jasmineandcedar - Tumblr blog

jasmineandcedar · 10 days ago

Text

You already have me

Azriel's confession

An Elriel one shot (Elain’s POV)

In which Azriel resorts to poetry and confesses his devotion to Elain.

Warning: sexual content (not explicit)

-----

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a cool, pearly glow over the river house. Moonlight spilled through the windowpanes like liquid silk, painting every contour in shades of blue and silver. Even the shadows seemed to take on hues of deepest indigo, pooling in every corner like dark ink.

Elain stepped into her room, pausing at the threshold and closing her eyes. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, carrying with it the deep scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was there. Tilting her head slightly, a faint smile bloomed across her face. Tonight, that familiar scent was laced with something darker, wilder.

When Elain finally opened her eyes, they found his at once.

Azriel stood by the window, half veiled in shadows, the moonlight catching on his dark hair like the silvery gleam of a raven’s wing.

They watched each other in silence. For silence was their language—the language of the unspoken longing that clung to the air around them, between them, in every space they shared.

Elain noticed then, the freshly picked flowers resting on her pillow—delicate and pale blossoms of the same shade of white as her nightgown—like silver moonlight woven into bloom. She crossed the room on light steps, her bare feet gliding over the cold, polished floor. The thin, lacy fabric of her nightgown danced over her skin with every step.

Without breaking Azriel’s gaze, she trailed her fingertips over the bedding, feeling the crisp linen beneath her touch. Finally, she lowered her eyes to carefully pick up the pale flowers. Bringing them to her nose, she let the sweet scent of jasmine envelop her. Her heart clenched as she felt the ache of his longing in the fragile petals.

He had thought of her.

“They’re lovely,” she said quietly.

It was a bittersweet, intimate gesture—a piece of his inner world, offered in secret defiance of the outer world’s attempts to keep them apart. The anguish of it all twisted something deep inside her, reigniting that dull, persistent ache that threatened to consume her if she dwelled on it.

Elain beheld the flowers for a long time, gently twirling the fragile stems between her fingers and savouring their subtle scent as the night stretched around them.

She took a deep breath, then whispered into the stillness of the night.

“It should have been you.”

Azriel didn’t speak, but Elain knew the intensity in his gaze was edged with unspoken desire. It was raw, unguarded, just like she knew he was beneath those shadows that hid him.

She finally met his gaze and held it, well aware he needed her to. Azriel made no effort to hide the pain in his eyes—the pain that mirrored her own. There had never been any pretense between them, no veil to obscure the cruelty of their fate.

The room fell still again—into a heavy, intimate tranquility that held all that unspoken desire between them. The only sound was the peaceful hum of the breeze stirring the curtains, like a sigh of longing from the night itself.

When Elain spoke again, her words were as fragile as the flower stems she still held between her fingertips.

“What would you do?” she asked, barely more than a whisper. The question hung in the air like morning’s mist. “If it had been you?”

Words she had carried in her heart for too long—the heart that pounded against her ribcage, like the desperate wingbeats of a caged bird.

Azriel’s gaze thawed, the tension in his features melting into warmth.

“I would cherish you,” he said at last, his tone hoarse, as if the words scraped against the rawness of his heart.

He pushed off the windowsill in one seamless motion—like a shadow detaching from a wall. He approached her with a measured grace, the space between them narrowing with each step until Elain could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“But my intentions go far beyond that,” he said in a voice soft as night.

Azriel stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath caress her skin. His gaze cradled hers, as it always had, uncovering all the truths she hid from the world around them.

“Should you allow it, I would revere every inch of you,” Azriel murmured in a quiet, intimate whisper. “I would fall to my knees, and worship every curve, every freckle kissed by the sun��until you see the beauty I see every time I look at you.”

That gaze that cradled hers didn’t waver. Neither did hers.

With aching reverence, Azriel let his fingers glide down her arm, skimming over the thin fabric of her nightgown. Elain felt the warmth of his touch seep through the light fabric, sinking into her skin. Her pulse fluttered wildly, every beat an echo of where his touch had been.

“I would whisper praise against your skin,” he breathed, his devotion etched in every syllable. “Until you ache for what I long to give you.”

Azriel lifted a hand and slowly swept her hair behind her shoulder. His eyes flickered down, tracing the elegant line of her neck, bared to the cool night air—and to the heat of his gaze. When that gaze met hers again, it was a molten swirl of embers and emeralds.

“Only then would I unveil you fully to me,” he murmured, that hazel swirl locked on her. “Until there was nothing between us.”

His eyes drifted back to her exposed skin, and Elain felt a flush of warmth spread in the wake of his gaze. Azriel’s fingers traced the finespun neckline of her nightgown where the fabric met her skin. He eased the thin lace aside, baring the small dip of her collarbone. Elain felt as vulnerable as the petals still in her grasp, yet beneath his touch, she had always found a sanctuary. Her faint gasp filled the air between them as Azriel lowered his head, his lips brushing her skin as softly as the beat of a butterfly's wing. Elain's eyes drifted shut, and the sensation washed over her like the first touch of sunlight after the darkest of nights.

“I would reveal your beauty inch by inch,” Azriel murmured, carefully easing the nightgown off her shoulder. “And show you the depth of my devotion.”

Elain shivered when the cool night air kissed her bare skin, but then his lips followed, warm and soft, as he pressed them to the gentle curve of her shoulder.

“I would adorn your skin with the kisses you deserve,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, lingering as if to etch the memory of it into his very being, “and commit your perfection to memory.”

Elain’s fingers found the fabric of Azriel’s shirt, soft against the unyielding strength beneath. She clutched it tightly, like the roots of a plant cling to the earth.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck. Elain felt her pulse flutter beneath his lips, beating like a delicate bird’s wings. He traced a slow, reverent path of kisses up the graceful curve of her neck. When his lips brushed the sensitive spot just below her ear, a shiver rippled through her.

Elain took a small step towards him, her body instinctively seeking him, and Azriel moved with her, as shadows move with the sun.

“And when I finally take you,” he whispered against her skin, his longing carried on the heat of his breath, “I will listen for every catch in your breath, drink in every gasp, savour every moan.”

Elain's head fell back as she surrendered to his touch—as if the weight of his words alone could unravel her. The room seemed to hold its breath with her when he trailed kisses along her jaw.

“I will learn the song of your body,” Azriel murmured, voice low and thick with desire. “Uncover the secrets of your skin.”

He pressed another kiss to her neck, so tenderly it stole the air from her lungs. Then his lips lingered again at that spot just below her ear, unmoving, as if he were listening for those secret confessions her body whispered to him alone.

“Until I know you more intimately than I know myself.”

Azriel swept one hand into her hair, his fingers weaving through the silken waves of golden brown. He tilted her head to the side, revealing the delicate slope of her neck, in a gesture that was both a plea and a command. Elain’s chest rose in a shivering gasp, but she arched her neck further in silent answer. Azriel dipped his head lower, brushing his lips to the hollow of her throat, before trailing featherlight kisses up her sensitive skin, pausing just beneath her jaw where her pulse thrummed with secret need.

Elain felt him inhale with her.

“Until I hold your pleasure in my hand,” Azriel said on the exhale. “And you’re trembling beneath me, yearning for release.”

He drew closer still, so close that his lips brushed her ear.

“And when that moment comes,” he promised, and Elain tightened her grip on his shirt, “I will I let you come undone in my arms.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to cradle her gaze in his again. The moonlight caught the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, making them glow like embers in the dark, smoldering with a heat that could devour them both if they surrendered to it.

Azriel slanted his lips over hers in the ghost of a kiss. Elain felt the world around her shrink into this singular, sacred point of contact—where his breath became hers, her every inhale a plea, every exhale a yielding surrender.

“And when you come undone,” he said, his lips so close to hers that Elain felt the tremble of every syllable, “it will be with my name on your lips.”

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, the sound slipping out of her in a faint, desperate plea that carried all the unspoken longings of her fluttering heart.

“Just like that,” he whispered against her lips, his voice raw and broken with a need that echoed her own.

They lingered there, their breaths entwined in the shared rhythm of that silent song only they seemed able to hear—as if they had always moved to the same quiet cadence of life.

Azriel’s hand remained in her hair, his fingers threading gently through her silken curls. His free hand moved to cup her cheek, before coming to rest at the base of her neck. His thumb drew slow, soothing strokes along her skin, in the way his touch always spoke of a quiet devotion language could never capture. Elain’s fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to the steady warmth of his body that grounded her beating heart.

“It should have been you,” Elain repeated desperately, voice quivering on an inhale as if the air itself was too heavy. “It would have been you.”

That gaze that cradled hers softened again, smoldering heat giving way to that tenderness that made her chest tighten. He cupped her face between his hands, embracing her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever held.

“You already have me,” he said at last, before leaning down to press a kiss to her lips—like a seal to his silent vow.

#elriel #elriel drabble #elain archeron #azriel #elriel fanfic

102 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 16 days ago

Text

An out-of-body experience | Pathetically obsessed 2

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV)

Because I think we all need some fun in times like these, and because Elain has both me and Azriel wrapped around her finger.

Here’s a slightly obsessed Azriel who finds himself with Elain straddling him when she decides to take matters into her own hands.

Warning: sexual content (not explicit)

I was thinking about how everyone is so preoccupied with the Cauldron and the mating bond and its implications. But then there’s Elain, who just doesn’t seem all that bothered with the mating bond at all, and whatever expectations it comes with. Not even indulging in the idea. She just wants who she wants. That’s where this idea started. And then it spiralled.

------

Azriel had never been one to giggle. Yet here he was, stumbling backwards into one of the empty rooms at the House of Wind, tangled up in Elain Archeron, with her nimble hands all over him—and he was giggling. Normally, he was all shadows, brooding frowns, and icy composure. Right now? Azriel was all giggles, smiles, and hands on soft skin.

Elain shoved him onto a sofa and straddled him. Azriel barely had time to adjust his wings before he was pushed against the back of the sofa and Elain’s hands were all over him again. Her soft laughter bubbled up in small bursts that filled his ears. Then her lips were on his neck and—Cauldron boil him alive—was that her tongue gliding up his throat? Azriel’s head fell back on the plush backrest, his breathing ragged.

As he lay there staring up at the ceiling, mind foggy, feeling Elain’s hands roaming all over him and her tongue on his neck, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of those out-of-body experiences people had when they were on the brink of death.

Because—Mother save him—Elain Archeron was straddling him.

That thought alone ripped him back to reality and his head jolted upright. Not even five hundred years of self-loathing could stop his hands from exploring every curve of Elain’s body in return, not with how she was straddling him with such eagerness. The problem was that there was simply too much fabric in between them

“Easy there, Spymaster,” Elain’s bright voice chirped. Her brown eyes glittered with excitement, her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, and her usually impeccable golden-brown hair was disheveled. The sweetness of it all felt like confetti bursting in Azriel’s ribcage.

"Don’t get too carried away,” she murmured against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

Those nimble fingers of Elain’s were definitely getting carried away all over Azriel’s fully clothed upper body. She positively dragged them over his fully clothed chest and rocked her hips against his fully clothed lap. Azriel had never felt so betrayed by his own wardrobe. From the deepest abyss of his melting heart, Azriel thoroughly regretted getting dressed in the morning.

“We’re not alone in this house,” Elain whispered, her eyes wide as if confessing to misbehaving in a holy place. The thought of Elain misbehaving sent a ripple of heat through Azriel’s body, enough to make his pants feel impossibly tight.

When Elain shifted her weight back onto those suddenly all-too-tight pants of his, Azriel let out a strangled moan. She tilted her head to the side, a wicked grin playing at her lips as her gaze sinuously traced down his body in tandem with one of her index fingers. “Doesn’t mean I can’t give you some… relief,” she murmured, and the honeyed promise in her voice had Azriel’s head spinning.

Then, Elain’s eyes snapped back to his and she held his gaze with such intensity that she looked as if she were about to devour him whole.

Azriel swallowed hard.

Without a word, she took Azriel’s hands and pressed them firmly to her waist. He could do nothing but oblige when she looked at him like that.

“Hold tight,” she said, those ravenous doe-eyes dark with desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in close to whisper, “and don’t make a sound”.

She rolled her hips against him in one excruciatingly slow, calculated move and the friction of it all had Azriel make sounds he didn’t know he had in him. Chest heaving, his head once again fell back against the backrest in surrender. It was simply an impossible feat to not make a sound under such precarious predicaments as these. Elain seemed to have him beat for torturing.

This was definitely one of those out-of-body experiences people had on the brink of death.

Because—Mother put him on life support—Elain Archeron was straddling him and promising him relief.

Then the scent of their combined arousal hit him, and it was about as subtle as a brick to the face.

“What if we get caught?” Azriel mumbled, his voice strained, tilting his delirious head back up as if this might really be his dying breath. Would these be the last words of the fearsome Spymaster of the Night Court? What if we get caught? He would go down in history as the most pathetic spymaster in Prythian, with such a lamentable parting line.

But the Spymaster of the Night Court didn’t give a damn—because Elain Archeron was straddling him.

Was he losing consciousness? Or did all that precious oxygen simply go straight to that now-painful bulge in his traitorous pants? Truth be told, that wingspan really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be in trying times like these—not when Elain Archeron had him on the brink of death by straddling.

Azriel tried to remember how to breathe. He really should have paid more attention when Nesta tried to teach him those Valkyrie breathing techniques. What was it again? I am the surf against which the rock crashes. No, no… I am the crash against which the rock surfs.

That definitely wasn’t it.

I am rock-hard, and I am about to crash, he thought as his breath caught in his chest with another roll of Elain’s hips.

Then, Elain seemed to be pondering Azriel’s lamentable last words for a moment, her brows furrowing slightly. Her index finger resumed its deliberate descent down his torso, stopping just below the waistband of his pants. As her fingers slipped beneath it, Azriel simply gave up, closing his eyes and attempting to focus on inhaling and exhaling in the right order.

“If anyone comes in here, simply wrap your arms around me and say you were just comforting me because I saw something mildly startling, since everyone thinks I’m so fragile anyway,” she said at last.

There was nothing even remotely fragile about the way she was currently grinding against him and practically ripping at his shirt with both hands.

“It’ll just look like you’re hugging me,” she finished cheerfully, punctuating the idea with another roll of her hips, sounding thoroughly pleased with herself.

Azriel was about to be thoroughly pleased himself, too, if she kept moving her hips like that.

He came to his senses, considering Elain’s strategy. He thought to himself that there weren’t a single being in all of Prythian—alive or dead or on the brink of it—that would buy that excuse. Fae didn’t straddle fae for a little comfort. And they certainly didn’t straddle fearsome spymasters for comfort. But she looked so adorable as she plotted, and so determined to get that shirt off of him, that he simply couldn’t bring himself to stop her.

“Now relax and let me make you feel good,” Elain purred, her voice so downright sultry that Azriel’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “No one will find us.”

Azriel was absolutely out of his body at this point.

Because—Mother above, he was six feet under—Elain Archeron was straddling him, whispering sultry promises in his ears and trying to rip his shirt off.

Azriel shook his head hastily, trying to pull himself back to reality. He was a warrior. He might also be rock-hard and about to crash, but he was a warrior. He had nearly died countless times, and he would be damned if this was the moment he bit the dust.

So, with a smirk, he pulled himself together, flexing his hips to meet the roll of hers. He brushed his lips along Elain’s jawline, drawing a shiver out of her.

“Is that so, love?” he murmured, his voice sinfully low. His hands skimmed up her curves, thumbs grazing the rosy fabric of her dress just below her breasts.

“I promise,” she pleaded, slipping her fingers under his shirt and tracing the ridges of his abdomen, which he rewarded with a husky moan in her ear.

“And what if I want to get caught?” He nipped at her earlobe. Her soft gasp sent a jolt straight to his core, as if there were some direct line of communication between his cock and all those small sounds that he drew out of her.

“What if I want everyone to know I’m yours?” he rasped darkly against her neck as he cupped her ass and pulled her flush against him, earning him a delectable giggle in response. The exquisite press of her body against his had a low groan slipping from him, not entirely intentionally.

“And what if I want everyone to know you’re mine?” Elain crooned in that sultry voice that was surely about to send him to the afterlife.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Elain,” Azriel murmured, voice dark with intent. He thrust his hips up, locking his gaze with hers.

“You mean this?” She slid her hands over his shoulders and met his thrust with an equally determined roll of her hips. Their eyes met—ravenous hazel to ravenous brown—and a wicked grin spread across Azriel’s face.

“Keep pushing me and I might bend you over right here,” he warned hoarsely. He slid his hands under her dress to grip her bare thighs, his voice dropping to a sinister murmur, “and fuck you until you scream my name for the whole court to hear.”

Elain stilled.

So did Azriel.

Azriel knew there was mischief in his voice, but he also knew he couldn’t hide the glint of pain in his eyes. He spoke of games, but his words held no deceit. They were simply the naked truth dressed as heated words uttered in aroused delirium.

What if I want everyone to know I’m yours?

“What if you did … do those things,” Elain said after a long pause.

Bend her over?

Azriel blinked, raising his eyebrows. Normally, he had no problem reading Elain, but this was not at all what he had expected her to say. His mind had wandered into all the ethical and existential dilemmas of him not actually being hers and her not actually being his, and the particularities of who would possibly be fighting whom in a Blood Duel and how to avoid starting another war. Then there were the intricacies of whether the Cauldron had actually been wrong, and the delicate problem of how Azriel was going to deal with Rhys.

And meanwhile, Elain’s mind had wandered to… Azriel bending her over?

There was no pain in Elain’s eyes. Just pure, fierce desire. She still had that ravenous look in her eyes, that Azriel thought should have come with a warning label.

In that moment, Azriel realized that maybe, just maybe, none of the rest of it mattered. Fuck the damned Cauldron. He snorted internally at it. Twice, for good measure. What did a bloody kitchen utensil have to do with anything when there was beautiful, ravenous desire in Elain Archeron’s eyes—and they were looking at him?

She peered up at him through her lashes.

“What if I want you to bend me over right here and fuck me until I scream your name for the whole court to hear,” she whispered, so softly it was barely audible, her nimble fingers still clutching his shirt, her gaze dropping shyly to his chest.

Was she… pouting?

Azriel swallowed hard again.

She glanced up at him once more, doe-eyes somehow even bigger than before.

Yes—she was pouting.

“Then I would bend you over right here and fuck you until you scream my name for the whole court to hear,” Azriel heard himself say as if possessed, the words tumbling out of him in one breath.

Elain’s expression softened and she cupped his cheek with a gentle hand.

“I know you would, sweetheart.”

Bless the Mother for she had resurrected him.

------

This is part two of Pathetically obsessed.

Part 1: He had seen the light

Part 2: An out-of-body experience

There’s no chronological order to them, and they are standalone (one shots), but they are written in the same style and on the same theme.

#elriel #elriel drabble #elriel fanfic

81 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 19 days ago

Text

“You can sleep now”

An Elriel one shot (Azriel's POV)

In which Azriel finally falls asleep in Elain's arms.

Warning: There's sleep depravation and sadness, but it ends on a sweet note, and Azriel finally sleeping.

This one comes with a soundtrack:

----

Azriel didn't know what drew him to fly to the townhouse garden in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was because it was the only place where he had ever truly found rest. Perhaps it was the thought of the female that had brought him true peace for the first time in his life. Perhaps it was because that garden was the place where their quiet worlds had first collided, a sanctuary from a loud world that never understood.

All he knew was that tonight, like countless other nights, sleep eluded him. And he was searching for a peace he knew he had only ever found in her.

Heavy eyelids drooped under the weight of his exhaustion, but razor-sharp thoughts drifted untethered. Visions of her swirled through his mind, light as twilight’s mist and impossible to grasp. No matter how he fought to pull them with him into sleep, if only just to allow himself the dream of her, they slipped through his fingers and refused to settle.

He had spent so many nights wearing his body out on the training grounds at the House of Wind, but tonight, he had nothing left in him. Nothing but the racing thoughts that refused to free him of their clutches, consuming what little energy remained.

He landed heavily in the garden, feeling his knees buckle under the weight of that same exhaustion. Every muscle in his body aching, he didn’t bother tucking in his wings; he simply let them fall to the ground. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of the ghost of himself reflected in one of the darkened windows of the townhouse. Shadows haunted his eyes. The dark circles beneath them betrayed his fatigue, but they had nothing on the bruises on his soul.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. A faint trace of jasmine clung to the crisp night air, putting pressure on that bruise on his soul. A heavy ache seeped into his bones, making every breath feel like an effort.

He wished more than anything to be numb. Regardless of what others said of him, Azriel's heart had always been bound to every emotion, leaving him raw and exposed. And now, the strength to keep it all hidden seemed to be fraying at the edges.

He breathed in that scent of jasmine once more.

He could never escape her, not even in the dead of night. The feel of her soft hand in his was imprinted on his skin. She lingered in his every breath. The echo of her laughter, soft like the chirping of a dove, was carried on every wind.

He inhaled deeply once more, heavy shoulders rising and falling, wings drooping behind him. There were traces of honey in the air too, mingling with jasmine.

He must truly be going mad.

He turned away from the window. And—as if conjured by the very thoughts that had led him to this sanctuary—there she was.

Elain was sitting on the chaise lounge where Azriel had once sunned his wings. Back when they could still sit beside one another without accusation. Before he had realized he desperately needed her like shadows need light. Before he was ordered to stay away from that light that truly made him feel seen. The light that was her.

The unearthly grace of her made her look as though she belonged to the garden itself. Illuminated by soft moonlight, her unbound golden-brown hair flowed like sweet honey over the pale blue coat that covered her white nightdress. Her pale cheeks and nose were stained pink, touched by the cool night air.

Azriel had always thought there was an ethereal beauty about Elain, as though she was not quite of this world. He stilled, afraid she might vanish if he so much as blinked.

She was watching him. A gentle serenity radiated from the warm embers of her chestnut eyes.

He ached to touch her. But he dared not cross the invisible line they—he—had been forced to draw between them.

He knew he ought to leave, that he should turn away before his need to stay close to her overtook him. But as he stood before her, as he could finally let his tired eyes rest upon that warm gaze of hers, Azriel realized he didn't have the strength to stay away any longer. Not tonight. Not even half a millennium of relentless suppression of his very being was enough to turn around and leave.

Or perhaps it was finally enough.

Perhaps he had finally tortured himself enough.

“Sometimes I come here when I can't sleep,” Elain whispered.

Azriel closed his eyes and let out a trembling breath, the sound of her voice washing over him like a gentle caress. He felt it soothe the tension in his muscles with bittersweet relief.

When he opened his eyes again, Elain glanced over at the empty space beside her in a silent invitation only he would recognize. Without a word, he slowly moved to sit next to her.

For a long moment, they simply sat there in silence, watching each other. No words cluttering the night air—only the still beating of their hearts, the reunion of two quiet souls that had been kept apart for too long.

Then, her head found its place on his shoulder. He surrendered, and gently lowered his head to rest against hers.

For a long while, it felt as though everything stilled—the faint rise and fall of Elain’s chest the only sign that time itself hadn’t stopped.

“I want to show you something,” she murmured at last.

With that ethereal grace, she rose to walk across the grass, then lowered herself to sprawl out upon it.

“The world looks so much more peaceful from the ground up,” She spoke softly, the calm of her voice carried to him on the cool breeze. “Especially in the dark”.

She turned to face him, eyes glowing with quiet invitation.

“The sky seems so much bigger and everything else just… fades away”.

Azriel watched her, wholly and utterly captivated.

“Don't you want to see?” she asked, patting a slender hand on the grass beside her.

He wanted to see what Elain saw. He wanted to be able to gaze upon the world with hope in warm eyes. Slowly he stood up and walked over to her.

As he lay down on his side to face her, and the world slanted around him, she was the only constant. She was a glade in the middle of a dark forest, grounded as an ancient oak.

Slowly their hands found each other, just like they had that first time when she had spoken of him with a word that had shattered something ancient and destructive within him.

Beautiful.

In that moment, Azriel knew, that his hand would always find hers.

Without hesitation, Elain laced her fingers with his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world—as though his hands weren’t abominations but something to be held.

He watched her intently, trying to imprint the vision of her like this in his mind and finally be allowed the dream of her. Elain glanced over at him, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She tilted her head up, gesturing to the night sky.

Azriel finally tore his gaze from her and lifted his tired eyes to the night sky to see what hidden knowledge she had found there.

The secret of the night sky stretched vast and endless above them, deep indigos and black woven together like an immense tapestry. Brilliant stars scattered across it, some glowing sharply, others pulsing as faintly as the quiet beating of his heart. His mouth felt open, and he let out a deep breath. The infinite reach of the night sky seemed to absorb the worst of his troubles and shrink the edges of his exhaustion.

As he lay there gazing up at the stars and holding the hand of the one who seemed to understand the depth with which he felt every emotion, peace wrapped around him. Elain didn’t ask him to explain himself, hadn’t needed him to reveal any of his scars or fears, and yet her eyes had seen his soul. With her hand in his, the darkness around him felt safe for the first time in his life.

“Do you see it?” she whispered after a long while.

Azriel swallowed thickly, trying to smooth out the crack in his voice. He wasn't sure he could speak.

“I see it,” he managed, voice catching in his throat. But lying next to Elain, being on the verge of tears was no source of shame. For some reason, in this moment, lying next to Elain on the brink of tears felt like the most natural thing in the world. He knew she was aware he felt things more deeply than most. So deeply it threatened to drown him if he lingered on any of it too long. So he hid it all.

And she saw it all.

His eyes fell on hers again.

“You’re cold,” she whispered.

He hadn’t noticed.

Perhaps he had been cold for so long that the ice in his veins had seemed like part of him.

“Let me...”

Elain didn’t need to finish the sentence; Azriel understood her as if the thought had been his own. He tucked in his wings tightly and leaned over to gently rest his head against her chest.

“... hold you,” she finished.

His hand slipped around her waist. Her hand came to rest on his upper arm, the other on the nape of his neck.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He felt her fingers gently caress the skin just under the neckline of his shirt. It sent a wave of warmth through his body. Jasmine, honey, and that warmth enveloped him. He felt it thaw his very bones, like the first sip of tea on a cold winter’s morning. Or the blanket of sunlight on a warm summer’s day.

Azriel closed his eyes and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the chaos in his mind stilled entirely. The weight of his exhaustion lifted as the sound of her heartbeat calmed him.

They stayed in silence for a long while.

No words were needed to describe it, anyway, because the words to describe it simply didn’t exist.

“Azriel?” Elain whispered into his dark hair at last.

He hummed against her warm body, too tired to form words.

“You can sleep now,” she murmured softly.

And in that embrace of jasmine and honey and warmth, sleep finally took him, as if it had been waiting for her touch before it could claim him at last.

In the garden where it all began, with the Mother as their only witness, night’s embrace wrapped around them, as soft and quiet as the two of them. A stolen moment in the dead of night, and the shadowsinger and the seer were finally at peace.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

#elriel #elriel fanfic #Spotify

46 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 21 days ago

Text

The bargain

An Elriel one-shot (Elain’s POV).

This one-shot is inspired by @violetasteracademic's beautiful theory post about Azriel and Elain’s future bargain. You’ll find her post here.

My headcanon is that they can choose where to put their bargain tattoos, although it doesn’t seem like they can from canon. But if they could, this is one way I imagine Elain and Azriel entering a bargain could play out during a clandestine meeting in the townhouse garden…

I had so much fun writing this, although dialogue is difficult for me as English is not my native language. But I decided it was time to give it a go! I hope someone might like this as much as I liked writing it.

Warning: Fluff, kissing, sexual undertones.

-----

Elain laid sprawled across the soft grass of the townhouse garden. She knew there would probably be grass stains on her dusty pink dress. She didn’t mind that at all. That was one of the points of lying in the grass, after all. She had never liked when things were too perfect. She had secretly collected many grass stains throughout the years. Some of her favourites were the ones she had obtained during the times she spent in this particular garden with a particular shadowsinger, basking in the warmth of the sun.

She had left her shoes inside to feel the gentle touch of the lush grass under her feet. Her eyes were closed, afternoon sunlight caressing her skin like a warm blanket of the most delicate silk. The unique warmth of sunlight had a way of making her feel weightless, like she became part of the surroundings.

She opened her eyes just in time to see two starlings twirl and dance across the blue sky above, seamlessly shifting between sailing on the summer breeze and beating their wings with a cadence only nature could inspire. The hydrangea shrubs swayed in the gentle breeze to that same cadence. Heavy blossoms of crisp white weighed down their delicate branches, soft streams of hazy afternoon sunlight seeping through them to throw gentle shade across the warm grass.

Elain closed her eyes again and let the sound of the softly swaying shrubs and the delicate floral scents of the early summer blossoms connect with her senses.

Then, of course, there were those undertones of night-chilled mist and cedar, which could only mean one thing.

Azriel was sprawled on his side next to her, his head resting on a tattooed arm. Elain opened her eyes and turned to lie on her side to face him. Even surrounded by the wonders of the natural world, he was the most wondrous of them all. His dark hair caught the sunlight like a raven’s wing under moonlight. The black of his tattoos unfurled across his arms like intricate tree roots weaving across unscathed earth. His wings of jet black were sprawled gracefully behind him, illuminated by reds and golds in the early summer sun.

But most wondrous of all was that gentle soul of his that spoke to hers as tenderly as the stillness of early morning.

In this moment, sleep had finally found that gentle soul.

A soft breeze rippled through the rose bushes lining the walls of the town house, whispering of the blissfulness of early summer. It rustled lightly through Azriel’s dark hair. Elain studied his features. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing calm and slow. Rouge strands of midnight black fell across his brow, the furrow between them dissolved. He looked pristine in peaceful slumber against the floral backdrop. It was rare to find him so relaxed and for a moment Elain’s heart ached. She felt the vision of him softening her already melting heart.

How long they stayed like that she didn’t know. It could have been eons. She would have liked to stay there for eons. Maybe by then things would have changed, and a female’s choice would be enough to dictate her future.

She had made her choice already. She was looking at him.

It was unfortunate that the only acceptable choice was the one that was no choice at all.

If her choice wasn’t enough, she wished there was some other way to unravel the fabric of fate. She wanted to put a needle in it and stitch her own path across it. She was surrounded by bonds, magic, and threads but all of them seemed to just tie her in place.

Threads.

Something was tugging at her memory. A conversation Feyre had with her and Nesta shortly after they were Made.

Not threads...

Bindings. Magical ties.

Bargains.

Feyre had warned her of Fae bargains. Magical bargains that bound souls to each other, with the threat of great danger should the bargain be broken. Why Elain thought of that now she had no idea. Perhaps it was the Mother herself that gave her the idea. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking—the wish that love could trump a mating bond making her hope for things that could never be. Some would say she should have banished such foolish fantasies long ago.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t.

And perhaps this was it. Perhaps she could spin a new thread, superseding the stitches of fate.

Her heart soared at the thought.

Perhaps love could trump a mating bond. Her love, who was sleeping peacefully in front of her in the garden they had made theirs.

“Love,” she whispered, watching him carefully. Something stirred in the shadowsinger.

She was bursting with the need to tell him. But she couldn’t bring herself to wake him. So, she forced the thoughts aside as she waited for him to wake up. If being Made had robbed her of choice, it had given her plenty of time. They were immortal after all, a concept that had been so inconceivable from the human perspective she hadn’t yet fully grasped it.

She could wait until he woke up.

As if he had sensed her excitement, Azriel stirred again. Slowly his eyes fluttered open and Elain was met with a sleepy smile.

“Hello,” she whispered.

She let one hand travel slowly across the soft grass in the space between them.

“Hello,” he answered in a drowsy, tender voice. His hand mirrored the movements of hers.

There was freedom in the quiet collision of their fingers. The thrill of feeling his skin brush against hers was another form of weightlessness—an even better one.

“Let’s make a bargain,” Elain whispered after a few moments of silence.

“What?” Azriel said dazedly, still in that blissful space between sleep and awareness that had that sleepy smile plastered across his features. His hazel eyes moved lazily from her fingers grazing his hand to look into her eyes.

“A bargain,” she repeated.

Silence.

He blinked hard, in a way that made him scrunch his nose. Elain felt butterflies taking flight in her chest.

When he opened his eyes again, realization seemed to have dawned on him, and he narrowed his eyes to study Elain’s features.

“You do know about Fae bargains, right?”

“I do,” Elain said. “Feyre told me.”

Azriel reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. He retrieved it, holding his index finger in the air between them, eyes focused on the ladybug that was climbing up his scarred finger.

“And you know about the consequences of not upholding one?” He asked hesitantly, his eyes flickering to Elain’s before returning to the ladybug.

“I do.” She responded, following the ladybug's ascent.

“And you are aware the bargain will be marked on your body in ink?” he continued.

“I am.”

“It won’t fade until the bargain is fulfilled,” he stated plainly, his gaze returning to study Elain as the ladybug took flight, aiming for the rose bushes lining the walls of the townhouse.

“I know that too.”

“And you want to make a bargain,” he said slowly.

“I want to make a bargain with you,” Elain corrected him. She reached out her hand and swept an ebony curl from his forehead.

They watched each other in silence. She knew there were 500 years of relentless restraint battling his heart in that moment. She waited until he was ready to speak.

Finally, he laced his fingers with hers again and broke the silence.

“Let’s make a bargain then,” he echoed, curiously indulging in her peculiar pursuit. Something sparkled in his usually shadowed eyes—shadows that were nowhere to be seen now.

It was perhaps a little mad, to enter into a magical bargain on a whim. But the normally prudent shadowsinger had a soft spot for the lovely seer. Elain knew it and treated it with great care.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

His thumb stroked hers gently. Elain knew of the demons he had battled to be able to do that. These days, he seemed to be winning that battle.

She looked around. Her eyes fell upon the rose bushes. Then at the wrought-iron table beside them, where she had sat with a cup of tea as Azriel sprawled on the chaise longue, sunning his wings, that first time he had taken her to the garden. Two chubby house sparrows were strutting around the area beneath the table now, looking for even more sustenance to satiate them. She smiled. That first time in the garden she had no idea how much Azriel would come to mean to her. But those rose bushes were a constant reminder of where it all had started.

“How about this,” she started and inched a little closer to him in the grass, feeling as though she was about to convey something very secret.

He would always let her have the last word. So, she weighed her words carefully.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” she suggested, chestnut eyes wide.

He hesitated for a moment.

“As long as there are roses you will always be bound to that bargain,” he whispered. “It can’t be fulfilled.”

“Are you saying I would be tied to you as long as there are roses in the world?” Elain asked.

Azriel’s eyes fell upon their intertwined fingers.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said slowly, a smile crawling up the side of his face.

“Then I’ll make sure there are always roses in the world.” Elain said through a smile of her own. “I’ve been told I’m very good at planting things and keeping them alive.”

“That, you are.” It was his turn to swipe a rouge strand of golden-brown from her face. She felt her skin warm at his tender touch.

His fingers lingered, caressing her cheek. He bit his bottom lip as his gaze landed on that blush that was undoubtedly spreading across her cheeks. Elain had always found her tendency to blush a particularly bothersome one. Azriel seemed to think otherwise.

His eyes were on hers again.

“How will you explain that you suddenly have a tattoo?” he murmured.

“I don’t intend to show it.” She smirked and saw it mirrored on his beautiful features.

“Sneaky seer,” he said lovingly through his smirk as he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I could put it under my foot,” Elain mused.

Azriel chuckled softly. “Clever.”

Then he leaned over, and Elain felt herself fall back into the soft grass.

“Oh, goodness,” she gasped softly.

“Indeed,” said the still smirking shadowsinger.

Suddenly Elain was looking up into his hazel eyes. The dark hair falling on his brow contrasted with the blue summer sky above them, like the blue windflowers she had only seen in books, with their dark centers and delicate blue petals. Leaning on an elbow, he swept his free hand into her hair. His thumb drew soft strokes along her cheek as his eyes travelled over her features. Elain’s hand moved to gently rest on the back of his before her eyes fluttered close. Her lips parted in a silent yes to his invitation. She felt his breath gently whisper along her cheek before he moved to press a tender kiss to her lips in the way that always made her heart flutter.

“Any other ideas?” he husked, voice vibrating against her lips.

Another kiss.

There was no demand in his kisses when he kissed like this—when he kissed her like it was the first time. Not in the way his eyes closed before he slanted his mouth over hers and slowly, tenderly, pressed their lips together. Nor in the smooth rhythm of his movements, like the quiet pulsing of waves against the sunny shore. When Azriel kissed like this, his kisses were slow and enticing, intimate and inviting—a polite question mark at the end of a mischievous suggestion of something he knew they both desired. That desire, which they so rarely got to act on, swirled between them. It tangled around them like grapevines reaching for the sunlight, full of sweet fruit ready to be picked and tasted.

They deepened the kiss, falling into their perfect rhythm. Just like they did when he so often led her into a slow dance even without music to guide them. Under starry skies, safe from watchful eyes.

Elain felt his body settle against hers, their lips locked in dance like those starlings that twirled in the summer sky. She raised her fingers to graze the sensitive skin of his neck and felt him shudder at the touch.

She wanted to explore all the ways she could make Azriel shudder.

Slowly, she let her fingers travel upwards into those soft curls of midnight black. She could swear he was smiling. She knew she was.

His hand moved to tenderly stroke her neck before he leaned back slightly, lingering in the space where their lips barely touched. His nose brushed gently against hers.

It was so quiet, as if time itself had stopped, just so they could have this moment undisturbed.

“Mmm...” he murmured softly against her lips, and she felt the smile on his. “You were saying?”

For a moment, Elain had forgotten all about bargains and tattoos, except the ones underneath his clothes.

She collected herself.

“Perhaps we could make the tattoo a tiny one behind my ear,” she whispered breathlessly, still caressing the back of his neck. She opened her eyes, only to feel that familiar warmth spread across her cheeks at the sight of him.

He leaned in again and pressed a kiss to that flush on her cheek, so featherlight that Elain almost shivered at the touch.

She let one equally featherlight finger glide down his neck in reciprocation.

“I think you can do better than that.” His voice was husky against her skin. His teeth nipped playfully at her bottom lip. “I can think of a few places.”

So could the lovely seer.

“Perhaps…” She paused and locked his gaze with hers in the way she secretly knew could bring him to his knees. “On my inner thigh.”

Azriel stilled, his face barely an inch away, eyes an unblinking swirl of hazel on hers. There was a storm beneath that calm surface. The slight shift in his scent gave it away.

“Yes,” he breathed, a little too quickly.

Excitement overtaking her, Elain pressed a hand against his chest to push him back into the grass. Azriel’s eyes widened at the sudden movement. But as they lay there on their sides again, face to face, she simply hooked her pinkie with his.

“Promise?”

He chuckled softly and hooked his pinkie with hers, eyebrows raised in puzzlement.

Nothing happened.

He watched her in silent amusement.

“I know about Fae bargains, but I don’t know the details of how you enter one,” she admitted. “I was told I shouldn’t do such things.”

Azriel laughed—quietly but unrestrained. Elain's breath caught as she took in the sight of him, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

She would kill another king to keep him laughing like this.

He bit his lower lip to collect himself.

“Is this how humans bargain?” he chuckled and wiggled his pinkie against hers.

“Some of them,” Elain said through laughter of her own. “How do we do it?”

“This… would work, actually,” he said in surprise, perhaps mostly to himself, as he watched their interlinked pinkies.

“Repeat the bargain,” he commanded, hooking his pinkie more firmly around hers.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” Elain recited, eyes widening in anticipation.

“Agreed,” he said.

She was still staring into those hazel eyes of his as she felt what could only be magic zap between them. It rippled through their interlinked fingers and spread through her entire body. She let out a gasp as she felt a tingle on her inner thigh.

A few silent seconds passed.

“Is it done?” she asked.

Azriel only inclined his head.

She scanned his body, the already tattooed golden-brown skin visible on his neck and arms.

“Where is your tattoo?” she asked.

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” he said through another smirk. “But perhaps not here, because I would have to take my clothes off.”

Once upon a time, she would have blushed at the suggestion.

Now she laughed.

And blushed.

The townhouse may not be used much these days, but there was no guarantee of privacy.

“You would take your clothes off for me elsewhere then?” she asked cheekily.

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before,” he said, flashing her a wicked grin.

Suddenly visions flashed before her eyes. Tanned skin under moonlight. Her back against his chest, his hand in her hair, lips on her neck and praise in her ear, the roll of his hips, and his name on her lips like a prayer.

Azriel.

Not visions. Memories.

His voice brought her back to the present.

“You only need to ask.”

Offer and permission.

She had a feeling he would do anything she asked of him. She vowed to never misuse that devotion. Azriel was far too precious to her for that.

After a long pause, his brows furrowed.

“Are there any roses that don’t look like normal roses?” he asked a little hesitantly. “What if I don’t recognize it’s a rose?”

“You will!” Elain said confidently. “I hear Fae bargains are very painful if you don’t adhere to them.”

She gave him a grave look before her smile broke free once more.

And there it was again. That unrestrained smile of his. She’d figure out all the ways to pull it out of him. She had come to find out she was quite good at that. Perhaps all that work in the gardens had taught her a thing or two about nurturing precious things to life in more ways than one. Those hazel eyes that hid so much kindness were made for smiles and laughter and love. She would make sure he knew of it.

There was also some self-indulgence in her desire to see more of that smile of his. But the way he stole glances from her, brushed his fingers against hers, or threw her wicked smirks when no one saw them had her thinking he wouldn’t mind that at all.

There was liberation in that smile.

For both of them.

“It won’t matter much, whether I know how to recognize all the roses of the world, I guess,” he said through that liberating smile of his after some contemplation, leaning over to pin her to the grass once more.

“It won’t?” Elain asked, running a hand through his hair.

He smiled against her neck as he spoke.

“I think about you all the time, anyway.”

#elriel #elriel fanfic

78 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 26 days ago

Text

“Put it on me”

Elriel and gendered views on lust and agency

I discovered ACOTAR in 2018. They became like comfort books during the pandemic, and I have reread them many times since then. Particularly, it was Azriel and Elain that grabbed my heart with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Still, I feel equally as impacted by their story six years later. Specifically, it’s the depiction of a deep connection developing between two quieter individuals and how SJM has written them to be the key to the other's character progression in such a tender way, that I seem unable to get over.

When I joined this fandom two months ago, a lot of things surprised me.

One thing being how parts of the fandom have framed Azriel and Elain’s relationship when it comes to lust, after Azriel’s BC. It has fascinated me and made me reflect on my own reading of the introduction of lust into their relationship, and since this blog is where I put my Elriel ramblings, I wanted to write down my thoughts on it.

Lust, agency and consent

Did Azriel feel lust in his BC? Yes. Thank the Lord. However...

I would like to start not with Azriel, but with Elain. Because what puzzles me the most is not that Azriel is at times mischaracterised as only lusting after Elain. This mischaracterisation seems mostly rooted in denial over where SJM is heading with Azriel and Elain, and the preference for another direction. I think it is rooted in shipwar discourse, and I don’t want to get involved in that. It doesn’t bother me what people ship. And after four books of sweet Elriel moments and the very clear thematic trajectory SJM has put Elain and Azriel on, we know it is an obvious mischaracterisation. I’ll just ignore it.

What puzzles me the most is not that. What puzzles me is that Elain’s agency is often removed when SJM's depiction of Azriel and Elain is criticized. And I wonder, why is Elain's lust disregarded? Elain is the driver of everything that happens in that almost kiss of the BC, and it’s so beautiful. It is such a good and heart-stopping sneak peek into the direction of her book that I was ready to join Azriel on my knees before Elain when I read it.

“It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp. Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck. It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Wrong -- it was so wrong. He didn't care. He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue -- Azriel's cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make. Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel's restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there. "I should go," Elain said, but made no move to leave. "Yes," he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to skin, tainting her with his presence. But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. “Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Azriel is in the backseat in that scene. Every action of Azriel’s is a reaction to Elain’s consent. Elain is the opposite of an object of his lustful thoughts in that scenario. She’s steady as a rock, initiating every escalation of their almost kiss, even if her hands were trembling when she gave him her gift. I have to admit, I might have had tears in my eyes when I read that the first time. There was Elain, hands trembling, acting on her deeply held value that love can trump a mating bond. And Azriel is the antithesis of someone simply lusting after another when he responds to her cues of consent.

That kind of lust? Wholly dignifying. Holy and dignifying. If I had a religion, that stuff would be it. Beautiful. It's a timeless essence of romance.

This is Elriel’s kind of lust:

Elain sneaking out at night, defying the social expectations and pressures that have plagued her all her life. And when she finds Azriel there too, like a wonderful manifestation of her reclamation of agency, she acts. Confronted with yet another expectation thrown at her – the mating bond – she has decided to not fall in line this time. She is coming to know herself and her values – that “love could trump a mating bond”, that a mate is not entitled to her time and affection, that she “belongs to no one”, and that she can give her heart to whom she wishes. And then she acts. She chooses the one who always saw her.

What more? Azriel’s desperate longing, him staring at her gift for a year. Nesta noticing the pain in his eyes. Cassian noticing he is troubled. Azriel staying away for a year because they can’t have each other. And then, as he is miserably brooding in the sitting room after everyone has gone to sleep, there she is, like a lovely manifestation of the sunlight he was robbed of all his childhood. Only this time, he doesn’t stay away – because she invites him in. The substance of Azriel’s lustful thoughts? He’s thinking of her pleasure. Wanting desperately to make her feel good. Waiting for her invitation. Wanting to fall to his knees. Being mindful of how her noticing his arousal might affect her. And then, there it is – she’s aroused too! And then, her invitation - offer and permission – simultaneously one of the most beautiful and hottest lines in the series.

Elain has had such an impact on Azriel that her actions and encouragement (throughout the entire series) has him starting to slowly win his centuries long battle against demons telling him he’s not worthy of romantic love. Azriel pre-Elain is stagnant and miserable. Azriel after meeting Elain is on a trajectory towards character progression. Like Elain has done with Azriel since day one, she once again leans into his touch and encourages it in the BC, and he is fighting his intrusive thoughts of self-loathing because of her.

And what does Azriel do for Elain? He holds back and is attentive. He sees her, like he always has, and doesn’t act without invitation – he waits for her to exert that agency that is the key to her character progression. There is so much beautiful consent between them, I feel like I’ll evaporate into dust if I think too much about it because my brain can’t handle the beauty of it all... I'm starting to evaporate...

This kind of lust? DIGNIFYING.

The good stuff is in between the lines

I get that Elain and Azriel are quiet and subtle, and most characters in ACOTAR aren’t. We have to read them a little differently. There’s nearly only showing instead of telling when it comes to them. But that means we need to really look at what we’ve been shown - we have to read between the lines (which is so exciting!). SJM has shown a beautiful connection between them being built across several books. It was such a blessing to get a tiny sneak peek into Azriel’s mind and see how they communicate without words. We have seen it on page throughout four books, ever since the first dinner with the three brothers and three sisters when Elain sought quiet reassurance in Azriel, and he gave it to her without using a single word.

After all of those sweet moments across several books, if there’s one relationship that cannot reasonably be stamped with the “just lust” label, it is theirs. We didn’t need to hear Azriel describe the intricacies of his love for Elain’s personality in the BC. We have been shown how he’s drawn to her, without lust involved, for two years across several books. Lust is the natural next step.

That doesn't mean he didn't show us his love for her personality in the BC.

Isn't connecting the dots part of what makes reading exciting?

Here are some dots to connect:

The headache powder

Azriel mentions he has had it on his bedside table at HoW to simply stare at when he’s trying to fall asleep. That tells us that the headache powder is profoundly meaningful to him. It also tells us that Azriel is not just some dark and stone-cold torturer and Spymaster. He is, in fact, a deeply sentimental person. Someone who feels a lot. Someone who is profoundly impacted by a meaningful gift. The headache powder that Elain gave him, which made him feel joy that Feyre had never seen in him before, during that Solstice night which was the turning point for Azriel’s feelings for Elain. The point where his feelings for her became so strong, he had to stay away because the torment of them not being able to be together was too much (the torment that Nesta sees in his eyes during their second Solstice).

All of this is in the same BC (and in the books), and it is Azriel implicitly describing the process of falling in love with Elain because she’s kind and attentive and caring, because the gift of the headache powder is a product of those personality traits of hers.

To communicate without talking

Azriel struggles to talk about his emotions – Rhys says no one really knows how he feels. Not even his family whom he’s known for 500+ years.

[Rhys about what Azriel feels about his job as interrogator/torturer] “But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out”’ (ACOMAF).

Azriel didn’t need to be pestered. All he needed was peace and quiet, someone like Elain. Because here we have Elain, and Azriel lets us know she understands his emotional struggles without him putting them into words.

He offered her a smile back. "I wasn't sure if I should give you your present." He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

This is in the same BC, where Azriel also acknowledges that he has never dared to utter any of these thoughts out loud. Yet he didn’t need to for Elain to understand him. This is, again, Azriel acknowledging Elain’s attentive personality and what she means to him – what kind of connection they share.

Honestly, the BC is simply a mirror to their story so far. We don’t need it, but I’m glad we got it. It’s like SJM took a mirror and held it up to Elain and Azriel’s story across four books, condensed it, introduced the element of lust, and said: “remember what I've shown you – because here’s what’s next”. (Kind of like she did with Nessian’s bonus chapter…)

The pinnacle of SJM’s writing

To round off, I think their lust is simply a beautiful and natural progression of their clearly developing romantic relationship. I think it gets misunderstood partly to support a direction of the story that is clearly not where SJM is heading, but also partly due to our gendered views on lust and agency (which is the more interesting misunderstanding in my eyes).

The way SJM progressed Elriel’s relationship in ACOSF + the BCs (both of them) perfectly sets up Elain’s book and the external and internal conflicts Elain and Azriel will have to face to continue on their arcs towards character development. To reclaim her agency (Elain), and to acknowledge his self-worth outside of his duties and usefulness to others - to see himself as worthy of romantic love (Azriel). It challenges deeply ingrained views on gender and agency in society and is such a narratively powerful story.

For me, Azriel and Elain are the pinnacle of SJM’s writing so far. She’s outdone herself with them. This is also why I trust her fully with Elain’s book. I really, truly hope SJM writes more characters like them in the future, because she knows how to write captivating yet quiet, more introverted and introspective characters – and not many do within the romantasy genre. It’s an amazing skill, and a needed one.

I think that almost kiss is one of the best depictions of consent and mutual sexual and romantic desire in the series. I’m sure there will be much more of that beautiful offer and permission when Elain’s book is out. Come to think of it, I think SJM better take all the time she needs finishing up that book because I’m not sure I’m ready for it, even after all these years.

I’ll be questioning my belief system too when Elain goes all “put it on me” again.

#elriel #pro elriel

89 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 1 month ago

Text

He had seen the light | Pathetically obsessed 1

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV)

This is just one long racing thought of a pathetically obsessed male and the female that makes his head go quiet.

I was scrolling fanart of Elain during lunch and realized I might be pathetically obsessed. Then I thought, what better way to release my pathetic obsession with Elain than to write an unhinged inner monologue of Azriel’s. And I had been wanting to try and write something a little comical, because I haven’t tried that yet. So here we are!

Warning: sexual content.

------

Azriel found himself by a window overlooking the garden in one of the smaller bedrooms of the town house after Rhys had pulled him aside for a private word. Azriel had forgotten all about why he was even there the moment he stepped up to the window and laid eyes on Elain tending to the garden. Rhys had mentioned something about unfinished business dragging on. As far as Azriel was concerned, the only unfinished business of any significance was the one that Rhys had most inconveniently made sure remained unfinished when he interrupted that kiss with Elain that surely would have been the pinnacle of Azriel’s existence.

Elain, that perfect angel, was currently kneeling in the cold garden in perfect view. Small puffs of air left her perfect lips with every perfect exhale. Yes, perfect was the word.

Was she cold? She looked cold. What if she was cold? Those delicate fingers—they needed to be kept warm. Azriel would make it his life’s purpose to keep the hands of that sweet angel warm. It would be an insult to the natural order of things for her to be cold.

"So, any news on Bryaxis?" Rhys asked.

Bryaxis. Azriel snorted internally. That wretched being faded in importance to the lovely creature currently blessing his eyeballs with her mere existence. Everything faded in importance next to her. She was the sun, and he was lucky just to be in her orbit. She was perfect—from the way her hands could nurture even the tiniest, most insignificant things into spectacular creations of greenery and blossoms, to the way she could look upon the world’s misery with hope in those perfect eyes.

And then, of course… Azriel tilted his head. Perhaps he shouldn’t go there, but that categorically perfect ass... It would be a sacrilege not to go there with the absolutely sacred view he currently had of her as she knelt in the garden. She was a wonder.

The way his hand could make contact with that perfect behind so delectably if she wanted it. Maybe twice, if she really liked it. Or more. Enough to leave a mark, if that’s what she desired. Should she want that, it would only be polite to oblige, after all. The right thing to do, and Elain made Azriel want to do the right thing for the first time in his life. Her will, his law. Azriel would happily indulge in her desire for his hand to connect delectably with her behind repeatedly, should she invite it. The stuff of legends. He would go to war for the chance to have his palm delectably connect with Elain’s perfect behind.

Azriel realized then that he had been wrong when he told Cass not to show all his cards at once and to save some for later. He had been a foolish male then. Insufficiently experienced in the art of being pathetically obsessed. He understood now. He was a different male now. He had become enlightened. Because even the way that literal angel breathed had him wanting to pin her to the nearest wall and show her all his cards at once—and then some.

He had a few aces up his sleeves, alright, and she deserved them all. He had one in his pants too, but he’d save that one for last. He knew which card he’d play first: the one that started with him on his knees and ended with her coming on his tongue. That's how all his fantasies began. He felt that ace in his pants stir.

Fuck. Not now.

Thank the Mother he had his shadows to conceal his scent, or he would have been done for. It wouldn't do to get a raging hard-on at an intel meeting about Bryaxis of all miserable things. Rhys would never let him hear the end of it. He had to think of something unappealing. Fast.

He looked at Rhys, who raised his eyebrows.

That motherfucker. Azriel loved that motherfucker but sometimes he was a motherfucker. Rhys might have ordered him to stay away from that perfect angel in the garden, but he should know by now what Azriel’s mind was capable of cooking up.

"Bryaxis?" Azriel asked calmly.

That should keep Rhys going for a few minutes. Despite the headaches it induced, in moments like these it was a blessing that the High Lord had an affinity for blabbering. Just nudge Rhys a little in whatever direction—preferably one pointing at himself—and he could go on for ages. As long as you knew how to shut it out, you'd get a few blissful moments of peace and quiet. A male needed a little privacy with his pathetically obsessive fantasies, after all.

Peace and quiet. He was looking at it right now. She was peace. She was the quiet of early morning. The sun incarnate. Was he spouting poetry again? He would resort to it for her. He would spout poetry on his knees, throwing his cards at her all at once. He had once told her he was born hearing the song of the wind. He was quite proud of that one. He had practically melted into a puddle internally at her response.

That’s very beautiful.

More beautiful words had never been uttered. He sighed longingly—internally, of course. Azriel knew all too well how to keep up appearances. He watched as Elain rose to her feet and wrapped her coat more tightly around her. He hadn't known there was such a thing as a perfect curve to an elbow, but that was only because he hadn't met Elain. He hadn't seen those perfect elbows of hers. They were prefect because they were Elain’s.

Elain. Even her name was like a caress to the vocal cords when he whispered it into the night as he touched himself to the thought of him touching her to completion. She was perfection. He didn’t even have to speak, and she understood his miserable soul. How was that even possible? She was divine and he had seen the light. Divinity. That is what she was.

And Divinity was currently looking up at him through the window.

His head went quiet.

"Have you been able to confirm Bryaxis..."

That motherfucker. Was he still going on about that wretched thing? How could Rhys even think about something as insignificant as Bryaxis when there was a literal angel in his garden? Did he not see? Had he not seen the light? Were his eyes not open to the wonders of the fierce, quiet female gracing their unworthy souls with her presence? Azriel wasn’t one to draw attention to himself, but he wanted to scream at the world to just look at her. Mother above, how was he supposed to be in the same room as her and not make a complete fool of himself when she was...

"Az?"

"...so fucking beautiful". He looked at Rhys. Had he said that out loud?

"Thank you. Now tell me something I didn’t already know."

------

This is part one of Pathetically obsessed. Part 1: He had seen the light Part 2: An out-of-body experience

There’s no chronological order to them, and they are standalone (one shots), but they are written in the same style and on the same theme.

------

(Please don’t think I dislike Rhys after reading this. I just wanted to light-heartedly depict some of Azriel’s potential pent-up frustrations with Rhys after ordering him to stay away from Elain. I love Rhys, but sometimes he is a motherfucker 😉).

#elriel #elriel fanfic

65 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 1 month ago

Text

Get a grip

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV).

(jump down to “keep reading” if you want to go straight to the one shot - mind the tags)

I see adoration, connection, and beautiful consent in how SJM has written Elain and Azriel’s relationship. We see how they narratively lift each other as characters, just like Nessian and Feysand. Azriel is Elain’s choice - her breaking free of the stifling expectations that have plagued her. With Elain's encouragement, we see self-sacrificing Azriel finally rest and able to fight his feelings of being unworthy of touch and romantic love.

On top of how they care for each other, there is also mutual lust - in the most beautiful slow-burn of the ACOTAR series (if you ask me).

Whilst I will always have a weakness for Elriel's quiet and gentle love, here’s a celebration of the sometimes misunderstood aspects of their developing romance - lust and desire. Inspired by Azriel's bonus chapter, it's my attempt at depicting how Azriel’s racing thoughts and desire for Elain might manifest at night, when only the Mother might witness him. It's also a celebration of Elain and the desirable things about her. A light-hearted vindication of the shadowsinger and the seer - whose only crime seems to be desiring each other, both sexually and romantically. (I love me a forbidden romance! 🤭)

I shall let them.

Warning: smut (sexual fantasies, jerking off), angst

(This is my first attempt at writing something even remotely smutty. It’s all in good fun!).

I wrote this thinking of it as a continuation of my one shot Wingspan (you’ll find it here, but you don’t need to read it to read this one).

_______

Azriel arrived at the House of Wind with hot frustration pulsing through his normally icy veins. Shadows swirled at his feet as he ran a hand through his windswept hair, tucked in his wings, and entered the lower levels of the House. With Nesta and Cassian already fast asleep, he hurried through the corridors towards his room. His steps were guided by muscle memory alone, his thoughts racing with images of Elain.

Since fate had cruelly decided they couldn’t have each other, the thought of her would have to do—for now.

And it would do.

Thoughts of her fingers grazing his. The jolt that went through his body as their eyes met. Her golden-brown hair falling in waves like a silken waterfall down her back. How the chilly night air painted her cheeks and nose in a lovely shade of pink. The gentle care with which she nurtured life into being in every garden she touched.

It was curious—how a single memory of her could satiate him more than sharing shallow corporeal pleasures with another had ever been able to. He hadn't seen the point in any of that in a long time, couldn’t fathom why he ever had, now that he could steal glances from Elain Archeron, secretly brush his fingers against hers, or simply watch her be.

The ache in his chest was rivalled only by the ache in his pants. As it were, he could only do something about one of those aches tonight. He fully intended to. He would take advantage of that ache currently throbbing in his pants until he was a throbbing mess in his bed. It was the only hope he had of getting any sleep.

He entered his room, grateful for the solitude of the late hour. Locking the door behind him, he only managed a few strides inside before he fell back against the stone wall, spreading his wings along the cool and smooth surface for some relief. He let his shadows—the ones that weren’t already asleep—seal his room off from any unwanted attention.

Then, he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

His lips parted as his fingers drifted to his waist, tugging at his shirt to undo the fasteners of his pants. His fingers were cold from his flight, and he shuddered as they grazed the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen. He leaned his head back against the wall and let out another deep breath before he bit his lower lip. Hard.

He inhaled.

Thoughts of her flashed through his mind—her delicate fingers twirling the string of her apron, the way she swept strands of golden-brown behind her ear as she knelt in the garden.

He exhaled.

Fuck me, he thought behind closed eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall again, a little harder than necessary.

Perhaps it was pathetic, the level of detail with which he had committed to memory even the most minute of encounters with her. He could live with that. Somehow, he didn’t mind it at all. Those minute encounters seemed to be what kept his heart pumping, after all. What he couldn’t live with was that raging ache that threatened to rip through his pants if he didn’t deal with it soon.

He groaned with relief as he finished unfastening his pants to grip his cock. He was painfully hard, to a degree only Elain Archeron could induce. He wrapped his fingers firmly around his length and let them glide over it.

"Elain Archeron," he sighed at the thought of her. To his shock, he heard himself almost giggle at the way her name slipped from his lips.

Then, because no one was there to witness the fearsome Spymaster, he whispered her name into the night one more time, as if to taste it. Despite his misery, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. It was sweet like honey, the way her name took shape on his tongue—just like her gentle soul, which seemed to understand both the words he spoke and didn’t speak.

His grip around his cock tightened, hand wrapping around it much in the same way he was wrapped around Elain’s finger.

His heart had belonged to her and her alone since she had given him that headache powder—when she had made him feel genuine happiness for the first time since he didn’t know when. It had been hers since she chose to spend her first Solstice night with him, of all people, sharing her dreams for the gardens. Her eyes of molten chocolate had lit up and he had looked at her in awe, undisturbed, until dawn. He wasn’t even sure if he had blinked; he hadn't wanted to miss a single second of her elation. That night, she had taught him what joy felt like, and it had stunned him.

He wanted desperately to return to that night. To be able to look into her warm brown eyes without suspicion or accusation from anyone over what his heart desired. He wanted to go back and give her his heart again, just to make sure she knew it was hers.

But perhaps she had already wrapped his heart in her soft hands when she looked upon his brutalized ones and breathed the last word he would ever have associated with himself, regardless of how many times others spoke it of him.

Beautiful, she had breathed.

And he had believed her.

Yes, he was hers already.

The things he would do to not just be hers, but to call her mine.

The thought of it had him tightening his grip on his cock. Slowly and firmly, he let his fingers glide from the base of his length and stop just below the head. The pleasure of it all was excruciating. He had always thought the line between pleasure and pain was a rather fine one, a proclivity he now reaped the benefits of.

He groaned, his breathing growing heavier. He wanted desperately to bring himself over the edge, but he wasn’t done yet. Rolling his head back, he focused, exhaling deeply and feeling the muscles of his core contract. Then the ache in his chest mirrored the ache he gripped between his fingers as he stroked himself again, even harder, for good measure. He felt his body twitch at the impact.

That’s it, he thought to himself as he got himself closer to that blissful edge and forced himself to hover in that space where pleasure and pain intermingled.

If she would let him, he would grab hold of her and never let go. Yes. If she wanted it, he would hold onto her.

Hard.

With both hands.

From behind.

And fuck her slowly.

The thought alone nearly pushed him over the edge. That wouldn’t do—he wasn’t ready for this to end just yet. He shook his head, relaxed his grip on himself and let out another trembling breath.

What he could do to her from behind, though, should she want it… He would wrap those golden-brown waves around his fist like a belt and pull her up against him. He would tilt her beautiful face the way he wanted it—the way they both wanted it—just like he had done that second Solstice night, giving him perfect access to her lovely neck.

That neck of hers. He sighed desperately at the image that flashed before him. Of course, Elain had to have the most delectable neck in all of Prythian.

Unable to hold back, his grip around his length tightened again as he clenched his jaw, held his breath, and stroked himself fiercely to the thought of it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He let out his breath and forced himself to loosene his grip again.

That second Solstice night was etched on his mind like the tattoos etched on his upper body. He had been the luckiest bastard in all the realms combined when she had allowed his fingers to taint the velvety skin of her neck. No—when she had urged him to stroke the velvety skin of her neck, with the way she had leaned into him.

He groaned, his hand tightening reflexively at the memory, the implication of her actions that night almost bringing him to completion once again.

She had wanted it. Wanted him. He knew that now. And that small, precious truth was enough for him to keep battling those demons that told him otherwise.

“Get it together,” he panted, the muscles in his upper body once again contracting with each ragged breath. He resorted to dazedly letting his fingers glide in long motions along his length as he indulged in the memory of her.

It was a fruitless endeavour. He knew he would be frantically stroking himself again in a few moments anyway.

He was insatiable. And she was too lovely.

That neck.

He had let his thumb draw lazy circles on that flawless neck. No—there had been nothing lazy about it. His focus on her that night had been sharper than any duty had ever commanded his attention. And when that sweet, intoxicating scent of her arousal had reached his nostrils, he had almost fallen to his knees. An unusual urge almost anything Elain did seemed to inspire in him.

Azriel wasn’t one to kneel before anything or anyone. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had done it once—that one time he had knelt before Elain when he rescued her from those Hybern scum. She was the exception to that rule.

No, kneeling before Elain was the rule.

He’d live his life by that rule if she would let him.

She could hold his gaze with those beautiful eyes that looked upon this miserable world with such fierce hope, and it was like a kick to the back of his knees. He would be on the floor begging already if he only let go of what was left of that restraint he hung onto for dear life whenever she was around.

Eyes closed, his shirt clinging to his hot skin, he leaned heavily against the wall and tilted his head to the side. His racing thoughts drifted back to her—to those soft waves of golden brown that would wrap so perfectly around his fist. The cool touch of the stone wall against his wings added to the sensation as he rolled his hips, letting his cock glide through his tight grip with slow, hard thrusts—just like he would fuck her if they ever got the chance.

How many thrusts would it take before she collapsed in his arms? He chuckled, low and dark. It didn’t matter much. As if one time would ever be enough. Since he was apparently known for being such a cruel bastard, he would show her all the ways he could make her come until it was her turn to beg for mercy. He smiled at the thought before he felt that sting in his chest return.

Skin to skin—that was where they belonged. Breathing the same air. With his hand tangled in her soft curls, he’d whisper praise in her ear, shower her soft skin with the equally soft kisses she deserved, her back pressed against his chest as he made love to her. He had a feeling she would like that just as much as he would. Maybe she would even treat him to a moan. The mere thought of her moans was like a fist around his cock.

He could certainly make her moan.

Oh, the ways in which he could make Elain moan. Perhaps he would even make a quest of it.

With his tongue, that’s how he would start. Her inner thigh. And, Mother save him, when he got between those inner thighs…

When he had Elain coming on his tongue.

When she wrapped those thighs around his face as he had her coming on his tongue.

He almost sobbed at the thought of it, fisting his cock ferociously, grip rough and brows furrowed as all thoughts of restraint shattered.

“Fuck it,” he panted.

Every muscle in his body tensed as he as he came with her name on his lips, his skin overheated and body quivering. His head tipped back against the wall, pleasure pulsing through him like the tremor that had rippled through his veins when she met his gaze earlier tonight. His lips parted and a low moan, followed by a string of curses, spilled out of him.

A few moments passed as he caught his breath, dazedly stroking himself through the last waves of pleasure before he finally opened his eyes. He looked around the room lazily. Then, realization dawned on him. He swore again, low and dirty, at the mess he had made.

His eyes fell upon the headache powder at his bedside table. Unused, as it would remain. He felt that familiar sting in his chest at the sight of it. He was left only with the empty feeling of her absence—unsure of how emptiness could feel so substantial. His chest tightened again at his own misery where he stood alone, his cock still in his hand, staring at the soiled floor.

“Pathetic,” he muttered at the thought of himself. He hadn’t even made it to the bed. That must be a new record. He would have to get that under control, should he ever get to spend a night with Elain.

He sighed deeply, turrning to look out the window across the room at the pitch-black tapestry that was the night sky. Just as the realization of his own misery had dawned on him, dawn would be emerging in a few hours, spreading soft pastels across the night sky. It reminded him of her—like everything seemed to do these days.

He thought of that dusty pink gown she often wore, the one that made her soft skin appear even softer. As if that were even possible. He wanted to rest his head against that softness and fall asleep.

Azriel had never yearned for arms to hold him. Not until Elain.

Something burned behind his eyelids. He knew it would crush him to dwell on it.

“Get a fucking grip,” he muttered to himself, even as his hand returned to once again grip his hardening length.

It would be a long night.

(I just want them to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Is that too much to ask? 😭)

#elriel #elriel fanfic

62 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 1 month ago

Text

The Seer and the Shadowsinger

An Elriel drabble (Elain's POV).

Welcome back to the garden.

________

The garden was quiet, save for the soft hooting of a lone bird somewhere in the distance.

The seer and the shadowsinger were not the only nocturnal beings daring to face the solitude of the hours between dusk and dawn.

Night-chilled mist and cedar blended with jasmine and honey, like shadow blends with shadow in the dimness of night.

Elain ran her fingers through his curls of midnight black as Azriel rested his head in her lap. She felt him relax, the last traces of tension in his muscles evaporating at her touch. He was still in his Illyrian leathers - he had come straight to the town house as he returned from the duties that had consumed him for far too long.

His eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful and serene, yet the fighting leathers told a different story. He was like a beautiful statue carved from mist and shadows. Impossible to grasp. But not for her.

Elain saw all of him.

She ran a featherlight finger over the swirl of tattoos that peaked over the neckline of his leathers. She felt him hum at the sensation, like a cat purring at a gentle touch.

“I could do this forever,” she whispered.

“If that is what you wish,” he murmured.

He kept his eyes closed. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, like some curious bird getting a little too close to the unknown, defying deep-rooted instincts to satiate its curiosity. Elain thought she could live off of that smile of his. Off of all the tiny things he did in her presence that would surprise others, but which she had seen in him that first time he took her to the garden.

Beautiful. He was beautiful.

She saw it, in more ways than one.

“I see you, Azriel,” whispered the seer and the lover in her in unison.

“And what do you see?” asked the shadowsinger, opening his eyes.

“The future.”

#elriel #elain archeron

44 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 1 month ago

Text

Wingspan

An Elriel one shot (Azriel's POV).

A reimagination of the scene where Feyre asks Rhys about wingspans - Elriel style (with a little bit of Nessian involved). I wanted to capture Elriel's subtle playfulness. And I wanted to combine the playfulness of that scene with the impact of sharing a gaze with the one you're not supposed to want.

Warning: sexual undertones

-------

“I’ve heard that the size of an Illyrian male’s wingspan says something about the size of another... body part”, Nesta said, leaning back in her chair and scanning Cassian sitting across from her. Wicked delight coated her every word.

Azriel paused mid-chew, his fork hovering in the air. He glanced across the table at Elain, who was clutching her fork as if her life depended on it, her unblinking eyes fixed on the plate in front of her. Azriel swallowed. The faintest blush was spreading across her cheeks. Were he not entirely in control of his faculties, a smile would have bloomed across his own face at the sight of it.

“And…” Nesta continued, twirling her fork tauntingly between her fingers, her eyes never leaving Cassian's. “I heard Azriel has the biggest wingspan”.

She nodded towards Azriel, gaze still on Cassian, the smirk on her face a willful provocation.

A brief silence followed, broken only by the clatter of Cassian’s fork hitting the table.

“That’s it! Bring out the measuring stick,” Cassian boomed, leaping out of his chair. The daring gleam in his eyes was a match to Nesta’s. “We’re settling this once and for all!”

Azriel’s gaze remained fixed on Elain, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to know how to winnow with how her body stiffened, her eyes glued to her plate. Still, he swore he caught the faintest trace of a smile fighting to break free—the slight tightening of her jaw, the delicate tensing of her lips. Were he not the Spymaster of the Night Court, and more importantly, irrevocably wrapped around the finger of the middle Archeron sister, he probably wouldn’t have noticed her quiet amusement.

“Az?” Cassian pressed.

Azriel finally shifted his gaze away from Elain and turned to his brother, biting down the smirk threatening to spread across his face.

“What?” he replied calmly, not betraying his thoughts of the enthralling female sitting in front of him.

“Wingspans”, Cassian insisted, folding his arms over his chest. “We’re settling this”.

Azriel rose smoothly from his seat.

“I don’t need to resort to it”, he said coolly.

“Come on, Az!” Cassian argued, amusement lacing his voice.

“You should thank me, Cass”, Azriel said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he patted Cassian on the shoulder. “At least now it’s not confirmed you don’t have the biggest wingspan”.

With that, he left the room.

-------

“Is it true?”

Elain’s soft voice blended with the gentle crackling of what was left of the dying fire. It was late. The others had already gone to bed, but Azriel had lingered in the sitting room as Elain finished her preparations for the morning.

And there she was. Emerging from the kitchen, delicate fingers twirling the strings of her apron. Azriel couldn’t fathom how such a simple act could make his stone-cold heart flutter in his chest. He’d tear apart the fabric of the universe to ensure she had a lifetime’’s supply of aprons to twirl between her fingers, if she wanted it.

Her gaze was fixed on the floor, lit up by the last flickers of the fire that had brazed in the hearth an hour earlier, framing her lovely face in hues of gold. She had let her hair down—loose waves of golden brown spilling over her shoulders.

The sight of her stole his very breath.

Lounging on the sofa, one arm drapepd over the armrest, Azriel angled his head, his eyes fixed on the female he could never resist. The one who had offered him kindness when he believed he deserved none of it.

Elain.

“Is what true?” he replied, his voice a low murmur. He leaned back, resting his jaw on his fist, openly observing her in a way he could never allow himself when they weren’t alone. He watched her twist a little at the spot, to his delight.

A few seconds passed before her tender voice broke the silence to once again bless his ears.

“What they say about wingspans?”

Something glinted in her eyes, even as they stayed fixed on the floor. Azriel bit back a chuckle at her boldness—so at odds with her sweet demeanor. The paradox of it all made him burn in all the right places.

Wrong places, he corrected himself.

Still, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. A pity. He might drown in those chestnut eyes of hers if she’d let him. Granted, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it. Perhaps this was for the better.

Against his better judgement, he rose to his feet and approached her slowly, unable to stay away. After all, they didn’t call him dark without reason. Though he doubted drowning in Elain Archeron’s chestnut eyes was the kind of danger they envisioned when they whispered about his proclivities. But he wasn’t one to argue. He had hidden behind a protective layer of preconceived notions for centuries. Until her. She saw right through him, and he let her.

And yet, she stayed. Twirling the strings of her apron between her fingers.

“What do you think?” he whispered into the quiet of the night.

He was right in front of her where she lingered in the doorframe separating the kitchen from the sitting room. She had gone motionless as he approached, but she didn’t shy away when he stopped—close enough for their breaths to mingle.

Which they did, as a few exhilarating moments passed.

Her gaze flickered to his before dropping to his chest. It was electric, that moment their gazes met. As it had been for a while now. He wasn’t sure when it had started. Wasn’t sure what had shifted between them—or if it had always been there. But that charge between them had become like a tether to him. Something pulling him towards her.

He was desperate for it.

That familiar blush crept up her neck again, and he wanted nothing more than to press his lips to it. To taste that immaculate skin. To savour her scent of jasmine and honey on his tongue.

She tilted her head up, still not quite meeting his gaze. It drove him mad, and she knew it. Her breath fluttered over the sensitive skin of his neck like a featherlight caress. He felt a tremor pass through his body. It settled somewhere low and entirely indecent. Should she come any closer, she would learn all about that wingspan of his. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the shudder that ran through him at the thought of her pressed against him—starved for her as he was.

The shift in her scent mirrored the shift in his. Equally improper. Forbidden, as it were.

And yet, it was holy to him.

“I don’t know”, she breathed.

A pretty lie. And he knew that she knew he was aware of it. He also knew that he was the only one to whom she would show this side of her. Daring. A sweet, quiet, intoxicating boldness that would have him on his knees at her invitation. For the second time that day, he resisted the urge to smirk at that quiet boldness. Resisted the urge to tip her flawless chin up with his fingers and make those beautiful eyes meet his.

It did not escape him that she did not resist the same urge. An irresistible smirk spread across her beautiful face. Feathery lashes rose to reveal her large brown eyes. Azriel felt his breath tighten in his chest when she finally met his gaze and didn’t drop it.

Mother above.

He was drowning.

Unable to resist, he let his fingers brush the string of her apron, where hers had been just moments before.

She let her fingers brush his.

Between the two of them, she was the fearless one. He saw it in every quiet moment they collided. Half a millennium of buried emotion, and yet she could unravel him with a single brush of her fingers.

He must have forgotten how to breathe, but he didn’t seem to need it.

He stretched out his wings, to the extent the cramped space would allow it. It hid the two of them from the fading embers of the fire that had painted the room golden. In the darkened silence, he lowered his face closer to hers, his gaze flashing to that irresistible flush traveling up her neck, reaching the delicate curve of her jaw.

“I’m sure you can imagine,” he murmured, voice sensual as sin as he shifted his gaze to pierce hers again.

She gasped softly, eyes darting between his wings. Perhaps she hadn’t imagined this.

She would now.

He leaned in even closer, his mouth brushing her ear as he let a single word slip past his lips in answer to her question, no more than the shadow of a whisper.

“True”.

She let out an involuntary sound, something between a moan and a whimper. It rippled over his skin, and he didn’t care to hide his shiver at the sensation. It was barely a breath, but Azriel would remember it—would replay it in his mind as he touched himself to the memory of her tonight, secretly shameless as he was where she was concerned.

He liked to think she’d be equally shameless.

The look in her eyes told him she would be. In the dead of night, with no one to witness and only her fantasies for company. What he would give to be shameless with her—not just in thought, but in flesh and bone. To show her pleasure beyond imagination.

If only he were deserving of it.

And yet, the way she seemed to see right through him and still chose to stay in his presence had a small but desperate part of him believing that he could be. That tiny spark of hope had become his lifeline.

Without breaking her gaze, he tucked in his wings, finally letting that smirk spread across his face to mirror hers.

“Sleep well, Elain”.

He felt his chest tighten at his own words, wiping away that playful smirk on his face. He saw his reaction reflected in the way her body stiffened—the implication that he always had to leave before they’d even truly begun dawning on her once more.

What he desired more than anything was to fall asleep next to her. To wrap himself around her and stay. To shower her with praise as gentle as her body and spirit until she fell asleep in his arms. His heart was bursting with words meant for her ears only. Words he repeated in his mind over and over but could never release.

It was suffocating him.

He wanted to bury himself in her warmth until it thawed even the darkest parts of him. And he wanted to love her—in every garden, under the night sky, in her bed.

But fate had been cruel to them, and it was too much to ask.

The last embers of the fire flickered and stilled, leaving the room lit only by the cool glow of moonlight.

“Sleep well, Azriel”.

His name on her tongue was his salvation, but the sadness consuming her was his damnation—a mirror to his wounded soul.

Fate was a cruel and wicked thing. He wanted to crush it with his bare hands for what it had done to the female he loved.

He took a step back and felt the loss of her warmth like the loss of a limb as he did.

“Elain, I…“ he began, his voice faltering.

“I know,” she whispered, the touch of her hand featherlight on his as she met his gaze again. Chestnut to hazel. He saw pure understanding in those eyes of soft, warm brown that felt like the only home he had ever known. That sense of connection he felt with her had once shocked him to his very bones—that time he had vowed to get her back when she had been taken. He had cradled her to his chest, terrified to lose her again. Of course, she knew. She knew all of it.

They had never felt the need to clutter their solitude with words.

They didn’t need words; they just needed time.

And he was patient.

He took the hand she had placed on his and laced his fingers with hers, just like she had twirled that string of her apron. His stomach clenched at the sweet thought of it. A sacrilege it might be, to taint her with him, but he had sworn to never be the one to stifle her.

He slid his free hand into the soft golden-brown waves framing her face, then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering a little longer than he should have.

“One day”, he whispered against her skin. Or perhaps he thought it.

One day he would stay.

“One day,” she echoed, so quietly it could well have been a thought. She leaned into his touch, like she always did, sacrilege be damned.

Then, shadows swirling, he was gone—leaving her breathless.

As was he, whenever she was near.

(Click here to read part 2)

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel drabble

67 notes · View notes

jasmineandcedar · 1 month ago

Text

Flower crowns

An Elriel poem.

The other day, I was thinking of what I find to be two of the most poetic Elriel scenes. I was thinking of the moment where Azriel and Elain are sitting in the garden the first time, and Feyre questions mating bonds over them. And then I thought of the Hybern rescue scene, and I was just filled with such sadness. At that moment in the garden, both of them had no idea about the things they would go through, and the things they would do for each other. He was just sunning his wings, and she was sipping her tea. The theme of romance between them was reinforced in that scene, through Feyre’s eyes, but there was no blatant romance between them just yet. But there was another kind of connection growing. And perhaps, in the despair of the Hybern kidnapping, they’d think back to that moment in the garden, and that’s when something like love began to bloom. So I wanted to connect the two moments in a poem.

I was also thinking about choices versus bonds. I think the direction SJM is heading is for Elain and Azriel to have a Mother blessed bond. But I like the idea of a choice before a bond. So, I like to imagine the Mother blessing them with a bond after, or perhaps because, they chose each other despite the Cauldron. So I had the Mother bless them with a bond like that in the poem.

In my culture (I’m from a Nordic country) flower crowns have a special place in both Norse mythology and our modern-day traditions. They symbolize life and re-birth, and they always make me think of Elain. And from that thought, the theme of this poem was born.

Him.

There was an angel sitting beside him in the garden

Armoured with sorrow, when she should be wearing flower crowns

A day would dawn when he’d look away

And fate would draw her to its den

He’d remember then that angel in the garden

Would see her glow like the sun in a flower crown

She had smiled at him, despite her pain

He’d vow to bring her back again

That angel would fight demons with bare feet for him

And in that moment, he would know

That losing her would clip his wings,

But it’s not the wings that he would mourn

There was an angel who had sat beside him in the garden

The stems of her flower crown, entwined with his heart

So, although his life was draining

He held his angel in his arms

Her.

There was an angel sitting beside her in the garden

Clad in dark armour, when he should be wearing flower crowns

A day would dawn when she’d wander astray

And fate would shackle her again

She’d remember then that angel in the garden

Would see him sunning his wings in a flower crown

He had seen her pain yet chose to stay

She’d vow to free them from their chains

That angel would shred his wings for her

And in that moment, she would know

She’d kill kings, kick demons, and conquer fate

To see him sun those wings once more

There was an angel who had sat beside her in the garden

The stems of his flower crown, entwined with her heart

So, although her life was shackled

She kissed her angel, safe from harm

The Mother

There were two angels sitting together in the garden

Both wearing armour, when they should be wearing flower crowns

A day would dawn as darkness held its sway

And fate would taunt them with disdain

She’d remember then those angels in the garden

Souls entwined like the stems of a flower crown

As choices bloomed and shadows waned

She’d vow it wouldn’t be in vain

Those angels would face an army for each other

And in that moment, she would know

That she’d twist the vines of fate herself,

For their flower crowns to grow

There were two angels who had sat together in the garden

She blessed them with flower crowns, entwined them with their hearts

So, although she’d keep their secret

They would not be kept apart

#elriel #elain archeron

36 notes · View notes