.”
His shadows continued brushing over your skin, cooling every spot they touched. You were beginning to understand why they were so smug all the time.
This was incredible.
"Oh, I understand why you keep them around now."
"They're useful."
"They're magical."
Another brushed against your cheek.
You smiled.
Then—
A horrible realization struck.
Your eyes snapped open. "Wait."
Azriel immediately looked concerned. "What?"
You sat upright and pointed at him. "Why didn't you do this sooner?"
A long pause followed.
Then—
"Because you never asked."
You stared.
You’d of throttled him in that moment if only you were guaranteed to keep his shadows.
Something was wrong. You knew it. Not seriously wrong. Just...wrong.
For three days now everything had irritated you.
Everything.
The weather was too warm. Your clothes felt uncomfortable. People were too loud. The tea tasted wrong.
Someone had moved one of the books in your sitting room and you had genuinely considered declaring war over it.
The worst part?
You knew you were being unreasonable. You just couldn't stop.
Unfortunately for him, the first victim had been Cassian.
"You've stolen my knife."
Cassian blinked. "What?"
"My knife."
"What knife?"
"The little silver one."
The entire dining table went silent.
Cassian looked genuinely confused. "I've never touched your knife."
You narrowed your eyes. "Sounds exactly like something a knife thief would say."
Mor immediately buried her face in her hands. Rhys started laughing. Cassian looked deeply offended.
Azriel sat beside you quietly eating breakfast watching. The way one watched a storm approaching from very far away.
The second victim was Rhys.
He'd made the mistake of casually mentioning he thought a painting looked better in a different room.
You'd stared at him for a solid ten seconds before saying:
"You're wrong."
And walking away.
Rhys was still talking about it two days later.
The third victim was Azriel.
Mostly because he was always there.
People always took their feelings out on those closest to them, which unfortunately meant he got the majority of your nonsense.
"Where's my sweater?"
Azriel looked up from the report he was reading. "Which sweater?"
"The blue one."
"You left it in the townhouse."
You stared at him, immediately suspicious. "Did I?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
A pause.
"...I watched you leave it there."
"Oh."
Silence.
Then—
"Well why didn't you bring it home?"
Azriel blinked.
Once, slowly.
You blinked back.
Then immediately realised that wasn't fair. "...I’m sorry."
The next day was somehow worse.
You were emotional. Exhausted. Annoyed. Hungry. Not hungry. Sad. Angry.
All at once.
At one point you nearly cried because the bakery had sold out of your favourite pastries.
At another point you snapped at a shadow for floating too close to your face. The shadows had looked deeply hurt and you'd apologised immediately.
By the evening of the third day even Azriel was beginning to look concerned.
Not annoyed. Concerned.
Which somehow made you feel worse.
You sat curled in the sitting room, blanket wrapped around your shoulders despite the warm weather.
Azriel settled beside you quietly.
"Bad day?" he asked gently.
You stared at the wall. "...Maybe."
A pause.
"Did I do something?"
The question was so careful it made your chest hurt. You immediately looked at him. "What?"
His expression remained calm, but you knew him, knew the tiny shifts. The uncertainty. The concern.
"You've been upset for a few days."
Oh.
Oh gods.
Now you felt awful.
"You didn't do anything."
His shoulders relaxed slightly. "Okay."
You frowned. "Why would you think you did?"
Azriel shot you a look. A very pointed look.
You thought back over the last three days.
The sweater incident. The knife incident. The fact you'd accused him of breathing too loudly yesterday.
...
Fair.
You shook your head. “I’m just having a few off days I suppose.”
Azriel wasn’t sure he believed you, but when you snuggled into his side he allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security.
The breaking point came the next morning over something truly ridiculous.
You dropped your toast.
That's it.
That was the entire event.
Your breakfast slipped from your fingers and landed butter-side down on the kitchen floor.
You stared.
The toast stared back.
And suddenly—
Your eyes filled with tears. "Oh gods."
Azriel looked up from across the kitchen, immediately alarmed. "What happened?"
You pointed to the toast, speechless. He followed your finger.
A pause.
Then very slowly, everything seemed to click into place and understanding dawned on his face.
You watched him connect the dots in real time.
The mood swings. The crying. The irritation. The random emotional disasters.
His eyes widened slightly.
Then—
A tiny smile appeared.
You gasped. "Don't smile at me like that."
His smile grew. Not mocking, just knowing.
You burst into tears anyway. "I wanted that toast."
"I know."
"It was a going to be a really good piece of toast."
"I know."
"It landed butter-side down."
Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, trying very, very hard not to laugh.
You pointed at him accusingly. "You're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm trying not to."
That was somehow the wrong answer.
Fresh tears appeared.
Azriel immediately stood and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around you before you could spiral any further.
You buried your face in his chest, absolutely mortified. "I hate everything."
"I know."
"I don't even know why I'm crying."
"I think I do."
You froze, before slowly pulling back.
Then—
Realisation hit you like a freight train.
Your cycle.
You hadn't checked. Hadn't thought about it. But now that you did, the timing made perfect sense.
The emotions. The crankiness. The irrational anger. The toast tragedy.
"Oh."
Azriel nodded once. "Oh."
You stared at him. Then groaned loudly and hid your face again.
"This is so embarrassing."
His arms tightened around you.
"It really isn't."
"I accused Cassian of stealing a knife."
"You did."
"I told Rhys he was wrong and walked away."
"You did."
"I got emotional over bread."
A pause.
Then—
"To be fair," Azriel said carefully, "it looked like a good piece of toast."
You laughed. A watery, reluctant laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
Victory.
Azriel looked deeply pleased with himself.
"You knew?" you asked suspiciously.
"Yesterday."
"Yesterday?!"
"I wasn't entirely sure."
"You let me continue embarrassing myself?”
"Would you have listened to me if I tried to tell you?"
You opened your mouth, before immediately closing it.
No you wouldn't.
Azriel chuckled at the look on your face.
For the first time all week, you felt like yourself again and not like you were going insane.
Mostly.
You were blessed to have a mate like Azriel who understood you even better than you knew yourself sometimes.
Without another word he immediately replaced your toast and insisted on carrying you back to the sofa afterwards because:
"You're clearly having a difficult time."
To which you replied:
"Don't make me cry again."
And Azriel, very wisely, stopped talking and simply kissed the top of your head instead.
"You are impossible."
Azriel looked entirely too pleased with himself. "You've said that six times."
"Because it's true."
The Shadowsinger simply shrugged, which somehow made it worse.
You rolled your shoulders, shifting your stance and immediately launched at him again, for approximately the tenth time.
And for approximately the tenth time Azriel effortlessly sidestepped and you stumbled past him.
"Stop doing that," you growled.
"I'm sparring."
"You're mocking me."
His mouth twitched. "You asked me to teach you."
"I asked you to spar."
"You asked me to go easy."
"I didn't mean this easy."
That earned you an actual huff of laughter. The sound immediately made your annoyance worse.
The training ring was empty except for the two of you. It was early enough that nobody else had arrived yet. Which was fortunate because your dignity had already suffered enough.
You wiped sweat from your forehead and glared.
Azriel remained infuriatingly calm. He wasn't even breathing hard.
Meanwhile you felt like you were fighting a mountain. A very attractive mountain, which was somehow even more irritating.
"How are you this strong?"
Azriel blinked.
Then looked down at himself as if checking. "I train."
You stared. "That's your answer?"
"It is."
"I train and yet when I hit you it's like punching a wall."
"You hit surprisingly hard."
You narrowed your eyes. "That was a pity comment."
"It was encouragement."
"It was pity."
A pause.
“Maybe a little."
You made an offended noise. Azriel looked seconds away from laughing.
Three minutes later—
You were losing again.
You managed one decent strike. Azriel blocked it.
You tried another. Blocked.
Another. Blocked.
Then suddenly, the world tilted.
A practiced sweep of his leg. A shift of his weight. You landed on your back in the dirt.
Again.
You stared up at the sky in silence. Something in you finally snapped. Not in anger, but in inspiration and a terrible, evil idea appeared.
You remained perfectly still.
Azriel frowned when you failed to get back up. “Sweetheart?"
No response.
You turned your face away and allowed a very small sniffle to escape. Azriel's entire posture changed instantly.
All amusement vanished and was replaced by immediate concern. "Hey."
You almost felt guilty.
Almost.
You sniffled again a little louder.
"Oh gods."
The words left him before he could stop them.
You heard him quickly move towards you, then suddenly Azriel was crouching beside you with one knee in the dirt and his hands hovering uncertainly.
"Did I hurt you?"
His voice had dropped completely. The teasing gone. The training forgotten. Pure concern laced his words.
You kept your face hidden, shoulders shaking slightly.
Azriel looked increasingly alarmed. "Sweetheart?"
Another sniffle.
His hand finally settled carefully on your shoulder. "Talk to me."
The guilt almost got you then. Almost, but you were committed now.
The second he leaned closer—
You struck.
Fast.
A sharp twist. A grab of his wrist. A pull.
The move wasn't perfect. It wouldn't have worked if he'd been expecting it. But he wasn't, because he was busy worrying about you.
Suddenly Azriel found himself flat on his back staring at the sky. Your knee planted firmly against his chest. A dagger pressed triumphantly against his throat.
Silence.
You grinned down at him.
Victorious. Glorious.
"Yield."
For one heartbeat, Azriel simply stared at you.
Then realisation slowly dawned and his eyes narrowed. You watched the exact moment he connected all the pieces.
The fake tears. The sniffles. The dramatic collapse. The ill-directed concern.
A beat.
Then—
His head fell back against the dirt and he laughed loudly.
You looked deeply pleased with yourself. "I win."
"You cheated."
"I won."
"You cheated."
"You yielded."
"I absolutely did not."
You pressed the dagger closer. "Sounds like yielding."
Azriel looked up at you still smiling and trapped beneath you and unmoving. Both of you knew he could reverse the situation in less than a second, but he simply wasn't bothering.
"You played me."
You bit your lip to try and hide your guilty face. "I had to try and win somehow."
"You pretended to cry."
You beamed. "Genius, right?"
Azriel huffed in a reluctant agreement.
"You know," he said after a moment, "most people try improving their technique."
"I did improve my technique."
"Emotional manipulation isn't a technique."
"It worked."
"It worked because I thought you were hurt."
You softened slightly at that.
Because he had immediately and without hesitation come to your side. The second he thought you'd been injured he'd forgotten the entire spar.
Forgotten winning. Forgotten training. Everything. Just to make sure you were alright.
Your chest warmed, even if you absolutely weren't admitting that right now.
"Sounds like a weakness to me."
Azriel's eyes sparkled dangerously. "Oh?"
You immediately realised your mistake.
Because suddenly, the world flipped.
You yelped.
The dagger vanished and before you knew it, you were the one flat on your back. Azriel hovering above you now.
One hand pinning your wrist gently against the dirt. The other braced beside your head. His legs trapping yours against the ground as he pinned you with his body weight. The smirk on his face was deeply unfair.
"There."
You glared.
He looked delighted. "Now I win."
"That doesn't count."
"It absolutely counts."
"You cheated."
His brows lifted. "Five minutes ago you were pretending to cry."
"Different."
"How?"
You thought about it, then pointed out:
"Because mine worked."
Azriel laughed again. Warm and genuine.
The sound made your indignation wobble immediately.
You glared up at him, or at least tried to. It was difficult when he was looking at you like that.
Far too amused. Far too pleased with himself. Slightly heated.
"You know," you said, trying for dignity, "I had you."
"Of course you did, sweetheart."
The admission and honesty behind it caught you off guard.
Your annoyance faltered.
Azriel's expression softened slightly as he looked down at you. "You also scared ten years off my life."
A tiny flicker of guilt surfaced. "Sorry."
"No you're not."
"I'm a little sorry."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "A little?"
"A very little."
The corners of his mouth twitched.
Then, before you could come up with another argument, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
When he pulled back, you narrowed your eyes.
You were not falling for his distraction tactics.
"I still won."
"You did."
You paused. "...Really?"
"No."
You smacked his shoulder.
His laughter followed you all the way across the training ring as he let you get to your feet with a sharp smack to your ass.
You playfully glared over your shoulder at him.
You were going to wipe that smirk off his face.
Taglist:
@nyxmoretti @itmekelpy @plants-w0rld @nebarious @delulustar @starinisstuff @totis-things @sparkyspiers @booksstarryskies @bxm-2121 @spookypersondinosaur @kuraemiii @karolamurdock @shadowmarurader @acourtofbatboydreams
