azriel x reader
summary: reader had been sent on a mission on the continent for weeks, and was going to miss this year’s solstice celebration. rhysand decided that the only way to cure a brooding azriel was a surprise visit home from his mate.
wc: 2.4k
The Inner Circle knew Azriel well enough to tell that he was brooding. On a regular day, most people mistook the spymaster's usual silence for agitation, but his family knew that he simply preferred to listen. His behaviour for the last six weeks however - this had become incessant brooding.
The first two weeks you were gone, he was tolerable. Given your positions in the court, both of you were used to being sent away for brief trips that separated you. You had learned how to cope with small lengths of time away from each other. He had gone about his days as usual; training in the morning with Cassian, and checking in with his spies in the afternoon for any new information.
The next three weeks, he was on edge. It wasn’t uncommon for a mission to stretch on for a month, but the distance definitely wasn’t comfortable. By this point, Azriel had resorted to keeping himself occupied at any given moment - he stayed out all day, and drank at night to keep himself from dwelling on how much he missed having you by his side. It snowed plenty in those weeks, and he had to stop himself from scowling in your absence each time he remembered the way you would light up at the sight of the snow falling outside your window.
By the sixth week, the Inner Circle knew to tread lightly around the male. Everyone around him was abuzz at the spirit of solstice, but the shadowsinger had no holiday spirit. You wouldn’t be returning until just before the new year, and he didn’t feel very festive without you. Mor would ask him what he wanted as a solstice gift, and he simply huffed in response. His brothers had endless smack talk, taunting each other over who would win this year’s snowball fight, but the male stayed silent - he didn’t care about the outcome because he wouldn’t have you there to celebrate his victory.
Azriel did what he could to not put a damper on everyone else’s solstice spirit - he helped decorate the river house to make sure everything was orderly, he bought everyone gifts, and made sure to get Nyx a few noisy toys that would give Rhys a headache. On solstice morning, he got up with his brothers to participate in the annual snowball fight, and he put in as much effort as he could muster. He did enough to put a smile on his family’s faces, but he wasn’t fully present. He wouldn’t be, unless you were there with him.
As evening arrived, the entire family gathered at the river house to eat dinner together, celebrate Feyre’s birthday, and open presents. The group had chosen to open presents first this year - Nyx couldn’t stay awake long enough, so they decided to get the gifts out of the way and enjoy an adult-only dinner when he had been put to bed.
Everyone wanted to see Nyx’s reaction to his gifts, so he opened them first while the others watched. The toddler giggled at the sound of wrapping paper being opened, and Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face at the child’s glee. You might not have been there, but his heart still felt warm being with the rest of his family. The happiness in the room was contagious, and despite the shadows skittering restlessly around the room, he felt at peace with his family around him.
Rhys shot Azriel an annoyed look as Nyx opened up his final gift; a child’s drum kit that the shadowsinger had purchased with the sole intention of pissing off his brother. Feyre also looked weary as she looked at her son, who was already causing a ruckus with his new toy.
“And to think I got you the best gift you could have asked for, and you punish me with this,” Rhys joked, exasperation in his voice.
Azriel raised an eyebrow. “You got me the best gift I could have asked for? That’s high praise.”
Rhys looked at his brother, a smug smile on his face. “If you can seriously think of any gift you’d like more than what I brought you, I will personally wear a tutu and go out into the streets of Velaris.”
Cassian’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Did you buy him a palace or something, how are you this confident?”
Rhys simply shrugged, to which Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Well let’s see, if you’re so sure.”
Azriel couldn’t even begin to guess what Rhys had bought him. At their age, gift giving was hard - everyone already had every material item they needed, so the holidays were filled with gag gifts, or items that ended up in a drawer unused. The only thing he wanted for solstice was you, and the day had already proven to be lacking in that area.
Rhys stood up and left the room with a mischievous smile on his face, everyone’s eyes trailing him.
“What could he possibly have gotten?” Cassian asked no one in particular, trying to think of what his brother would have wanted as a gift.
Nesta, who was pressed against Cassian’s side, looked to Feyre. “Are you in on this?”
Feyre shook her head, equally as confused as everyone else in the room. “I have no idea what he got any of you.”
Mor, on the other side of the room, crossed her arms. “Well whatever it is, he better have given this much consideration to all of our gifts, it’s no fair if Azriel gets something spectacular and the rest of us get mediocre gifts.”
The High Lord reappeared in the doorway, a small box in his hands. Considering how much Rhys had been boasting about his present, everyone looked skeptically at the size of the box.
“Are there keys to Azriel’s palace in that box?” Cassian muttered, though loud enough for everyone to hear.
Rhys passed the box to Feyre, who handed it off to Azriel, the daemati’s eyes still twinkling with mischief. The box was small and surprisingly light, with a red ribbon tied around it for some festive flair. Azriel looked down at it, mildly afraid of whatever it contained.
“Open it,” Rhys urged, leaning in the doorframe, everyone in the room watching expectantly.
Azriel finally pried his eyes away from his brother, going to untie the ribbon. He took it off gently, and opened the lid of the box to find…
“Gloves?” Mor asked, no doubt surprised that it was - frankly, a quite nice - pair of gloves inside the box. Azriel’s name was stitched into the material, but it was nowhere near the calibre of gift that everyone had begun expecting.
Azriel furrowed his eyebrows together, thinking about how they’d all be seeing Rhys in a tutu very soon. He lifted his gaze to Rhys and started to make the retort when the words died on his tongue.
While everyone had been focused on Azriel unboxing his new gloves, Rhys had moved out of the doorframe. The space where he had stood moments before was occupied by a new figure - one that had Azriel forgetting how to speak. You stood in the doorway, a big smile on your face. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold, and there was a long red ribbon tying your hair back, identical to the one that had been wrapped around his gloves. Rhys had gifted Azriel you, served to him with a bow on top.
It was as if the world outside of the two of you faded away. Azriel’s heart began racing in his chest as the two of you locked eyes and if possible, your smile grew even further.
The Illyrian barely heard his brother say “Happy Solstice”, before he had shot out of his seat and crossed the room so quickly that the others might have thought he winnowed. Within a matter of seconds, he had picked you up in a hug, his face lit up in pure joy. His shadows, which had been moving restlessly around all night finally focused, rushing towards you as quickly as their master had.
“Happy Solstice my love,” you whispered into his ear as he spun you around, and you could feel both of your hearts beating wildly in your chests as your bodies pressed against each other. Your mate finally set you down, and took your head in his hands as he examined your face. He was beaming, and took in every one of your features as if he wanted to never forget any detail about you.
“I’ve missed you more than you can even imagine,” he muttered, finally moving to place his lips on yours. The two of you kissed like two people starved, desperate to make up for time lost in the last six weeks. You had gotten so lost in your reunion that you had forgotten you were in a room filled with family until Amren cleared her throat from across the room.
“So, the brooding’s finally over.”
You peeled yourself away from Azriel, slightly embarrassed, though happier than ever to finally be with your mate once again. Surely enough, the male who usually wore a stoic face like a uniform couldn’t stop looking as if his whole world revolved around you.
“I wasn’t brooding,” he tried to defend himself, though his words contradicted his actions, given that he couldn’t peel his gaze from your face.
Nesta scoffed, “You definitely were.”
Rhys laughed. “Cut them some slack, we’d all be the same if separated from our mates.”
You and Azriel couldn’t even be bothered to nod your agreement as he took your hand and guided you back to where he had been seated. You pressed up against his side, looking at the box of gloves that were now on the floor.
“Nice gloves,” you commented, your head going to rest on Azriel’s shoulder as you took everyone in.
“I can’t tell if this means we’ll still be seeing Rhys in a tutu,” Cassian commented, eyes drifting down to the gloves again.
Your face scrunched up in confusion, having missed that earlier part of the conversation. “A tutu?”
“The gift Rhys was talking about was his wife, not the gloves, idiot,” Mor quipped, “Unless Az really can think of anything he would have wanted more.”
Azriel couldn’t deny it - Rhys was spot on. He had gotten him the one thing he wanted and nothing would beat having the one he loved in his arms after being away for so long. Although… “I can think of one thing.”
Rhys’ eyebrows shot up, and you looked towards your husband, mildly offended that he would suggest that there was something he wanted more than you. “You can?”
“Well, for her to have not left in the first place.”
You rolled your eyes, and Rhys scoffed, leaning back in his chair.
“That’s a technicality and you know it. Given the situation you were in, I got you the best possible gift.” Rhys disputed, crossing his arms with an eye roll.
Azriel smirked at his brother before placing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah. Unfortunately we’re getting no ballerina Rhys this year.”
For the rest of the evening, you and Azriel were in pure bliss. As your family opened gifts, you and Azriel shared stolen kisses, your hearts alight with joy. Laughter rang out all night, as you indulged in the wine and cracked jokes with your loved ones.
During dinner you stuffed yourself with delicacies, reveling in the family mealtime that you had yearned for every night. You shared stories of what your life had been like on the Continent for the last month, and your family caught you up on all that you had missed.
You and Azriel couldn’t keep your hands off of each other; the spymaster kept one hand on your thigh at all times, and your hand constantly rested on top of his. When either of you needed the spare hand to eat, Azriel’s shadows slithered around your ankles, unwilling to let you go. The others poked fun at it, but they saw how happy the both of you were, and were finally happy to see you back at home.
“We finally conquered Az’s winning streak at the snowball fight this year,” Cassian announced to you as he took a bite of a Feyre's birthday cake, “I took home the victory at last.”
Azriel shook his head as he took a sip of his wine. “I demand a rematch. You only won because I wasn’t in the right state of mind. Now I could kick your ass.”
“So you admit, you were brooding?” Rhys piped up, a taunting gaze shot towards Azriel, which caused you to laugh. “I will admit, it didn’t feel like a fair competition. I’m up for a rematch tomorrow morning.”
“And we’re just nullifying my win? How is that fair?” Cassian complained.
“If you really thought you could win, you should be able to do it even when Azriel isn’t at a disadvantage,” you teased, to which Azriel smiled proudly, bringing your hand to his mouth to place a kiss atop your knuckles.
“Fine, I’ll show you that I can win tomorrow as well,” the general complied, turning his gaze to you, “But Azriel will be at a disadvantage tomorrow as well with how much you’ll wear him out tonight- ow!”
Before Cassian could finish his sentence, Azriel had dealt a swift kick to his brother’s shins under the table, earning small chuckles around the table.
“There’s no chance anyone’s beating me tomorrow. None.” Azriel stated, eyes staring into your own, blazing with a confidence you very rarely saw from the male.
Surely enough, as the snowball fight ended the next morning, the three brothers entered the cabin to greet the girls, who had opted to lounge there for the day. Rhys couldn’t hide the laughter on his face, while Cassian dragged his feet as he walked towards the birchin, pout clear for all to see. Azriel walked in last, a smug smile on his face.
The spymaster reclaimed his winning streak, because when he looked at the cabin and saw you peering out, eyes hopeful and encouraging as you sipped your mug of hot chocolate, there was nothing that could stand in his way. After six long weeks he had you home, and with you by his side, he finally felt the solstice spirit. He was complete at last.
Summary: Azriel doesn’t believe he’s deserving of her love, yet there’s a line between pushing someone away and being cruel, and Azriel doesn’t know where to draw it
Warnings: ANGSTT + it gets steamy but nothing crazy
Notes: Back from another bout of writer’s block with something that kinda took on a life of its own. There will be a part 2!
If the dying fire in the hearth was any indication of how much time had passed, the Inner Circle spent the entire night drinking. The sun would rise in just a few drowsy hours, dousing Velaris with its buttery light, wrapping the sitting room of the townhouse in ribbons of pale gold.
Velaris’ hardest working citizens would be awake early enough to see it– the farmers, the bakers, the teachers and the rubbish collectors– while their High Lord and his Lord of Bloodshed would be passed out like a pair of bums on the couch in last night’s clothes until lunchtime.
The thought made Azriel laugh.
She sat beside him, leaning against his side as the vibrations of his laugh went straight to her lower belly. She leaned back to look up at him and he met her gaze instantly. The thin strap of her top slipped off her shoulder with the movement, and without removing his eyes from hers, his nimble fingers slid the strap back up her shoulder but made no further move to leave her skin.
Her skin pebbled in response like she was the static to his looming lightning strike. Every touch between them was like standing on the precipice of a story so damning, so wild, it terrified her to let it exist unbound. All it took was a single push of courage. A single breath of wind toward an already wavering resolve.
But it never came. These boundaries that defined their relationship were elastic. Azriel pushed the line, she shoved it, but it never snapped. It was a delicate little art, but they were so profound at this dance that it was all they knew. As treacherous as their will-they-won’t-they was, they had to have derived some pleasure, even a little bit, to be able to sit there, in a room filled with their closest friends, drunk, flushed, knee to knee, skin to skin, and still call themselves the best of friends.
A tale as old as time. A game they’ve played for years. A song whose words they could sing in their sleep. It was all of it and none of it.
With as many drinks as she’d had, definitely three or four ahead of Azriel, she slanted into his warmth like a cat bowing its head into a tender palm. His arm draped against the back of the couch, allowing her body to nestle into his in the most casual, most friendliest, most normal of ways. The back of her hand rested on his thigh as she threw her head back in laughter at something Cassian said.
If he was any more sober, his senses would have snapped to attention at the contact, but he couldn’t bring himself to be so skittish now. He savored the touch, the weight of her hand against his strong thigh, and had to reach for his glass just to take away the thought of holding her hand there with his own.
“You’re staring,” She looked up at him to find his gaze already locked on her features, assessing, admiring.
“I am?” His eyes were dark, shimmering with reflection of the licking flames in the hearth. “You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t help myself.”
He couldn’t explain where he found the audacity to be so bold with a woman so beautiful. But her eyelids fluttered as she regarded him through her eyelashes, and her smile was so damning he suddenly couldn’t even remember what he’d said.
“You’ll give our friends the wrong idea.”
He lowered his drink to his other thigh, tightening his grip around the thick crystal-cut glass to contain himself, to contain the heat racing up and down his spine like a bucking racehorse. “What’s so wrong about it?” The side of his full lips curved upward into a playful smile but he was sincere.
Azriel was fanning the flames of a dangerous fire. Again, they were standing at the brink of something so dangerous, so perfect, either of them could simply push a little farther and everything could finally be different.
But no. They both enjoyed the strain for it was its own type of pleasure.
She tried to steady herself, but with the heat of the fire, the multiple drinks, Azriel’s body heat, and mostly her own fluster, she was burning up.
To break the intense stare neither of them could pinpoint how much time they’d spent locked in, he volunteered to refill her drink in the kitchen. As soon as his broad, black-clad frame disappeared behind the threshold of the sitting room, her shoulders drooped and she ran her palms over her face in frustration.
It was such a tease, this whole situation. Like a cruel little joke, even if they did find some sick indulgence in it.
When she thought about it– which she tried not to do too often– it was downright treacherous what they were doing to each other. All of this had to mean something, right? Two people don’t just touch each other on purpose, hold each other's heavy gazes in crowded rooms, for no reason, right?
“Where’d your boyfriend go?” Mor demanded, plopping down beside her where Azriel had just sat. The tequila sloshed over the lip of her glass with the heavy landing.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she replied with little conviction. As much as it was the truth, it felt ridiculous to say it.
“Everyone sees the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. He can hardly breathe right if you aren’t in the room. It’s not a secret, if you both are keeping it one,” she took a sip of her drink, repainting the bright red lipstick mark on the rim that became her signature. Sometimes she envied Mor’s effortless femininity, her languid sensuality, that poised her at the receiving end of many amorous advances and escapades. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t be as casual as Mor was. She needed commitment, stability, and unconditionality from the one person she would give her everything to.
Which is why, as much as she loved Azriel, he bothered her. It was more than obvious they were more than friends– the way they touched each other, the things they told each other, the time they spent together– there was no logical way to deny it. But they’d never talked about putting a name to whatever this was or committing themselves to each other. She was lucky enough to find herself in that god-awful middle ground, the foggy, gray, no-man’s-land that every non-committal male sought refuge in when things got even mildly serious. She couldn’t understand why it was so hard to move past this purgatory when it was clear enough to her that she wanted no male more deeply, more dangerously, than she wanted Azriel.
“We haven’t talked about it,” was all she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She loved Azriel, but it would destroy her if all this was to him was a “good time.” There was nothing inherently wrong with one night stands or friends with benefits, but there was when her heart was a part of it too. Suddenly, the thought that his might not be stirred the alcohol in her stomach.
“But you are having sex?” Mor asked, a little louder than necessary. She was no longer lounging into the couch– she was fully sat up, legs tucked under her body, and spine rod-straight with attention.
“Mor!”
“Okay, you’re right I didn’t need to ask that. For such a big, beautiful house, the walls are quite thin,” she chuckled to herself.
“What, do you think he’s using me?” She couldn’t be bothered to feign mortification at the revelation that apparently the entire house could hear the two of them sharing beds.
Mor’s face softened immediately, sobering slightly at the sight of her friend in visible distress. “Oh, darling. Azriel is a good man–”
“He’s very kind.”
“The kindest,” Mor pursed her lips, pausing for a beat, before setting her glass down on the floor beside the couch. She took both of her friends’ hands in her own, forcing their gazes to align. “But he is a male, at the end of the day. And they often think with their dicks first, brains second.”
“Azriel is sensible…” she reasoned, not sure where Mor was going with this.
That was a terrible lie, though. She knew exactly what Mor was insinuating because she thought about it every day too. Every time he left her bed, every time he touched her, every time he said something that just-friends don’t say to each other, she wondered what his intentions were.
In her reckless need for him, she’d abandoned all expectations, all reservations, and given herself to Azriel wholly. She’d closed her eyes and leaped. When it came to Azriel, there was no thinking, no calculating, and she hadn’t registered how foolish that might be until now.
—-
Speaking of foolishness.
That train of thought crashed and burned, a smoking pile of faraway fears, when his hot lips bit at the soft spot behind her ear.
“Azriel,” his name was a breathless sigh on her tongue.
“Tell me to leave, and I will,” he murmured, his voice a deep husk of what it usually was, the pitch reaching so deep into her that it pulled and twisted her gut into a tangle of nerves, raw and fervent, like matchsticks ready to light from the mere breath of fire alone.
This was so bad. She should’ve been embarrassed how easy it was to get here. Azriel brought her back a drink but she couldn’t finish it when the conversation with Mor suddenly left her sick to her stomach (but no less sober). She tried to get away– tried to remove herself from his proximity for the night by feigning exhaustion– but of course she couldn’t deny him when he offered to walk her upstairs, a hand on her lower back. Of course she couldn’t deny him when he followed her into the room, sat next to her on the bed, then looked at her with those deep, conversational eyes that said so much more than he ever did, a man of few words that he was.
“Stay.” she heard herself say before her mind could even understand what her heart had demanded first.
And it was all he needed to hear before pushing his body on hers and slanting his perfect lips over her own. The way they came together, the way their bodies fit, was otherworldly. Each time their bodies meshed it was so good it almost felt instinctual, like they’d done this in a previous lifetime.
He savored the feeling of their chests pressed against each other and his heart palpitated like uneven footsteps, frantically searching for hers to match. Sobered from the alcohol and now drunk off her taste, there wasn’t one part of him that would not give anything to have her like this forever.
She could have floated between worlds with how weightless she felt as Azriel’s plush lips moved against hers, tasting her and taking his time. It was sweet, and admiring, and a little desperate, the way they exchanged breaths and looked for each other through touch and taste alone.
Azriel clutched the back of her neck to support her as he slowly pushed her down into the mattress, never once coming up for a breath. She was the air he breathed, the oxygen in his lungs, what else did he need?
He anchored himself above her with a knee between her legs and a strong hand at her hips. One of her hands flew to the nape of his neck and tangled in his mess of curls there while the other hooked onto the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but popping open a few more buttons instead.
She sighed as he shifted peppering kisses from the corner of her mouth to the soft skin behind her ear again, arching into his body against her better judgment, feeling his strong thigh against her. Like a wave in the ocean curling up towards the moon, she sought to be swept up into his gravity. Governed solely by the intoxicating scent of the crook of his neck, she lifted her hips to feel his strong thigh again, to touch her chest to his. She needed more friction and he groaned with the knowledge of it, shifting one hand under her hips to prop her up against the thigh he moved closer.
Any inhibitions that reappeared between her sobering up after the conversation with Mor and Azriel kissing her tonight were discarded like dirty laundry somewhere far, far away.
This is right, she told herself over and over again, the mantra chiming like worship bells in her mind. Nothing wrong could feel this good.
“I can never get enough of you,” he murmured against her flushed skin, taking in her scent as if he’d run out of breath without it.
“Are you saying–” she pushed the words out between breaths of hot air, too afraid to waste time talking and miss even a second of this. “– you think of me? Even when we aren’t in the same room?” It was a teasing tone, but she meant every word. She needed to know.
“All the fucking time. I thought that was obvious.”
It was as if the confession ignited a second fire within him. Azriel carried the kiss from behind her ear, down the side of her neck, to her exposed shoulder and collarbone, daring to bite, as if to test her willingness.
She sighed as she felt his low groan against her skin, the vibration piercing down to her very bones, searching for his lips until they found each other again. His thumb found the strip of bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants. The feeling of his skin there sent a jolt through her system. Azriel slowly pushed his hand upwards, bunching her shirt between his thumb and forefinger as he went. As his hands slid her shirt up her torso, he kissed the skin as it revealed itself to him, warm and soft like the petals of a summer flower.
With feverish need, Azriel brought his lips back to hers as his hand slipped completely under her shirt, softly grabbing her, wanting to feel her moan into his mouth as she always did when he touched her there. He held her like no one else could ever manage.
A brush of his thumb sent a jolt of awareness through her, like a splash of ice cold water to the face.
“Wait,” she breathed out, as if it took every ounce of willpower to stop him. It did. She didn’t want him to stop, but she knew he should.
Azriel’s hand slid out of her shirt immediately, and he lifted his head just enough to read her eyes. They were darkened with something he couldn’t place, and her eyebrows knitted so low on her forehead, it took everything in him not to reach out and smooth the crease between them.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, I just–”
“Don’t,” he shook his head, fixing the strap of her right shoulder as he smiled ever so softly. “Don’t apologize.”
“What is this?” She blurted out.
Azriel paused, unable to follow. “What is…this?”
“I mean,” she sighed, frustrated at her sudden inability to source words and form coherent thoughts. She was doing this now, it seemed. “What do you want from this? You and I?”
“I want you.” Azriel replied incredulously, as if it was painfully obvious. He dipped his head to place a kiss on the edge of her lips and his hand slid up the plane of her exposed belly. Methodically, he pressed his thigh between her legs again, as if to remind her. As if she could forget, underneath him like this.
The sigh that escaped her lips was involuntary, but as quickly as she felt her need overtake, she tamped it back down.
Impatiently, she swatted his hand off and pushed her blouse down. “Azriel, listen to me. I mean, where do you see this going?” After some initial hesitation- “What do you see us becoming?”
Azriel shouldn’t have laughed. He knew that as soon as it escaped his lips and her eyebrows furrowed in response, but it was too late. He didn’t even mean to, his body only reacted to the panic it felt when she asked such a question, and Mother above, was he incredibly dense for that.
“Get off of me.” She deadpanned, pushing her hand against his chest.
She’d never felt more vulnerable. Underneath this man she loved like she hadn’t loved anyone else, to have him laugh in her face when she tried to bear her heart to him was like a terrible dream come true. One she’d convinced herself many times impossible of materializing.
“I didn’t mean to laugh–“
“Azriel, get off of me.”
She pushed against his chest again and he sat up immediately. He flexed his hands, suddenly cold from the loss of her skin against his.
She sat up as well, adjusting her top. “Azriel, I need to know if you’re serious about me. I feel like we always tiptoe around whatever this is between us, but I can’t keep doing it if this isn’t serious to you.”
She needed to know that he felt the same, or everything had to stop. Even if she could never love another male the same ever again. That’s the price she had to pay, she supposed, for loving so wholly, so stupidly, before she even knew if he was ready to do the same.
It was everything he’d been waiting to hear. Dreaming of, praying for, almost convincing himself that her loving him was only a fairy tale that existed for his indulgence, and nothing more. But fear was taking over him as well.
“Of course I enjoy being with you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Azriel ran a hand through his disheveled curls, shaking his head. Say the right thing. Say the right thing. Say what you’ve been waiting to say. But no. “Where is this coming from?”
“Why can’t you answer my question?”
“Because I don’t understand what’s changed for you, all of a sudden. You know how I feel about you, isn’t that enough?” He didn’t mean it- the question or the accusatory tone it carried. It was a valid question– he was wondering when she’d put an end to this. She needed more than just a physical connection to be truly fulfilled- she needed him to be the emotionally available male she deserved.
“I–,” she bit her tongue before the word love could follow. “I just need to know if you’re serious about me because Azriel– fuck I just can’t ever seem to stop thinking of you. The thought that I just might be a ‘good time’ and nothing more to you makes me fucking sick, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. So I need to be sure… I need to be sure you’re not fucking around with me before I let you have me. All of me.”
Azriel was stunned into silence. Completely mute. Words failed him. Grammar failed him. He could barely get a syllable out and he’d never felt more foolish in his life. The sight of her vulnerability dried his throat and shallowed his breathing. An absolutely terrible time to go completely dumb, he recognized that, but she had this effect on him– made him lose touch with himself, lose his grasp on reality.
Everything he’d ever dreamed of– really, it was only her he dreamed of– flashed before his eyes like a moving picture. The love of his life, the very same one he’d convinced himself would never love him back just confessed that she did. That she wants for no other male but him. All those years he’d spent dreaming of her, awake or asleep, of sharing a life were not so self-indulgent after all. Even with this revelation that filled him with such a happiness it made him nauseous, he felt it all wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She was wrong. There was no way someone like her– as intelligent, independent, and kind-hearted as her– could truly desire someone like him.
Perhaps it was only a phase. They shared every single thought, and occasionally beds, with each other- she could easily confuse those feelings with something else. It was the only thing that made sense to Azriel, for the man could not fathom someone loving him of their own volition, with their own sound mind. He felt the need to protect her from the evil in the world, and in his mind, that included him. He would not ruin her, would not deprive her of the things he couldn’t give her. The Mother knew there was nothing in this world she wouldn’t have if she asked Azriel for it, but he just couldn’t give her this one thing.
But even that thought filled him with a newer rage. The thought of another male holding her, touching her, listening to her thoughts and secrets, another man protecting her, providing for her, loving her and waking up everyday with the privilege of getting to share this life with her. It made him want to crush the mountains that surrounded this house with his bare hands until they were nothing but powder on the ground.
Azriel couldn’t think about that right now, though. She could be much happier without his burdens, and he resolved a long time ago that this was the way he would love her. From afar. Even if it hurt him, that’s what you do for the people you love, he told himself.
He knew what he had to do.
So he shook his head, slowly stretching one leg at a time over the edge of her bed until he was standing next to it, leaving her sitting there with her shoulders slouched forward, eyes never leaving his. They pleaded for him to say something she wanted to hear, to confirm that everything they’d been doing these past years meant something. That he hadn’t led her on. It never came.
“You don’t mean that.” was all he said. It tore him in two to say it, serrated his irregular heart into messy, darkened halves.
She deserved better than what he had to offer. If it meant that he had to hurt her to protect her, he would do it. Azriel never claimed to be a hero or a villain, something in between better suited him, but he would gladly become the villain in her story to protect her. To make hating him easier. He saw the way she looked at him, noted how she told him things she never told anyone else. The details of her childhood, her day, asking for his opinion on things even though they had different tastes. He saw it now– she really was in love.
“I don’t know if she’s just being kind,” Azriel shrugged one day a few months ago, lounging in the chair opposite from Rhys’ desk.
“When a woman like that loves someone, she can’t hide it,” It was all Rhys had to say to confirm what Azriel already knew. Rhys knew as much as any of their friends did how she felt. Azriel did too. But his self-loathing was a cruel thing.
Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up straighter. “Of course I do, Az. I wouldn’t make that up.” She reached her arm out, intending to take his hand in her own, but he pulled back and she too yanked her arm back in response, as if burned at the fingertips by his sudden aversion.
“It’s understandable to want more when we’ve already bared so much ourselves to each other,” He stepped backward. “But I see now that we aren’t on the same page.”
She saw the lie in his eyes like she could see stars in the sky. A bright, blinking lie. Of course she could, she knew him like she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. She just didn’t understand why he was pushing her away. But more than that, his rejection burned like acid in her gut, eating her from the inside out. The pit in her stomach grew deeper, hotter, as he backed up.
If she asked for the moon, Azriel wouldn’t think twice to grab it with his bare hands and pull it down to earth. If she asked for the stars he’d spend centuries collecting each of them one by one. But if she asked for him, all of him, his pain, his joy, his trauma, his hopes, he couldn’t promise it to her. He would not allow her to shoulder his burdens, to feel the pain he did. Because she would truly feel all of it. That’s the person she was and he could not let her put herself through that.
There was no easy way to break her heart, but perhaps making her hate him would be one last kindness he could afford her. This disappointment would just be one of many if he allowed her to love him, and she’d be unhappy soon enough.
“Azriel,” her voice cracked and she bunched up the fabric of the duvet in her fist to ease the burning in her throat. A telltale precursor of a breakdown, he knew. “I don’t understand. You said–”
“We both said a lot of things,” Azriel said simply, unable to meet her eyes. “But at the end of the day, they’re all just words, are they not?”
“Just words?” She furrowed her eyebrows, pushing the tears to her waterline as she did. “I pour my heart out to you every day for years, and they’re just words to you?”
“That’s not what I meant–” Fuck. It was coming out all wrong. Or maybe it was coming out perfectly– the more Azriel could fuck this up, the easier it would be for her to forget him.
“You are my best friend. But we’ve done things and told each other things best friends don’t. Why are you denying all these years of our relationship, Azriel? What are you running from?” She pleaded. Her voice was raw, throat hoarse. Azriel had kept her closer than the rest but still struggled with shutting her out when she got too close. In hindsight, knowing this about him, she didn’t understand how she could’ve thought this conversation could’ve gone any differently than this. “Just talk to me.”
Those four words were a last ditch effort, a final rap of her knuckles against his tightly shut doors, to be let in. They could just talk about this.
He couldn’t bring himself to say what he wanted to say, even if she asked for it. So he resorted to hurt once again.
“I care about you very much, but … we are not on the same fucking page.”
Azriel watched her face crumple and she turned her head away, unable to keep the single tear at her waterline from trickling over. Angrily, she wiped it away.
“You’re an asshole for lying to yourself. To me.” The words were gritty and edged with grief. No one’s dead, but something that was once very much alive here is gone.
So maybe he did love her. But his decision, the resolve in his eyes, to live and make peace with the cowardice that told him to walk away from something so beautiful, she realized, he did not love her enough.
The conclusion hit her as if she’d flown straight into the side of Ramiel, ramming into the rock and tumbling down the face of the mountain uselessly until she was a pile of heartbreak at the bottom.
“I just need some time.”
“Get out.”
Azriel was silent, but made no move to leave. Suddenly he was rethinking everything, wondering if he made a grave mistake. In an instant, she was changed. The light in her eyes was gone, the glow in her skin had dulled, and she looked so very tired. When her gaze held his, there was no warmth, no recognition, no love. He felt like a stranger under her watch, and he suddenly had the feeling that he was intruding.
Azriel told himself that he was doing it out of love. That these are things you do, sacrifices you make, when you love as hard as he loved her.
“Get out!”
Azriel stayed for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to memorize her as much as he could. The sight of her hair slightly disheveled, looking absolutely flushed from his doing, with eyes and skin so unbelievably soft only inches away from his reach, would haunt him asleep or awake, dead or alive.
Then he was gone, closing her door softly behind him. The click of the latch solidified the finality of his actions. His regret would live within him– a living, breathing, hideous thing– forever.
If he couldn't have her, he could never love anyone else again.
She wanted nothing else in this world more than she wanted him to stay, to say he had made a stupid mistake and meant none of what he said, to get under her blankets, and hold her until the sun stopped rising, the moon stopped setting, and the rest of the world fell away.
If she couldn't have Azriel, she could never love anyone else again.
——-
Breakfast was quiet. Everyone was hungover and exhausted. Rhys sat at his chair, quietly making conversation with Feyre who kept going for another cup of coffee. Cassian slumped over his plate of eggs, but still made the most conversation. Whether anyone was actually listening was another story. Mor pretended to nod but she couldn’t care less.
Elain sat beside Feyre quietly, breaking apart a piece of toast. She spent the night in her room reading so she was far from hungover, but she refused to make eye contact with anyone at the table. It was strange, considering how much progress she was making with everyone, but bad dreams happened and the Mother knew she was probably having her fair share of them recently.
Amren was the only one sitting rod-straight, a book in her hands, sipping her special little drink from her cup. Rhys was more than kind to let her drink it at breakfast when there were more than one queasy stomachs at the table. Not that she needed his permission anyway.
The only person missing was Azriel. She felt his absence heavy in her chest. Not just from the table, but from her life, now, it seemed. She didn’t even realize Feyre was calling her name until the fourth time she said it.
“Hmm?” She forced herself back into the present, eyes darting to Feyre’s.
“Are you okay?” Feyre asked, holding her gaze.
Azriel’s husky voice asking the same question filled her head without warning, invading her memories and her reality once again.
She was not fine. She felt the ghost of his touch and breath, his familiar warmth, wash over her body. The way he looked at her as if she was the first time he saw anything in color.
She remembered his rejection, too.
Feyre called her name again and she snapped to attention, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”
“Some night you must have had,” Feyre chuckled.
“I told you Winter Court wine will fuck you up. You don’t know it’s working until it’s too late,” Rhys laughed, pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her from across the table. “Drink up everyone, we’re due at the Day Court by sundown.”
“Kallias has a very acquired taste, I’ll give him that,” she sighed, gratefully accepting the cold glass and downing half of it in a second.
“They need to stay warm up there somehow,” Cassian chimed in, ever the selective academic he was.
As the water cooled her nerves slightly, Azriel appeared in the doorway to the dining room and she was damned to hell all over again.
Everyone greeted him and even though he replied to them all, his eyes only sat on hers. The only open spot at the table was the one directly across from her and he sat, rigid and unflinching, unable to meet her gaze anymore from such a close proximity.
“Good morning,” his voice was low and aimed only at her. If she had any more energy, she would’ve laughed that that’s the first thing he chose to say after their conversation last night. She broke apart her toast with no acknowledgement of his attempt to break their stalemate.
“What the fuck is that?” Cassian’s loud voice broke her from her trance.
Rhys winced, holding his head. “Not so loud, we talked about this.”
“Az, you cheeky bastard, what did you crazy kids get up to last night?” Cassian’s eyes darted between her and Azriel, pointing out the dark mark on his neck.
“What are you on about?”
Azriel started, as if remembering it was there all of a sudden, pulling his shirt collar tighter around his neck and clearing his throat.
Rhys whistled upon realization and Feyre and Mor’s eyes darted to hers in silent awe.
She squinted at the mark, assessing. Did she do that? It was a dark, angry little spot that sat at the base of his neck, fresh enough that it was obvious it was made only a few hours ago.
With frigid realization, she knew she hadn’t done that. He’d kissed her neck last night, but she hadn’t kissed his.
She slowly looked up at Azriel for the first time that morning. His eyes were downcast as he poured his cup of tea. If she blinked, she would’ve missed his fleeting glance in Elain’s direction. But she didn’t miss it, and she quickly looked to Elain, who was red as a beet and hiding behind a curtain of her unbound, chestnut hair.
Cassian didn’t miss a beat either– he had a sixth sense for this kind of thing. “No way,” he whispered.
“What?” Feyre demanded.
Her eyes focused on the mark on his neck again. Maybe she did do it. She had a lot to drink. But no. They never left marks where others could see them. The angry little thing on his skin was amateur at best.
Small giggles sprouted from different ends of the table, but it was all a blur to her.
“Spit it out.” Amren demanded, but Amren’s eyes were on her, clocking the silent horror that molded her features rather than the surprise or amusement that defined everyone else’s
“Nothing. Mind your own business,” Azriel’s voice was thick and stern and nowhere as warm as it was last night.
“You and Elain??” Cassian cried in disbelief.
Forks clattered clumsily on their plates. The laughter stopped like someone sucked the air clean out of the room. No one moved, but she couldn’t even breathe. Elain?
Feyre snapped her head toward her sister, eyes wide. “What?”
“What?” Rhys echoed through bitten teeth, clenching his jaw, his gaze burning holes in the side of Azriel’s face who suddenly did not have the balls to return the look.
Elain shrugged sheepishly in her seat, gripping her teacup hard enough that her knuckles turned white. “When you feel that attraction, you can’t deny it. You understand that.” She watched as Elain finally lifted her head, staring doe-eyed at Azriel. A small smile graced her lips, shy and soft.
“Attraction?” She whispered in disbelief.
“Oh my god.” Cassian breathed.
“Cassian, shut the fuck up.” Azriel snarled.
She felt her heart stutter before it burst, like a glass vessel under pressure. Delicate, fragile, irreparable. Nothing could calm the wave of nausea that rose and fell in her stomach- if she was going to throw up, it would be straight bile and vodka, and it would be all over this breakfast table.
Breathe. She pleaded with herself to get a grip but she just couldn’t do it. Azriel sat in front of her, shoulders wound up tight, this time staring directly at her. His eyes were pleading as he tried to lock their gazes but she wouldn’t meet his.
Him and Elain was a mistake, one he made when he wasn’t thinking clearly at all, and one he regretted as he started and ended the night in her bed. But most of all, one he never meant for her to know of. He wanted to make their break as clean as possible, but this was more than he bargained for. This was just plain cruel.
He spoke her name once, desperately, but she barely registered it. The room fell away for both of them. He just wanted to get through to her, and she just needed to get out of there.
The flashbacks from all of their days and night that gave her butterflies at one point suddenly turned into moths– unwelcome, fluttering pests that tainted her memories of the years they spent so close, years building something so entirely untrue that it hurt her heart to reminisce for too long.
For him to open up to her and get her to open up to him, to then push her away, throw away everything she thought they had, to finally fuck another female right after, she decided she probably never knew him. Disgust flooded her and she felt like she needed to shower his touch from last night off of her instantly. She’d never felt so used in her life.
“Fuck.” Cassian muttered. Nesta and Feyre would not take their eyes off Elain, and Rhys’ eyes bore holes in the side of Azriel’s head. Cassian was the only one who looked at her. He watched her face fall, her mind turn, as the events unfolded. The regret that gripped his heart was crushing. He reached out a hand to her knee in a show of support but she flinched involuntarily at the contact and he quickly retracted his hand to a fist against his chest.
It was embarrassing. Mor was right, everyone knew how Azriel and her had felt about each other, otherwise this wouldn’t be so tense. And as much as she knew it wasn't pity that her friends felt for her, it was something pretty damn close because how could they not feel bad for her in such a fucked up situation? That sickened her more.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, standing up from the table and leaving the room as quickly as she could. The eyes of everyone at the table followed her out and she felt the familiar yanking in her throat before the tears pushed against her waterline. Last night already left her feeling so raw. To know Azriel had kissed her like a male deprived then gone off and fucked another woman– not just any woman, but Elain– made it hard to breathe.
The loud screech of a skidding chair came from the dining room and heavy footsteps caught up with her in the hallway. In a moment of desperation, Azriel grabbed her arm to stop her but she whirled around, yanking her arm out of the hands that had sent her to heaven and then straight to hell all in one night.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she churned the words out through gritted teeth.
“I can explain,” Azriel replied lamely, immediately feeling as dense and useless as he sounded.
“I don’t care, Azriel. You’re a grown man, you’re free to kiss and fuck as many women in the same night as you want,” She didn’t mean it though, not after she laid her heart bare to him just a few hours ago.
“It didn’t mean anything, I– I don’t know why–”
“You don’t know why you went and fucked another woman after I told you you are all I can think of last night?”
“That’s not- I didn’t mean to-”
“You didn’t mean to fuck her?” She laughed, but there was no humor or joy to be found in her eyes. “Did you not mean to fuck me the countless times you did, then? Did you not mean to get so close to me, allow you to see me at my worst and my best? Did you not mean to just tell me those things you haven't even told Rhys and Cas? It was all a happy accident?”
“That’s not-”
“No! It’s not, you’re right, you did just say last night, more or less, all of those years we spent together, it was all just a good time to you. Right? Well, I guess you got everything you’ve ever wanted.”
She couldn’t be further from the truth. This was so much worse than what Azriel bargained for when he’d decided her hatred was easier to swallow than her disappointment. But now, regarding her sleepless face, beautiful as ever of course because it was her, he faced both her hatred and her disappointment. And now he’d hurt her in a way he never ever meant to.
“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say.
“Not just any woman, Azriel. Elain.” She cried incredulously. She didn’t even realize the tears were coming until her voice gave out on the sister’s name. “Three sisters for three brothers, right? You never did let that go.”
“It would’ve been easier if you told me you didn’t love me and left it at that.”
“It’s not my responsibility to make this easy for you when it hasn’t been easy for me all this time. I’ve loved you for so long and I continued to even when I wasn’t sure if you felt the same. Because that’s what you do for the people you love, you’re there for them and you continue to love them especially when it isn’t easy.”
“I never meant to hurt you, I just thought I… I wanted to believe I-” he carded his hands through his thick black hair in frustration, searching her eyes for anything other than hurt and anger, but that’s all he could find. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“You were being a coward. You are a coward.” She spat. “You may not have meant to, but you used me, and you of all people know how I feel about that.”
He nodded. He’d turned himself into an amalgamation of everything that had ever hurt her before, landing his blow square into her chest when she’d come so far.
“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve me.”
“That was never for you to decide, Azriel. These years should have been proof to you that I’d loved you exactly as you were, and it’s not your job to protect me from whatever it is you think I need protection from. I can handle it. I can handle you.”
“You can. I know you can. I’ve fucked up, truly and honestly, I don’t know how to make it up to you. Please tell me how I can make it up to you.”
He made a step toward her out of instinct when the tears rolled down her cheeks but she stepped back as if he’d shoved a torch in her face.
“Just leave me be. You said it yourself, we aren’t on the same page. We never were, it seems.”
He took her name gently, pleadingly. She dared to look up at him once more, but he still couldn’t meet her gaze head on. It was no use talking to him when he couldn’t even look at her.
With the new wave of tears she felt coming on, she turned in her heels and took the stairs two at a time to her room before he could see anything more.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s what she’s known all along. It’s exactly as she’d told herself all these years. It was never going to be you.
That did not make it any easier though. If anything, it was a worse pain to be proven right.
Anyway, there was no time to self-pity.
The Inner Circle had a cross-border trip to make today, and if there was one male that wouldn’t have a problem meeting her gaze, it was the high lord of the Day Court.
The tension, angst, & yearning between Elain & Lucien has been top tier regency romance level 🤌 💛
You can support the art here 👇
We can’t wait to see more interactions between these two in future books 💛
@im_arc_, thank you so much for creating this passionate artwork of Elain & Lucien. They both look insanely hot! Your artwork is always absolutely beautiful 💛
@im_arc_, thank you for all your kindness during this commission. You’ve been wonderful to work with!
Commissioned by @amandapearls @kt-reads-things & myself
Art by @im_arc_ (Isabella)
All characters belong to Sarah J Maas & Bloomsbury Publishing
✨Please do not repost, alter, or use for anti-content ✨
Happy Elriel Month everyone! For today's prompt, @acourtofquietdreamers and I collaborated on this commission and we are so happy we got the chance to work with the talented @lynx_illustration again!
Her work always blows us away and she did a phenomenal job bringing the prettiest in Prythian to life 🩷
There's something so beautiful about two people who seem so different on the outside being drawn together so effortlessly. In this piece, we wanted to showcase the beauty created when light and dark blend together.
Elain and Azriel representing light and dark is one of the many reasons they make such a complimentary pair. While Azriel can help Elain embrace the darkness, Elain can show Azriel he's worthy of the light he's craved since he was a young boy trapped in a dark cell.
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𐙚 art by @/lynx_illustration
𐙚 commissioned by me and @acourtofquietdreamers
𐙚 @elriel-month | Death and the Maiden
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₊⊹ Shares, saves, likes, and comments are kindly appreciated!
Summary: Reader is worried Azriel got hurt on a mission and decides to go check on him...
Warnings: angsty, miscommunication, mentions of blood, kinda crackfic?
Wc: 3,8k
A/N: I genuinely thought I had uploaded this long ago but apparently it's been sitting on my drafts for months now LMAO sorry abt that.
“Alright,” you sighed, wiping your sweat-damp hands on your clothes, smoothing down the fabric, “I guess we're really doing this.”
Without letting yourself overthink it even more, you walked into the threshold and knocked three times, softly but firm enough that it'd be heard. It didn't take long before you heard footsteps approaching.
“Hello, can I help you?” The male had violet eyes, and from the stories Azriel told you, you were standing in front of the High Lord himself. You tried not to tremble as he stared you down.
He looked tired, his clothes were impeccable, but the dark circles under his eyes and the slightly out-of-place hair told you he'd had some rough nights. Which worried you even more.
You forced yourself to speak. Just get it over with, make sure he's fine then go home and pretend this never happened.
“I'm sorry to bother you, High Lord, I'm Azriel's friend and I haven't been able to speak to him.”
Rhys tried to hide his surprise from showing but you caught the way his eyebrows rose slightly.
“He told me he'd be away for a while and we exchanged letters on the same day every week. It's been three days and he hasn't responded. In his last letter, he mentioned he'd be coming back soon. I was worried something had happened…” Please tell me he's okay.
Any hopes you had were crushed when he frowned, looking down at the floor before stepping aside and inviting you in. “Come inside and I'll explain.”
You were hesitant. It was one thing walking to one of his family's houses to ask about his well-being, you never meant to interact with them any more than necessary—you hadn't even considered what you'd do if he wasn't okay. Now, going inside meant you might meet more of them, would know what kind of decorations they'd have. It was embarrassing to admit the thought of saying goodbye and having the High Lord walk you out scared you.
It seemed important—intimate, and you weren't sure if that was the right word for what you and Azriel had.
Obviously you had been intimate before, that's how it all started. But it was all casual, something and someone to take both your frustrations on. He said it himself that he was sending letters so that you would know when he'd be back and could prepare for the long night awaiting you. The sweet words he sent were just to incite you.
Azriel didn't do romance.
A small voice at the back of your head wondered why you were there then, if that was the case, that there was nothing romantic between you, why would you go out of your way to make sure he was alright? But you brushed it off.
Rhysand was watching you and you hoped he wouldn't dare go near your mind.
“I promise we don't bite.” His attempt at a joke didn't exactly work, but you offered him a small smile.
The first steps were easier than the rest, you walked inside enough that he could close the door, but didn't know where to go after that. Thankfully his hand met your upper back in a brief brush, leading you further inside and into the living room.
“Take a seat, please.” There was a bottle of wine and a glass sitting on the coffee table, a second glass appeared with a tiny wave of his hand, “Wine?” He turned back to you, showing you the bottle.
Walking into your High Lord's house was something, now drinking with him? “No, thank you.” He nodded, filling one of the glasses. You were still standing, all of the spots on the couch were available, the loveseats looked incredibly inviting, but you felt like you were invading too much.
Rhysand seemed to understand you weren't going to get comfortable any time soon. You knew he was going to take the couch, but then decided to make his way over to the fireplace, watching the flames dance.
“Listen,” he sighed, “Azriel is… There was an ambush. He managed to warn me before things got too dangerous, but he got hurt… badly.”
Your heart did that thing it always did when Azriel was involved, but instead of leaving those butterflies, it made you nauseous.
“How badly?”
“Badly as in,” He was hesitant to tell you, watching the way you stood there playing with your fingers before continuing, “His wings were damaged.”
“Gods—” Azriel had mentioned before how important the wings were for Illyrians, how he thought he was nothing without them and his shadows. You couldn't bring yourself to ask if they were damaged beyond repair. The mere thought made you shiver.
In these three days you kept yourself awake, running through every possible reason as to why he hadn't contacted you, the idea that he perhaps had been seriously hurt hadn't been an option.
Not because you didn't think it was possible, even Gods could be killed. But because Azriel had become a constant in your life, and the thought that maybe you'd need to continue without him, was terrifying. Not a possibility.
Until now you hadn't allowed yourself to want more. You had him in your bed almost every night, and that was alright. He warned you from the moment you met that that was all he could ever give you, and it was fine.
Now you wanted more, needed more.
More time with him, more of his touch, more of the gentle words he spoke to you, more of the way he looked at you. The time you spent together was not enough.
“Would you like to see him?” Oh right, Rhysand was still watching you.
“Yes.” The voice didn't sound yours, the way it came out so firm and certain was such a contrast to the way you felt inside. Unsure.
He nodded, downing the rest of his wine—which you didn't even realize he'd kept sipping. How long exactly had you been lost inside your head?
“Come, I'll take you to his room.” He started walking and with the tunnel vision you would never be able to remember which way he went. You focused on his back and followed. “He was resting when I left, between the hourly tonics and applying the healing balms he didn't really get much sleep.”
You were so worried that the thought of bothering him hadn't even crossed your mind, “Maybe I shouldn't—”
He suddenly stopped, causing you to almost bump into him, “Oh no, darling, if Azriel considers you a friend, then I'm sure you're as important to him as any of us are.” He took a few steps more before stopping again, this time in front of a simple door.
You weren't sure what you were expecting, maybe a bloodied door handle, or the wood torn to shreds. But it was just a door, clean and without a scratch in sight. There were intricate and yet simple patterns carved into the wood, it was very much a bedroom door if you'd ever seen one.
Just a bedroom door.
“His wings are… They're not pretty,” He blinked, sighing once more before his hand met your shoulder, “but Azriel is fine. I probably should've told you that earlier before you went on a spiral.” He nodded, more to himself than to you, “He just needs support, and I'm sure you can give him that.”
Then he walked away, not bothering to see you going inside, or to check in with Azriel if he was okay with visits. He just left you there, in the middle of the hall staring at a wooden door like it held the most precious thing in the world to you.
Maybe it did. But you refused to acknowledge it now.
Azriel is fine, you reminded yourself, it was just his wings… the wings he loved so much. Wings he begged you to touch now and then, the velvety feeling of them that was ingrained in your fingertips and lips.
He will be okay. He has to.
You hadn't realized you had closed your eyes, whispering prayers in the back of your mind for whoever there was to hear you, begging them to let him fully heal.
Give him back to me whole. Protect him from any more damage. Hasn't he given enough?
A chill touch on your arms, you would've thought it was some spiritual being telling you that the prayers were answered, but you knew that feeling all too well not to recognize it.
Shadows. Which probably meant Azriel was awake and aware of you standing at his door like a statue. Your cheeks heated immediately, so much for nothing serious, you wouldn't react like this for just a good fuck would you?
But it didn't matter now. You had to see him, if after that he decided he wanted nothing to do with you and your feelings, then that was a problem for later.
The door handle was cold and bit into your heated skin, it was just a finger width open when you realized you should've knocked. First, you walk into his family's house, open up to the High Lord about being “friends” with him, and now you walk into his room, his most intimate space when he was hurt and vulnerable.
Nice. He'd never want to see you again.
The chill touch ran to your back then, a firm pressure and the door pulled open slowly, only enough that you could see the foot of his bed. Dark blue bed sheets, a bump in the middle which you assumed was his legs. A breath left you, there was no skin showing it was really him and it could very well be another male, but it was more than you had thirty minutes ago.
You pushed the rest of it open, bracing yourself to see the disappointment in his eyes, perhaps to even hear him telling you to leave. But it never came.
There were no hazel eyes to greet you, only his soft expression, his covered chest moving slowly with his relaxed and steady breaths. Asleep, Azriel was asleep.
Your eyes slipped down his form to his wings, slumped against the bed, not bloodied like you expected, not missing a piece, not broken. There were wet patches, cuts almost hidden beneath the balm, none of them close to the important areas. The parts he'd let you know were especially sensitive were intact.
Relief flooded inside you, you could finally breathe again. The pressure on your back pushed you further inside, reminding you that in fact, his shadows did not depend on him to work, they could think and choose for themselves. And right now they were choosing to lock you inside their master's room.
The door locked behind you with a soft click, you looked back in time to see them swirling back to hover above his chest, some still lingering on your arms for a moment before following.
There was a chair beside his bed, your feet carried you there but it was like you were floating.
You went weeks without seeing him, and when you finally did, he was hurt. But he also looked incredibly peaceful, you could see the way his lips were slightly parted, moving with his soft breaths. His eyes were moving, his thick eyelashes fluttering. It wasn't rushed movements, the frown he usually wore wasn't present. He was dreaming.
Azriel had slept around you before, but it was the first time you actually saw him sleeping. You were always just so tired that you didn't even realize you fell asleep, when you'd wake up he'd more often than not already be staring at you, the other times he'd just keep his eyes closed and let you think you finally beat him, only for him to start smirking.
It was a rare sight, and you would love to see it more often. But probably this was the first and last time you'd see him like this. Perhaps the last time you'd see him at all.
So you'd make the most of it. Memorizing his dark and messy curls, the shape of his lips, the bump on his nose, his sharp cheekbones, his jawline, his neck, the way his scent filled the room.
There was no denying it anymore. How could you? This male walked into your life, treating you like nobody else ever had, and you expected not to catch feelings? Sure, the bar wasn't high before him, but now he set it where you were sure no one would ever be able to reach.
His skin was warm when you reached for his hand, brushing your thumb over the bumps of his scars. He'd always been insecure about it. The hands that had been touched by so many cruelties, were covered in blood, tainted by basic instincts. He did what he had to do, and he hated it.
But those were the same hands that held you, caressed you in your most intimate places, which now included your heart. The shame of Azriel knowing you went against his wishes and sought him out like this had vanished. He deserved to be loved, and you'd be damned if you never showed him that. He could refuse it, could pretend you had never shown up—that you never existed, but he deserved it.
You weren't sure how long had passed as you held his hand and watched him rest. Time didn't matter.
At some point, there were voices outside, but no one came in and his shadows didn't move to greet them like they did with you, so you continued there. Watching, admiring, hoping you'd get more of this.
Not him getting hurt, Gods no, more of peaceful Azriel. An Azriel that didn't look like the weight of the world beared down on him, this side of him that made you want to curl up in the space between his arm and ribs and make yourself at home.
He shifted then, a long breath leaving his lungs, his shadows scurried to check on him before he even opened his eyes. None of them reached his ears though, and you knew they were leaving the fact that you were there for him to discover.
The hand you held tightened, his thumb running over the back of your hand even before he fully woke. You basked in his touch and watched quietly as his eyes fluttered open. Blinking twice to adjust to the warm faelights, he looked towards the windows, probably trying to figure out what time of day it was.
Then his eyes slipped shut again, and you unconsciously squeezed his hand. I'm here, look at me, let me see those eyes again.
And he did. The next moment his eyes snapped open and met yours, surprise etched on his face. Not the one that said, what are you doing here? It was more like, she's here. He was… relieved.
“Hi.” His voice sounded dry when he spoke, a simple word, and it still brought a smile to your face.
“Hi.” He mirrored your smile, shaking his head lightly.
He licked his lips before speaking again, not meeting your eyes, “I was wondering when you'd come find me.”
What.
You didn't have an answer to that. Azriel was… expecting you?
“Took you long enough.”
You would have laughed if you weren't so busy imitating a gaping fish. Not only was he expecting you, but he also thought you were somewhat late?
Azriel chuckled, his eyes were closed and amusement was written in bold letters on his face.
“I thought you'd be mad.”
He frowned then, “Sweetheart, why would I be mad?” He squeezed your hand, the other one pushing himself up into the headboard. “All I wanted was to have you here, it's been a nightmare not being able to get up to go see you. I tried snatching a pen and paper but those idiots wouldn't leave me alone.”
A giggle finally left you then, of course he would insult his brothers, deep down he just didn't know what to do with so much care. “Well, the High Lord did look like he spent the night awake, having to take care of two babies sure seems like hard work.”
His reaction was exactly as you expected, he snorted and chuckled, then he pulled your hand until you had to lift off the chair, “Come here, lie with me.” He let go of your hand to try and pull you by the waist.
You stopped him with a hand on his wrist. Sure you were thinking about cuddling with him but you weren't actually going to do that, “Az, no, you're hurt.”
“And?”
“You are hurt.”
“I'll be even more hurt if you don't get on this bed with me right this second.”
“Your wings—”
“Are healing, they don't even hurt anymore.” He started pulling again, and this time you let him.
You were careful not to touch his wings, not to move too much, but he didn't seem to care, moving you and himself until you were both comfortable.
You heard and felt the deep breath he took, no doubt taking in your scent, to confirm it his nose brushed your head, nuzzling you.
It was so funny. You spent the last three days beating yourself up for wanting to check on him, your mind torturing you with his possible reactions. You grieved for the hypothetical ending of this relationship. And here he was, waiting for you to come find him, wanting you here.
“Why are you so tense?” Long fingers traced swirls on your back, trying to make you relax.
You sighed, the words just escaping without much thought, “When you didn't answer my letters, I wanted to come find you right away, but I thought you'd hate that I was invading your life—I thought maybe you wouldn't want to see me when you found out I came here.”
He was tense and quiet for a moment, then he pulled away slowly, lifting your head by your chin so you'd look him in the eyes, “Why would you think that?”
The look on his face was enough to know your thoughts were so entirely wrong, “You said you didn't want anything serious, that your private life was important to you.”
“Honey…” He shook his head, “I said that months ago, before I knew how incredible you were! Before you had become such an important part of my life. And, private life? I meant that as in our private life, I didn't want my family to barge in and disrupt the rhythm we had settled, our privacy is important to me.”
Our private life.
You knew what you had was private, but to hear him put it like that. You understood. It wasn't casual, it was forming something from the start, from zero. You were both trying out something new, something none of you were familiar with. The rhythm we had settled, careful and unhurried, that's why nothing was straightforward. Nothing with him felt like a slap to the face, or a heavy stone weighing down your heart, it was a soft spoken compliment, a brush of lips against skin, it was the hushed secrets and stories you shared in the dead of night.
This whole time you thought maybe this was a pastime for him, that eventually he'd tire and it would become just a memory of something that happened.
For you he was carving a spot for himself in your life, so deep you wouldn't be able to dig him out when you found someone to settle down with. You thought he'd eventually be the one you'd remember when your husband did something that upset you, “flowers again? Azriel took me stargazing on my birthday, he taught me the constellations I painted in the nursery—”
For him, he was finding a good pace to meet you on the same path, he was learning the routes you took, accompanying you when you took breaks but encouraging you to keep going. He didn't want to meet you at the finish line where there were no more obstacles, he wanted the journey, he wanted the shared struggles and small victories.
He wanted the whole thing with you, and you didn't realize it until now.
“You are very important to me, I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear before.” A kiss to your temple, his arm pulling you tighter against him. “I didn't want to rush things, I've always been too much and I was afraid you wouldn't be ready for that…”
“To be honest, I wasn't sure I was until I saw you lying here,” You breathed him in, brushing your nose against his neck, “I decided then that I'd take whatever I could get, if it meant I'd get more of you. I'm ready for anything you give me.”
Azriel pulled away to meet your eyes, there was a shine in them that wasn't there before. “Are you sure?” He whispered.
“I'm sure.”
“You won't run away if I said I love you?”
“No. Because I love you too.”
He smiled then, leaning to rest his forehead against yours, “I love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me.”
You lay there for a good while, just enjoying this newfound and yet familiar feeling.
Azriel shouldn't have been surprised when the peaceful moment was disturbed, it wasn't even by a knock or laughter down the hall, it was a body tumbling into his room, a big body.
“Wait!” the door banged against the wall, “Tell me I didn't just lose three digits of money to Rhys. Do I have a new sister, yes or no?”
You would have laughed if he hadn't scared the hell out of you. Azriel's chest moved under your hand, then his low chuckle reached your ears. “What did Rhys bet on?”
“That she'd still introduce herself as your friend like she did with him when she met the rest of us.” His eyes noted the way you were wrapped around each other, confirming you were definitely more than friends. Cassian was basically buzzing with excitement, you worried that if someone shook him he'd go flying.
“Wait, you said you were my friend?”
You sighed, laying your head against his chest, “We had some miscommunication problems, you and I.”
There was a female's voice then, “So…”
“Oh, they're so cute!”
“Alright, I admit I was wrong.”
“Brother, admitting you were wrong doesn't mean anything. Pay up, loser.”
“What? She hasn't even said what she is!”
In a blink they were all staring at you.
Azrael's hand squeezed your waist in encouragement.
The room was quiet, all of them waiting for your answer, even when they all knew by now. “I'm his…” A bet on your relationship, you couldn't let them win, could you? “His private life.”
This commission is so deeply close to our hearts. We wanted to show the threads of the mate bond between Elain and Lucien. Especially since Elain herself described the bond as a “thread tied to a rib” in ACOWAR.
jjflorentina did an excellent job at showing the threads of the mate bond connecting Elain and Lucien; and for creating this sweet embrace between them!
Thank you so much jjflorentina
It’s always an absolute pleasure to work with you. You’re so kind and talented. You truly created a spectacular piece! It’s so beautiful 💞💞
Commissioned by @amandapearls & @lulufoxlainfawn & @goghwilde
Artist is jjflorentina on IG
Characters belong to Sarah J Maas
Hiii love your writing!!! How would it be for Y/N to be upset because she can’t stand seeing Azriel and Elain so close but eventually Az confesses he is in love with her and he is only kind with Elain because she is still upset and confused with all the Cauldron thing? All fluff Shadowsinger and love 💕
Warning(s): very light angst (jealousy), flufffffff
Summary: Nothing will sour a sweetheart faster than another woman stealing her lover's attention.
SR’s Note: Guys I just saw Scream 7 the other night and holy frick it was so GOOD! I am also so so excited that McKenna Grace is going to be playing Daphne in the new Scooby Doo movie... that girl is perfect you won't convince me otherwise. xoxo I hope you enjoy this fluffiness!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
The dagger's hilt balanced perfectly on the tip of Azriel’s middle finger, motionless as if suspended by magic -- though you knew it was just his eerie, effortless control.
His shadows curled lazily around his wrist, flickering in the dim light of the training ring as he watched you with that quiet intensity of his. You’d seen him do this a hundred times before, spinning blades like toys, but today it felt different.
Today, the knife might as well have been lodged in your ribs.
"You’re staring," he said, voice low. The corner of his mouth twitched; not quite a smile, but something close.
You swallowed hard.
Staring was nothing new, you’d done it for years, centuries -- ever since Rhys had first introduced you to his spymaster. Back then, Azriel had been all sharp edges and silence, his scars more conversation than he’d ever offer.
Now, though? Now you knew the way his laugh sounded when it finally broke free, rough and rare as winter sunlight. Now, you knew every detail of his pastm every hope and dream he had for his future.
Or so you thought you had. Until she showed up.
You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. "Just admiring your impeccable taste in cutlery," you deadpanned, nodding at the blade. He huffed. There, that was almost a laugh. He flipped the knife into his palm before tucking it away. The shadows slithered after it, vanishing into the folds of his leathers like they’d never been there at all.
The gardens stretched beyond the training ring, lush and sprawling under the eternal twilight of Velaris. You’d spent most of your mornings there lately, fingers tangled between the branches of the citrus trees, pretending you weren’t counting the minutes between Azriel’s visits.
He always came, eventually. Always with some excuse: a question about patrols, a book he thought you might like, some trivial thing that could’ve been handled by anyone else.
But today, he lingered. Today, he didn’t move to leave when the sun began to set.
A breeze carried the scent of jasmine from the courtyard, mingling with the leather-and-steel smell of him. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly aware of the fruit's stickiness still clinging to your fingers, the simple linen dress you’d thrown on that morning.
Next to him, you always felt a little untidy, a little too normal. He was centuries of honed grace and refined muscle; you were… well, plain old you. Just the High Lord cousin, the one who preferred flowers to politics, the one who blushed too easily.
The one who wasn’t Elain Archeron.
Azriel's gaze didn't waver from yours, shadows coiling tighter around his wrists like restless hounds. "
You've been avoiding me," he said finally. The accusation was soft, almost hesitant -- so unlike him that your pulse stuttered.
"Have I?"
You bent to pluck a nonexistent weed from between the cobblestones, just to have something to do with your hands. "Must be all those riveting conversations you've been having with Elain in the gardens. Hard to compete with." The words tasted bitter, petty. You hated yourself the moment they left your mouth.
His brows knitted together. "Is that what this is about?"
You straightened, arms crossing defensively over your chest. "This isn't about anything."
Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound you recognized: his patience fraying. Without warning, he closed the distance between you in two long strides. His scent enveloped you immediately.
"You think I don't see you?" he murmured, tilting his head. "Every time I walk into a room, your shoulders go tight. Every time I speak to her, you find a reason to leave." His voice dropped lower. "You think I don't notice?"
You opened your mouth to retort -- something sharp, something to push him away -- but the words died in your throat as Azriel lifted a hand. His fingers hovered near your cheek, not quite touching, as if you were something fragile. The shadows around his wrists pulsed, restless.
“She asks about you,” he said quietly. “Almost every time we speak.”
You blinked.
“What?”
Azriel’s mouth twitched again, that almost-smile, the one that made your stomach flip.
“Elain. She asks why you’ve stopped joining her in the gardens. Says she misses your company, misses spending time with you like the two of you used to.” His thumb brushed your jaw, so light you might have imagined it. “She thinks you... hate her, or something.”
Heat crawled up your neck. All this time, you’d been convinced they were whispering sweet nothings to each other among the roses, and instead...
“That’s not-”
"True?" Azriel finished for you, his thumb still tracing idle patterns along your jawline. The touch sent sparks skittering down your spine. "Yeah. I know."
His shadows curled tighter around his wrists, restless, as if they couldn't decide whether to retreat or surge forward. "She also thinks you're avoiding her because of me."
You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat. "Well... that's just..."
Ridiculous.
Obvious.
Painfully accurate.
Azriel's hand stilled. "She's not wrong, is she?"
The question hung between you, heavier than the blade he'd been balancing moments ago. You could lie, you should lie; but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you exhaled sharply, your shoulders slumping.
"No."
The admission felt like stepping off a cliff. Azriel didn't move, didn't breathe, as if waiting for you to finish.
Azriel's fingers curled slightly against your jaw, the calloused pads of his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. His shadows had gone unnervingly still, coiled around his arms like ink spilled into the air.
"Why?" he asked, his voice so low you felt it in your chest more than heard it.
You could have given him a dozen reasons; the way he'd lingered after training sessions lately, the softness in his eyes when Elain laughed, the way your chest ached every time you saw them bent together over some new bloom in the gardens. Instead, you just whispered the truth.
"Because I can't stand watching you fall in love with her."
His breath hitched. For a heartbeat, the training ring was silent save for the distant rustle of leaves in the courtyard.
Then Azriel laughed-- not the rough, rare sound you treasured, but something raw and disbelieving.
"You're so blind, Y/N," he murmured, and then his mouth was on yours.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was heat and hunger, the press of his body pinning you against the stone pillar at the edge of the ring. His wings flared, blocking out the setting sun, and you gasped into his mouth as his hands slid into your hair, scattering the tiny flowers pinned within. The scent of him drowned out everything else, he overtook every sense; your hands couldn't help but press flat against his muscled chest, a welcome heat dotting your cheeks when you felt his rushing heartbeat beneath your palm.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his pupils blown wide. "I've been in love with you," he said hoarsely, "since the day Rhys introduced us and you asked if my scars hurt."
You were still gasping for breath when his words registered.
"You—what?"
The stone pillar was cold against your back, but Azriel’s body was searing where it pressed against yours. His hands, still tangled in your hair, trembled slightly; something you’d never seen before, not even in battle.
"Every night patrol I volunteered for at the House, when you were home alone and Rhys was away," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.
"Every book I brought you was one I’d stayed up reading first, just to imagine your reactions." His thumb brushed your cheekbone, brushing away a streak of dirt from the gardens.
"And when you started avoiding me more and more, I honestly thought..." He broke off, shadows writhing around his shoulders like agitated serpents.
"You thought what?" you breathed, your fingers clutching at the front of his leathers.
"That you’d finally found someone better. That had to be the reason, in my mind at least."
The admission was so quiet you almost missed it. His wings flexed behind him, casting elongated shadows across the training ring.
"Someone gentler than I am. Someone kind to you. Someone you wouldn't be ashamed to be with, someone that wouldn't have the public flinching at the sight of these." He tilted his wrist, where the scars gleamed silver in the dim light.
A laugh punched out of you -- half-hysterical, half-wonderful.
"Azriel," you said, shaking your head, "I asked about your scars the day we met because I wanted to kiss them." His sharp inhale was the only warning before his mouth crashed into yours again, his kiss tasting of desperation and relief.
The world narrowed to the feel of his lips moving against yours, the scrape of his teeth as he bit down gently on your lower lip, drawing a soft moan from your throat. His shadows slithered down your arms, twining around your wrists like living bonds; not to restrain, but to claim. His hands caressed your waist, held you close as he drank you in, not quite believing his wildest dream was finally ringing true.
When he finally pulled back, his chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath mingling with yours in the charged space between you.
"All those times in the gardens," you murmured, still dazed, "you were talking about me?"
Azriel's laugh was rough, edged with something like disbelief. "Elain figured it out before I did. She spent weeks trying to convince me that she was sure you felt the same."
His fingers left your waist, tracing the line of your collarbone instead. The gentleness of it sent shivers down your spine. "I thought she was just being kind. I didn’t realize she was being right."
A gust of wind sent petals swirling from the nearby jasmine vines, catching in his dark hair like scattered stars. You reached up, plucking one free, and his eyes tracked the movement with startling intensity.
"You really thought I’d prefer Elain?" he asked, incredulous.
You caught one of his scarred palms, pressing it to your cheek. You gazed up into his hazel eyes, the soft evenlight reflecting golden in his irises.
"Azriel, I was sure of it."
His throat worked as he swallowed hard. Shadows coiled tighter around your joined hands, as if trying to fuse them together.
"I spent centuries believing no one would want... this," he admitted, voice raw. "Least of all you."
The confession hung between you in the charged air. Azriel’s hand, still pressed to your cheek, trembled slightly. You turned your face into his palm, pressing a kiss to the roughened skin. His breath hitched, and the sound unspooled something low in your belly.
"You’re wrong," you whispered against his fingers. "I’ve wanted this, wanted you, so badly and for so long that it terrified me."
His thumb moved to trace your lower lip, and you grinned as you watched his pupils dilate further.
"Every time you walked into a room, I had to remind myself how to breathe, Azriel. Every time you laughed, I felt it right here-" You caught his other hand, pressing it flat against your sternum where your heart hammered. "Like my ribs were too small to contain it."
Azriel made a sound deep in his chest -- half growl, half plea -- before his mouth found yours again. This kiss was slower, deeper, his tongue sliding against yours with deliberate patience. His wings arched around you both, blotting out the courtyard until all you could see, smell, taste was him. The scent of leather, the faint tang of citrus that still clung to you, and the warmth of his body caging yours against the pillar consumed your every sense in that very moment.
"I'm in love with you, Y/N," Azriel whispered, barely pausing from kissing you to utter the confession. His words nearly brought tears to your eyes, and you could hardly contain your smile as you arched into him, letting his hands find the small of your back and pull you close.
"And I love you, Azriel," you confessed, continuing to press kisses to his lips despite the words exchanged. He grinned then, his beautiful, brilliant smile showing through at the words he had waited so long to hear. "I'm just sorry I didn't say it sooner. I'm sorry I acted so... sour over this whole thing."
Azriel shook his head slowly, kissing the tip of your nose before moving to your lips once more.
"Please," he breathed, inhaling you as though he'd never ever get enough of you. "I don't think you could be more sweet."
Summary: the inner circle decides to play a little game — see who can get the shadowsinger’s perfectly stoic façade to crack >:)
azriel x reader
warnings: inner circle shenanigans, silliness, alcohol, suggestive, MDNI, 18+
***
• imagine hanging out with the inner circle at the river house. It’s one of those parties that only includes close friends and more than enough expensive alcohol to go around
• everyone is laughing really hard about something, who even knows what, when you spot Azriel and you think you see a ghost of a smile on his lips
• “oh come on, Az. Just smileeeee you know you want to!” you tell him. He looks at you in amusement, but other than that, no other expression crosses his face
• “don’t even try, Y/N. You know he hasn’t laughed in a decade” Cassian pipes up
• “I haven’t even seen his eyebrows shift since the war,” Rhys jokes
• hmmmm that’s no good. Your drunk brain soon devises a plan and you are telling the rest of your friends
• “im sure one of us can get him to crack,” you shoot him a devious smile. “Let’s make a game out of it”
• the idea is met laughs and lots of enthusiasm, but not from Az. He sighs as if dealing with all of you is a minor inconvenience
• “I’m going first!” Cassian calls out. “Prepare to lose!” He slams down the rest of his drink with smug confidence before locking eyes with his brother
• Cassian just tries to get him to crack a smile by telling him a handful of jokes. Then reminds him of a few hilarious memories from back in the day.
• “remember when Rhys was so mad about losing the snowball fight one year that we found him curled up in front of the fire under heaps of blankets, sulking like a child? He didn’t talk to us for days after!”
• others laughed at the story, and it was a silly fond memory for Azriel too, but he kept his expression still as he sipped his drink
• Cassian sighed and accepted defeat
• Feyre went next, recalling how terrible she was at flying when Azriel started teaching her, years ago
• “and then I flew right into a tree!!” She yelped, slightly embarrassed but laughing just as hard as the rest of them
• all except for Azriel
• “you all do realize that we will end up as sorry losers, right? Az is the best at what he does, and he’s trained for centuries to keep his composure,” Rhys says.
• “but this is fun!” Mor answers with a bright grin
• “I know we can get him!” You add
• you devise another crazy plan, one that just might work? You huddle the girls and turn away from Azriel so he can’t see what you’re whispering about — scolding one of his shadows that tried to listen in before slinking away
• an evil grin climbs on to Amren’s face. She abstains from playing the game but is more than happy to watch
• nesta goes first. She shoots a smirk to Cassian, her mate, before sitting on the couch next to the spymaster, so close that her knees touch his
• “anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” She asks him. He would have arched his brow if he wasn’t set on keeping his face as still as a corpse’s.
• your plan: flirt like hell and make him flustered
• “seriously. Your eyes are gorgeous, and your lips are so… kissable” that earns sounds of disbelief and howls of laughter from the group. But nothing from Az.
• nesta inches closer to him, and he looks her dead in the eyes, not willing to back down from whatever weird as hell flirting she’s doing. “Look at these muscles… so strong” she boldly squeezes his bicep lol
• cassian watches on in amusement, with the kind of expression that says he’s definitely gonna punish her for this when they get home 😏
• “and your wings,… so magnificent and big” alright now she’s just trying to get her mate riled up, and it’s working. She lifts a hand—
• “NO WING TOUCHING!! That's CHEATING!!!”
• she gets up with a shrug, accepting defeat but the little smirk she gives to Cassian shows she’s not all that heartbroken about losing
• the game goes on. People are placing bets. Az acts bored and unbothered, but his eyes betray his amusement at his friends’ antics. It’s been decided that if nobody can get his stony expression to crack, he’d get all the coin gathered on the table
• you all practically hold your breath as Elain kisses him on the cheek. His eyes seem to soften, as they usually do when he talks to her, but other than that, nothing. Not even a blush. A few people curse since they lost their bets
• Rhys decides to ask some… suggestive questions. “We all know our dear Azriel is the kinkiest in the bedroom” he smirks. “What are your deepest, darkest, kinks Az?”
• the group watches in silent anticipation, wanting these juicy little secrets of his
• “as if I’d tell you,” he replies. He has to remind himself to stay cool and not react to whatever his brother decides to throw at him. He’s playing dirty though
• “just give us some hints.” Rhys starts to circle him with calm arrogance, as if Azriel is one of prisoners they interrogate. “Spanking? Edging? Maybe a sprinkle of voyeurism?”
• no reaction for the High Lord
• “perhaps you like bondage. Do you like to stay in control by tying up your partners?” Az clenches his jaw, but it's too subtle for anyone to notice
• “he probably uses his shadows to do it for him” Cassian chimes in. Hazel eyes flick to him, and it gives Azriel away.
• Oh ho ho, now they know they have him. They figured out one of his dirty little secrets
• “no way!!!” someone screams. Probably Mor
• the only thing that changes is a slight pink blush on Azriel’s cheeks
• “HES BLUSHING!!” Cassian yells. “That has to count!”
• you were lowkey blushing too, thinking about his kinks and him in the bedroom and—
• the group decided that if the last two people, you and Mor, don’t get him to crack, then Rhys and Cassian win as a team for pulling the adorable blush out of the shadowsinger
• you were determined to win
• Mor goes first. Your eyes practically bulge out of your head when she sits directly on his lap
• everyone knows of their complicated history. Shit, she might be able to actually win this
• but she doesn’t do anything crazy. She ruffles his hair, pokes at his cheeks and his nose repeatedly, in an annoying sister kind of way. If he wasn’t trying so hard to remain unbothered, you just know he would have rolled his eyes at her or even scowled. Then she places both hands on his face and squishes his cheeks together
• “that doesn’t count,” feyre laughs along with everyone else. “You can’t physically change his face!”
• “fineeee” Mor huffs. “It was worth a shot.” She smiles at Az with another ruffle to his hair like he’s a child, stands up and ends her turn
• now it’s just you left. Az is honestly curious what you might have up your sleeve. Either way, he’s still determined not to move a single face-muscle
• you quickly down the rest of your drink before waltzing over to him. then, taking a page out of Mor’s book, you make yourself comfortable on the shadowsinger’s lap— sitting sideways so both of your legs drape over one of his muscular thighs while your ass sits on the other
• your arms circle around his neck, and he wraps one arm around your back, hand landing on your hip. Just in case you fall, of course.
• then you just look at him for a moment. Eyes scanning over his face while your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. You never really get the opportunity to be this close to him, except when he’s flying you somewhere, and you’re letting yourself enjoy every second
• he’s pretty, you think
• until someone clears their throat and you’re reminded of everyone else in the room, and the game you’re meant to be playing. You let a smirk slide onto your face
• his eyes seem to tell you “do your worst”
• “nesta is right. Your wings are huge,” you comment. “Is it true that wing-size alludes to… other attributes?” You hear a series of giggles from behind you
• Az offers nothing but a shrug, eyes never leaving yours
• everyone is thoroughly enjoying the entertainment, but to you and Az, it almost feels like you’re the only ones in the room.
• you slowly drag one of your hands from his neck down his chest, nails catching on the material of his shirt. His free hand comes to rest on one of your thighs, squeezing slightly, like he can’t help himself.
• “I’d be interested to find out,” you say, seductive as ever
• his face doesn’t move, but you could swear you saw his throat bob in a gulp. Victory is close
• you allow your nails to keep lightly scraping over his chest, traveling to his shoulders and biceps, then up to his neck again.
• maybe it’s the alcohol, or the way he’s already reacting to you, but it gives you the courage to lean forward and plant your lips on his warm skin
• you gently trail your lips over his jawline, taking your sweet sweet time, and you can hear his breath catch. Your lips leisurely make their way to his neck, where you then press a deeper kiss there. Your tongue darts out to lick his skin so fast it’s like it never even happened
• his hand tightens on your thigh, and you smirk against his skin
• “holy shit, I didn’t expect this to get so steamy,” Mor says. There is plenty of laughter and amusement in the room still, but it’s calmed down quite a bit as they all watch this simmering scene in front of them, some with wide eyes
• you then lean in more, chest flush against his, close enough for your lips to hover right next to his ear. Nobody else needs to hear this, just him
• “you know,” you pause and can feel how he holds his breath in anticipation. “Your shadows can tie me up anytime”
• you don’t even need to pull back and see his face to know you’ve won. The loud sounds rupturing around the room told you as much, and you beam with pride
• you effectively made the ever-stone-faced shadowsinger lose his cool. With your secret words, his brows had raised and his jaw slackened, lips parting in disbelief. Not to mention the adorable blush made a reappearance
• when you finally leaned back enough to see his face, your heart almost skipped a beat
• he was now looking at you with nothing but completely unrestrained lust
• his eyes were darkened as they drank you in, and you could feel the heat practically radiating off his skin. Just the way he looked at you made heat spread throughout your own body. He definitely wasn’t trying to keep his cool anymore
• “anytime?” He asked you, the question weighted and his voice gruff. His intense eyes seemed to sink into you, lingering a second too long on your lips
• you felt your face burn, but you nodded
• then, the moment you had all been waiting for, the corner of his lips quirked up in an easy smile. (smug as hell too)
• before you could even process, Azriel was standing up with you in his arms, and winnowed you both away— only leaving behind the distinct scent of arousal
• “did that really just happen!?!” Mor screeched
• the entire room was filled with howling laughter, and a side of utter disbelief. Cassian was rolling on the floor. Feyre almost choked on her wine
• they all wondered what the hell you could have possibly said to make Azriel react like THAT
• “damn. She just robbed us of all our money!” Cassian says, feigning disappointment
• “nope, she earned it,” Feyre replies with a wink
• “no way, she got lucky,” Nesta huffs
• “something tells me they’re both getting real lucky tonight” Rhys smirks
***
AN: I hope you enjoyed reading! I had this silly little idea and it was too fun not to write out! I want to get into writing for acotar but I’ve been lazy, so i hope the bullet points / no editing isn’t too annoying lol :)
Read my other Azriel fic: What was supposed to be a private gift from your mate accidentally gets opened in front of everyone on Solstice
