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mirrorballpages · 2 months ago

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Elriel Month 2025: Death & the Maiden

Elain wasn't quite sure how she felt about going to this party. The late afternoon light slanted through her bedroom window, spilling soft gold across the whitewashed floors, brushing the pale linen curtains like a sigh. Dust motes floated lazily in the stillness, and at her small, worn vanity, Elain leaned in close to the mirror, sweeping a brush along her cheekbone with slow, careful strokes.

Feyre, of course, had insisted she and Nesta come tonight, to meet her new boyfriend and his brothers. Like the last one, Feyre had met him in a whirl of laughter and stolen moments and claimed within a week that she had fallen in love.

"I didn't like her last boyfriend, and I'm certainly not going to like this one," Nesta huffed over Facetime, Elain’s phone perched precariously against a small jewelry stand. Her sister’s image blinked back at her, sharp and exasperated even through the screen.

"You have to at least give him a try," Elain said lightly, tapping a soft shimmer onto her eyelids.

Nesta only rolled her eyes, a slow, practiced move that Elain could picture perfectly. "This is so her. Feyre meets boy. Feyre falls in love within a week. Feyre insists this is the one."

"It's only the second time she's done this," Elain countered, smoothing a hand through her hair, which gleamed in the warm light. "And she's young. Remember what you were like at twenty-two?"

"I was in my first year of law school, Elain. I wasn't galavanting around Velaris trying to find a husband," Nesta snapped, her tone dry enough to parch the air.

Elain only sighed, the weight of old memories settling over her shoulders like a shawl. She hadn't been doing much at twenty-two either. Just dating Graysen, daydreaming about a future that, at the time, had seemed so clear. The neat, tidy path of a politician's wife.

Graysen's family had been entrenched in politics for generations, and he had been poised to follow, charming and polished in a way Elain had thought meant stability. Until, almost exactly a year ago, he had called off their engagement in a clipped, impersonal conversation, saying that Elain’s dreams didn’t "align with his vision" for their future. Which, as it turned out, meant he didn't want a wife who preferred tending flowers to attending endless fundraisers, who would rather spend a Friday night curled up with a book than shaking hands at a gala.

Nesta had hated Graysen from the beginning. A fact Elain only now, months later, recognized as the truth.

"What are you wearing?" Nesta barked, pulling Elain from the tangle of memory.

Elain blinked, dabbing a final touch of gold to the corners of her eyes. "Oh! Hmm. I was thinking maybe that cobalt blue dress, the one we got last time we went shopping. With the open back. I thought I could wear my hair half-up."

She twisted in her chair, gathering the thick curls into a loose, half-up style, golden-brown strands catching the light like silk.

"Love that one," Nesta said, smirking. "But surprised you aren't going with floral."

"You know, I do own things that aren't covered in flowers," Elain laughed, the sound soft and easy.

Nesta’s smirk only deepened. She wasn't wrong. Elain had always been drawn to floral prints, to delicate patterns of nature stitched into fabric. Maybe it was inevitable, considering her little flower shop tucked near The Rainbow, not far from where Feyre worked in the city.

She had opened it seven months ago, almost on a whim. A decision made one rainy afternoon after she passed the closed storefront she had loved visiting years ago.

A week after Graysen ended their engagement, she had stood in front of the dusty glass, her heart hollowed out and aching, and decided that if she was going to rebuild her life, she would fill it with beauty. She had never touched the modest inheritance from their father’s death until then. Nesta had helped her draft the paperwork. Feyre had spent an entire weekend painting the walls a soft, buttery cream.

And slowly—one seedling at a time—Elain had started living again. Dating, though... that was something else entirely. Something she hadn't been ready for. Still wasn’t sure she was.

Not that she hadn't noticed the occasional stranger. There was one in particular. A man she had seen walking past her shop sometimes. The first time, she had gasped aloud. He was tall, impossibly tall, with the kind of broad shoulders and coiled strength that made the air seem heavier in his wake. Golden-brown skin inked with black tattoos, dark hair that always looked slightly rumpled, like he had run a frustrated hand through it a dozen times.

Always dressed in black—black jeans, black T-shirt, black Ray-Bans. Always on the phone, his voice low and urgent as he strode past. He looked like someone you didn't mess with. Someone who carried storms in his pockets.

And he was nothing—nothing—like anyone she had ever dated, or even imagined for herself.

Still... One afternoon, just as she was flipping the sign on her door to Closed, he had walked by again. And for a moment, a heartbeat, he looked at her. Their eyes had caught, hazel meeting warm brown, and the world seemed to pause, as if even the city had held its breath.

And just like that, something shifted inside her, like a match struck in the dark.

She had been foolish enough to believe it meant something. Until he broke eye contact, lifted his phone back to his ear, and continued walking, straight into the tattoo shop a few blocks down.

Elain had laughed at herself then, embarrassed at her own daydreaming. It was probably all those silly romance novels Nesta insisted she read.

"Earth to Elain," Nesta's voice crackled through the phone.

Elain startled, blinking at her reflection. "Sorry, sorry. Just thinking about a flower order."

Nesta’s eyes narrowed, but thankfully, she let it go. "Yes, flowers often make one blush," she said dryly. "Listen, I have to go. I'll be at your place in thirty." The call ended, and the soft silence of her room returned. Elain exhaled slowly, gathering the loose tendrils of hair framing her face, pinning them with a delicate gold clip.

Her hair had always been darker than her sisters’, richer in hue, threaded with strands of warm gold when the sun caught it just right. Her face, rounder and softer than Nesta’s sharp elegance or Feyre’s delicate beauty, was scattered with faint freckles she no longer tried to hide. She had always been the quiet one. The sweet one. The one who stayed in the background, smiling, accommodating, never quite fitting the sharp edges of the world her sisters seemed to stride through so easily.

She looked in the mirror one more time, slipping on a pair of delicate heels, adjusting the fall of her cobalt dress. The soft gold light from the setting sun brushed across her skin, casting everything in a warm, forgiving glow. The doorbell rang precisely as she pinned the last curl in place, of course, Nesta, punctual as ever.

They were headed to one of the bars Feyre’s new boyfriend owned, a rooftop place called Lunaris. A name that sounded like a dream, or a spell. Elain had always thought the bar looked beautiful when she glimpsed photos online, but it also seemed like the kind of place for people much cooler than she was. The kind of place where the beautiful, untouchable people drank cocktails that looked like they belonged in a painting. Apparently, Feyre’s new boyfriend—Rhysand, was his name—was that kind of man. The sort who owned restaurants and buildings and seemed to know everyone. That was about all Elain knew. That, and he had two brothers, adopted, Feyre had mentioned, both of whom she had been hinting Elain and Nesta might fall for. One, Feyre had said, was quiet. Observant. Brooding in a corner, unnervingly good at shooting sports, and about as talkative as a stone wall. Dark and mysterious were the words she’d used, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The other was his opposite. Loud, funny, a fighter who taught boxing classes when he wasn’t bouncing between various adventures. Boisterous and playful, she’d said fondly. "So, how soon until Feyre insists we date the brothers?" Elain asked lightly as they approached the sleek interior elevator, the muffled sound of laughter and music drifting down from the rooftop above.

"Absolutely the fuck not," Nesta said flatly, pressing the button with a perfectly manicured finger. "I do not have time for dating. Feyre is just being ridiculous. Listen, I have CrossFit in the morning, so I’m leaving at 8PM sharp. Got it?"

Elain laughed under her breath. "Yes, yes. 8PM, not a second later. I’ll meet you at the entrance."

The elevator dinged, a soft chime that sounded almost too elegant for its purpose, and the doors slid open, spilling them into another world.

The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers and something rich and expensive, perfume, wine, the slow, luxurious spin of twilight captured in scent. Golden light cascaded across the rooftop, the last breath of the sun kissing the velvet of the evening. Overhead, soft glow orbs floated like trapped stars, and fairy lights draped in long, swooping arcs above their heads. Standing lamps shaped like crescent moons lined the walkways, casting silver pools of light across the dark flooring.

In the center, a sprawling black marble bar gleamed, veins of silver running through it like frozen lightning. Beneath the marble, a faint glow shimmered, like swirling, stardust caught in glass. Deep blue velvet couches were tucked into corners, crescent-shaped booths offering intimacy, while little tables that looked like dark pools of glass scattered the floor like stepping stones across a midnight river.

But what caught Elain’s attention first were the flowers.

Moonflowers, white roses, night-blooming jasmine, tucked into elegant planters along the edges, spilling scent into the air, softening the sharp beauty of the space with something living, something gentle. She drifted toward them without thinking, the pull of it instinctual, her fingers itching to reach out and touch the velvety petals. A shriek of joy snapped her attention back.

"You made it!" Feyre cried, launching herself at them and pulling both sisters into fierce hugs.

Nesta allowed it, her face composed and imperious in a fitted black pencil dress and towering Louboutins, not a hair or speck of lint out of place. Feyre, on the other hand, was glowing. Wearing a slinky black dress with high slits that revealed strong, tanned legs, she looked happier than Elain had ever seen her. Bright, alive in a way that no amount of fine clothes or fancy spaces could fake.

"Feyre, darling, these must be your sisters," a smooth, velvet-lined voice said.

Elain turned—and froze. The man standing beside Feyre was... magnificent. Dark, perfectly tousled black hair, striking violet eyes framed by thick lashes, golden-brown skin dusted with ink at the edges of his rolled-up sleeves. He was impeccably dressed, every line and detail of him sharp and deliberate, but that wasn’t what made her stare.

It was the way he looked at Feyre. Like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing. Like she was the sun itself.

Nesta, composed even in the face of male beauty, stepped forward, extending her hand in greeting. "Nesta," she said crisply. "And this is Elain."

But instead of shaking Nesta's hand, Rhysand took it, bowing slightly to press a kiss to her knuckles. And then, turning to Elain, he did the same, his mouth brushing lightly against her skin, a gesture so old-fashioned and charming she couldn't help but laugh.

Nesta’s expression was priceless, caught somewhere between scandalized and furious.

"Well, I don't think anyone has ever silenced Nesta before. You have my utmost respect, Rhysand," Elain said with a soft smile, amusement dancing in her voice. Feyre beamed, radiant with happiness.

"Please, call me Rhys," he replied easily, flashing a grin of perfect, dazzling white teeth.

But Elain barely heard him. Because out of the corner of her eye, she saw them—two men approaching, cutting through the golden light like a vision pulled straight from a fever dream.

One was massive. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair in loose waves brushing his shoulders, tattoos winding down strong arms. His smile was easy, cocky, the kind that could disarm a room before he even spoke.

The other— Elain’s heart stumbled.

Golden-brown skin kissed by the sun, black hair just mussed enough to look careless, hazel eyes like a storm trapped in sunlight. Lean and powerful, with a quiet grace that made the space around him feel heavier, sharper, like the air had thickened just because he was standing there.

And those hands. Gods.

She hadn't noticed them before, scarred and weathered, the marks crawling up from his wrists, swirling into the intricate ink on his forearms, like the tattoos were trying to mask the damage, to weave beauty over pain. She wondered—unbidden, unwanted—what kind of fire had touched him. What kind of life had left scars like that. And why anyone would want to cover up something so real, so fiercely human.

"Perfect timing," Rhys was saying, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Elain, Nesta, I'd love for you to meet my brothers. Azriel and Cassian."

Brothers. Three of the most devastatingly handsome men she had ever seen, standing together like something conjured out of a too-wild dream. And one of them was him. The man who had passed her shop with shadows in his gaze and the weight of the world in his silence. The man she had caught herself thinking about far more than she cared to admit.

It was getting hot. Too hot. She really, really needed a drink.

"Well, Feyre wasn't lying when she said her sisters were beautiful," the larger one, Cassian, said with an easy smirk, arms crossing over his broad chest. Gods, he was massive. All three of them were built like warriors, but Cassian had a roughness to him, a raw strength that made him seem almost too large for the world around him. Azriel, by contrast, was all sleek edges and quiet lethality, power hidden beneath stillness.

"A compliment? How original," Nesta drawled, crossing her arms, her tone sharp enough to cut through marble.

Lord save them all.

Cassian’s grin only widened, and Feyre groaned softly, clearly anticipating the inevitable clash. Rhysand laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "Now, now," Rhys said smoothly. "Try not to bite his head off so quickly. He does have feelings somewhere behind all that muscle."

"Let me grab us some drinks," Elain cut in, smiling a little too brightly, trying to shatter the tension vibrating between Nesta and Cassian. And, if she was being honest, trying to avoid the way Azriel’s gaze seemed locked onto her, like she was a riddle he was trying to solve.

"Nesta, the usual?" she asked, already stepping back toward the bar. Nesta gave a short nod, her attention still pinned somewhere between irritation and fascination.

And then...

"I'll come with you," a deep voice rumbled behind her, steady and low, a voice like rich soil, like old stone warmed by sun, like something essential and ancient thrumming through the bones of the earth.

For a moment, the whole world seemed to still. Elain swore she could feel every beat of her heart, could hear the soft brush of the wind curling around the rooftop, the distant laughter blurring into nothing.

She forced herself to nod, praying he couldn't see the sudden flush heating her cheeks, and turned toward the bar, feeling him fall into step beside her, silent, sure, inevitable.

🗡️🖤🦇 Azriel stilled the moment he saw her. She was bathed by the soft glow of the sunset, the twinkling cafe lights, the soft breeze teasing at the long curls of her golden-brown hair. Her dress, cobalt blue, deep and rich like a sliver of twilight sky, hugged her waist before flaring at her hips, soft and effortless, as if she belonged in that perfect sliver between dream and waking.

The florist.

The woman he had seen outside her little shop, dress dusted with soil, hair pinned back with a single flower tucked behind her ear.

The next day he had walked that street deliberately, a ghost of hope curling in his chest.

The third day he had changed his entire goddamn route just to catch a glimpse of her, even if it meant making excuses to himself.

He knew he was being ridiculous. She was literally made of golden light, someone who grew and nurtured. He had a dark past and scarred hands and hated getting close to people. But here she was. Elain. The woman who had wrecked him with a single glance. And she was even more breathtaking up close. Her skin luminous in the fading light, her eyes catching every shard of it and reflecting it back like polished amber. Then her gaze dropped to his hands. He fought the instinct to shove his hands deeper into his pockets, to hide the old, twisting scars that even his tattoos couldn't quite erase. Fuck. She would probably immediately lose interest. Not that she would be interested in him.

No, this woman was too stunning to want him. Instead, her gaze softened. Not pity. Not revulsion. And when she turned to head toward the bar, when she announced she would get drinks with a bright, sweet smile that cracked something open inside him, Something reckless took over.

"I'll come with you," he heard himself say, his voice lower than he intended, roughened by the thousand things he didn't know how to say yet.

He saw her cheeks color, the way she tucked a stray curl behind her ear with nervous fingers. And gods, if that wasn't the final nail in the coffin. He was done for.

As they walked toward the bar, Azriel noticed again just how small she was next to him, even in heels, the top of her head barely brushed his shoulder. Without meaning to, he adjusted his stride, drawing just a little closer, protective instinct threading itself into every step.

At the bar, he caught her scent— Jasmine and honey and something softer, something hers—and it nearly undid him. He had faced down men with guns and knives doing Rhys bidding, had walked into fires both literal and metaphorical, and nothing—nothing—had ever made his pulse stutter the way her scent did. Standing there, all in black as usual, he felt like a shadow beside her, this luminous creature in his favorite shade of blue. Not that he would ever wear blue. No, black was safer. Black was armor.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from noticing how other men at the bar glanced her way, subtle but interested. A pang of something fierce, something territorial, flared low in his chest. Without thinking, he shifted closer, resting a hand lightly at the small of her back as they walked up to the bar. His hand barely sweeping the bare skin of her exposed back. Soft freckles dusted her shoulders, and he tried to memorize each one. Like a constellation guiding him home.

The moment his hand touched her— Soft, warm— Elain looked up at him and smiled. It was small, a flicker of something shy and brilliant, and Azriel snatched his hand back like he’d been burned, setting it firmly on the bar where it belonged.

He flexed his fingers once, feeling the ghost of her warmth lingering on his skin. Gods. He needed to get it together.

Elain leaned in slightly, conspiratorial, her voice low and amused. "How long before those two kill each other?" she said, tilting her head toward the seating area where Nesta and Cassian sat, rigidly, pointedly, as far apart as the space would allow. Feyre and Rhys lounged nearby, heads close, lost in their own orbit. Azriel glanced at the scene, biting back a smirk. Nesta and Cassian were already glaring at each other like it was a competitive sport.

But he barely registered them. Because Elain was close enough now that he could see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the way the fading light caught in the gold strands of her hair, the little nervous twist of her fingers around her clutch.

There were two empty chairs left. Or one... small sofa. Maybe, if he were lucky, if the gods were merciful and the universe didn’t hate him, Mor and Amren would show up and take the chairs, and Elain would sit next to him.

Gods. What was he, fifteen?

"It seems Cassian might have met his match," he said, voice low, amused. "If that's the case, then I'll say he'll gladly let her kill him, and enjoy every minute of it. I give them fifteen minutes before they start yelling. Thirty before they're making out."

Elain laughed, a soft, bright sound that Azriel felt like a goddamn punch straight to the ribs. He tucked that laugh away in some secret place inside him, already knowing he'd want to hear it again.

"I say six minutes before a fight," Elain replied, mischief glinting in her warm brown eyes.

Azriel couldn't help but grin. "Shall we put a wager on it?" he asked before he could stop himself, wondering what the hell was making him talk so much, wanting—needing—to keep her attention on him just a little longer.

"Oh, absolutely," Elain said with a wink that almost knocked him off his feet. "Let’s say... I win, you have to come to my shop and help me make a bouquet."

She knew. Acknowledging, finally, that they'd seen each other before, those lingering glances through the window not just figments of his tired mind.

Good. Because he sure as hell hadn't been brave enough to say anything first.

"And if I win..." he said, pausing, thinking harder than he had all night, "you get to pick my next tattoo."

Elain's face lit up, a slow, delighted grin spreading across her features. "Oh, well now I kind of hope you win," she said with a soft laugh. "I can imagine a lovely flower matching quite well with your current ink."

Azriel swallowed, hard. Her laugh—bright and airy, like wind chimes stirred by a spring breeze—wrapped around him, warm and golden. Gods, he would bottle that sound if he could. Carry it with him always.

He opened his mouth to say something else—to make her laugh again, if he could—but the bartender appeared, derailing his entire thought process. The bartender, who had the gall to let his gaze linger far too long on Elain. Azriel felt something sharp and territorial rise in him. He bit it down.

"I'll take a whiskey sour, and a French 75," Elain said, then turned to him, her voice dipping slightly in explanation. "Nesta only drinks French 75s or gin and tonics. And right now, I think she needs something to sweeten her mood."

Whiskey sour. His favorite drink. Of course it was.

Azriel smiled faintly and added, "I'll also have a whiskey sour. Can you do both of ours with the Pappy Van Winkle Rhys keeps in the back?" He kept his tone casual, even though he knew exactly what he was doing, pulling out the heavy artillery to impress her, to make her eyes light up the way they just had.

It worked.

Elain gasped softly. "Oh my gods, I definitely can't afford that!" she said, laughing.

Azriel leaned an elbow on the bar, turning slightly toward her.

"First, you're not paying for anything as long as I'm around," he said, letting his voice drop into something a little rougher, a little more serious. "Second, it's Rhys's reserve stash. And as his brother, I get to enjoy it whenever I want."

And he'd give her anything she wanted. Even if she asked him to carry her to that goddamn sofa and sit beside her all night rubbing her feet, he'd do it without a second thought.

"Hmm..." Elain mused, tilting her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Well, I've always wanted to try it..."

Azriel very nearly forgot how to breathe.

Would it be inappropriate to kiss someone he'd just met?

Probably.

He forced himself to look away. "So, how long have you owned the shop?" he asked, grasping for steady ground.

"Oh!" Elain said, her face brightening, "I opened it a few months ago. Do you work close by? You know... since we've seen each other before."

He felt the corner of his mouth lift. "Yeah," he said. "I own the tattoo shop down the block. Umbral Ink."

"Ah," she said, her eyes sparking with recognition, "the one that's all black on the outside."

Azriel chuckled lowly. "That's the one. I promise it's not all black inside. Well... some of it is. But a few of our artists do softer work too."

"And what about you?" she asked, leaning her elbows lightly on the bar, chin tilted toward him. "What’s your style?"

Azriel smiled a little, more to himself. "Fine line work," he said. "Mixed with movement. I sketch straight onto the skin, so the tattoo becomes part of the person, not just stuck on them. You know Feyre's new piece?"

She nodded.

"I did that one."

Elain's eyes widened. "You did that?" she breathed, wonder coloring her voice. "You're the tattoo artist she said was booked months in advance? My goodness, she didn’t stop talking about how lucky she was you opened up a spot for her."

Azriel fought the urge to duck his head. Instead, he just nodded once, quiet.

"It's really beautiful," Elain said, her voice softening. "I never imagined Feyre getting tattoos... but when I saw it, it just made sense. Like it had always been part of her."

He stilled. She had no idea what she had just said. No idea how closely that mirrored everything he believed about his work. How he poured meaning into every line, every curve, every shadow. Not just art, but stories written into skin. Memory. Identity. They were art. Paintings etched into the body. Stories, memories, meaning woven into flesh. It was one of the reasons he’d connected with Feyre so quickly when they met. Both artists, both understanding the quiet way creation could speak louder than any words. It was why he’d stayed late one night to do her arm tattoo, sketching directly onto her skin while Rhys sat nearby, offering ideas for the design.

Was it insane that Rhys had helped design a tattoo for a girl he had just met? Absolutely. But Rhys never did anything half-assed. When he found something, or someone, worth his time, he threw himself in completely. Azriel had seen it from the start. And honestly, if Rhysand proposed to Feyre tonight, it wouldn’t even surprise him. From the moment Rhys had met her, she had been all he could talk about.

Azriel was happy for him. He was. But somewhere deep inside, a sharp ache pulsed. A hollow space he'd long stopped acknowledging, the part of him that had convinced himself long ago that he wasn’t meant for that kind of love.

He didn't date seriously. He didn’t open up.

There had been a girl, once, Rhys cousin Mor, long ago, but she'd never been interested in men, and Azriel had taken that as a sign. That he was better off this way. Casual. Fleeting. Unattached. Safer. Because every time a woman had gotten too close, she'd wanted to fix him. Wanted to peel him open like some locked chest, to dig into the parts of him he'd fought so damn hard to bury. And Azriel... Azriel didn’t know how to survive being seen. So he had made it easy. Sex without strings. Touch without trust. Affection without attachment. Even now, at almost thirty-one, he kept to what he knew best. He barely opened up to his friends. The idea of letting someone else inside? It was laughable. Terrifying. The bartender brought over their drinks faster than Azriel would have liked, setting them down with a practiced clink of glass on marble. Azriel bit back a scowl. Couldn’t the guy see he was trying to spend more time standing here, breathing the same air as the fucking ray of sunshine beside him? But before he could think of something, anything, to keep her lingering longer, he heard it:

"Oh, and an illiterate baboon like yourself would know better!" Nesta’s voice, sharp and unmistakable, rang out from across the rooftop.

Elain leaned in without thinking, glancing at the watch strapped to his wrist, her hair brushing lightly against his arm. Azriel swore under his breath, nearly knocked off balance by the sheer sweetness of her scent.

She sighed, a mock-dramatic little puff of air that stirred the hair at his wrist. "Six minutes," she said, straightening with a victorious grin. "I'm afraid you owe me a bouquet."

She winked—winked—grabbed her drinks, and sauntered off, the soft sway of her dress hypnotic under the sunset light.

Azriel just stood there for a second, blinking, like some idiot teenager watching his first crush walk away. He barely managed to gather himself before she turned back, laughing under her breath.

"Come on," she called, voice low and musical, "we have to chaperone. Knowing Feyre, she’ll be trying to fuck Rhys in a bathroom by the time the sun sets. And trust me, you do not want to see Nesta drunk and pissed."

Azriel shook his head slowly, a reluctant, stunned smile tugging at his mouth.

Gods. He was already following her before he even realized he’d moved. 🌸🎀💕🌷

Elain hadn’t even had a single sip of her whiskey yet, but she was already feeling all kinds of giddy, like her blood had been infused with golden light, her nerves dancing just beneath the surface of her skin. She had spent, what, six minutes beside Azriel? Six minutes of soft-spoken words, quiet smirks, and the occasional brush of his arm against hers that had made her heart flutter wildly in her chest like a caged bird.

And gods, she swore he had blushed. Not deeply. But just enough for her to see a flicker of warmth creep up his neck, a subtle tightening at his jaw, the kind of reaction she never expected to inspire in a man like him.

Calm yourself, Elain.

He was Rhys’s brother. Off-limits. Probably. And definitely the kind of man who dated women with sleeves of tattoos and bold, angular beauty, women with names like Raven or Lux, who smoked clove cigarettes and could ride a motorcycle in heels.

Not someone like her. Not a flower shop owner with soft curls and freckled cheeks who wore pastels more often than leather and cried at commercials featuring lost dogs.

Still... When they returned to the seating area, and she saw the way the chairs were spaced—two separate armchairs for Nesta and Cassian, one sofa left vacant—she chose without thinking.

She sank into the velvet sofa, angled just enough away from Nesta that she could intervene if a flying French 75 glass became a threat, and before she could second guess herself, she looked up at Azriel and motioned for him to join her.

The sofa was a little too small for someone like him, broad across the chest, tall enough that his legs took up most of the space with just one stretch. But he sat down beside her anyway, quiet and composed, and gods—gods—he smelled like cedar and mist and something darker beneath it.

Elain had the sudden, irrational urge to lean in just a little closer. To bottle that scent like perfume and wear it behind her ears.

"Nesta, your French 75," she said, passing the delicate glass into her sister’s hand like it was a peace offering.

Nesta, stone-faced and unimpressed, threw it back like a shot.

"Thank you," she said, crisp and curt, though her tone lacked true bite.

Cassian chuckled as he stood, rolling his eyes like it was all a game he’d already won. "I'll get you another one."

Elain watched Nesta cross her arms in a slow, deliberate movement, the tension in her shoulders flaring. "Nesta, really," Elain said gently, keeping her tone even, measured. "Please try and be civil. I bet he isn’t that bad."

"He’s a brooding animal with no manners."

Across from them, Feyre laughed, lounging with her legs draped over Rhys’s lap, the two of them practically tangled together like vines grown too close to ever separate again.

"He has excellent manners, actually," Feyre said with a grin. "He just enjoys riling you up more."

Elain could already see it, Feyre and Rhys disappearing into some dark hallway before dessert. The way they looked at each other was electric, consuming. Honestly, it was only a matter of time.

Wanting, needing, to redirect the conversation before things devolved into another argument, Elain lifted her drink and turned slightly toward the table, her voice soft but clear.

"I love the choice of flowers," she said, hoping the shift in subject would help. "The night-blooming jasmine is a lovely touch," Elain said, her voice soft but steady as she looked toward the planter nearest the awning, where the pale blossoms opened in the dimming light, delicate and fragrant. She could feel Azriel shift slightly beside her, and she swore, just barely, his head tilted, as if noting her words.

"You might want to consider brugmansia," she added, glancing at Rhys with a polite smile. "They bloom at dusk and can be hung from above. Large, trumpet-shaped blooms that would drape over the awning and catch the breeze. They glow in the right light. Quietly dramatic."

Rhys's eyes lit up with interest, a spark she recognized as the look of a man who was always seeking to enhance his kingdom.

"You know, I didn't even consider that," he said thoughtfully. "Feyre did tell me you owned a flower shop. Perhaps you could help me add some to the space?"

Elain blinked, a little caught off guard by the directness of the offer. "Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to take over your vision..." she said carefully, brushing a loose curl behind her ear.

"Not at all, Elain," Rhys replied smoothly, his attention flicking toward Feyre, who was practically glowing beside him. "I would love for you to visit all of my places—bars, restaurants, lounges—and see how you could transform them with flowers."

He looked at Feyre then like she was the sun and stars wrapped into one being. Elain felt warmth rise in her chest, soft and strange, not quite envy, not quite longing....just... wonder.

Cassian reappeared a moment later, mercifully delivering another drink to Nesta, who, thank the gods, actually sipped it instead of tossing it back. The sharp edge in her posture began to ease, her shoulders lowering, her jaw unclenching just slightly.

From there, the conversation stayed lighter. Small stories, quick jabs, laughter around the circle. Even Nesta cracked a smile when Cassian made some joke about Feyre and Rhys getting a room.

And Elain, well Elain surprised herself by how much she enjoyed the whiskey. Warm and rich, with a bite that curled beneath her tongue but didn’t burn.

What surprised her more was when, as she finished her glass, Azriel quietly stood and returned a moment later, not just with a fresh whiskey sour, but also an iced water tucked beside it with a lemon wedge balanced on the rim. He didn’t say anything. Just set it down in front of her and resumed his place beside her on the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Elain’s heart fluttered like petals caught on the wind.

Azriel was so unlike his brothers. Cassian was all volume and charm and sharp wit, and Rhysand commanded every room he stepped into with a sort of effortless elegance.

But Azriel... Azriel was stillness. A quiet, anchoring presence that made her feel... seen, without ever demanding attention. He was a listener, like her. Content to sit in the silence between words. To observe, to consider, to understand before speaking.

Elain found herself relaxing more beside him than she had expected. her shoulders eased, her back resting gently against the velvet cushion. The alcohol settled in her limbs like warm sunlight, and she let herself smile into the conversation, humming softly in agreement here and there, watching the glowing lights overhead flicker like stars caught in motion.

And then— His arm moved.

Slowly. Casually. Like it was nothing at all. Azriel’s arm lifted and draped across the back of the sofa, not quite touching her, but there, just behind her shoulders, his fingers grazing the cushion by her shoulder blade.

Elain’s breath hitched. She didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t move an inch. But her skin buzzed with awareness, warmth rising to her cheeks in a way she could not begin to hide.

She looked across the space and caught Feyre watching her. Feyre grinned. And winked.

Elain quickly looked away, her blush deepening, flustered in that way she always was when someone caught her feeling something she didn’t know how to explain.

It wasn’t like he was touching her. It was probably just more comfortable that way for him. He was tall, after all, and the sofa was narrow. It didn’t mean anything.

Still... She could feel the warmth of him, even without contact. Could feel the nearness of him like it had weight. And for the first time in a very long while, Elain didn’t feel the urge to shrink or fade. She didn’t feel too soft or too delicate. She felt... present. 🗡️🖤🦇

Apparently, he’d grown a second set of balls tonight. That was the only explanation for the fact that not only had he put his arm behind Elain on the sofa, casually, like it wasn’t killing him to be that close, but when a loose curl blew into his hand, he’d twirled it around his fingers. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Thank the gods no one noticed.

Feyre and Rhys were half a breath away from fucking each other on the couch across the room, Nesta was finishing her third drink and starting to lose her sharp edges, and Cassian, six beers deep, was in that dangerous place where his charm turned into sincerity. So when Rhys finally pulled Feyre off the couch with a murmured “Let’s get out of here”, Azriel figured the distraction would buy him some reprieve.

No such luck. Because as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, Nesta looked at her phone, tapped the screen, and announced with that unbothered authority of hers, “Elain, it’s 8:15. It’s time to go.”

“Nah, come on, Nesta, the night’s young,” Cassian said, his voice louder than necessary, already halfway into a pout. “You’ve been here for, what, two hours?”

And gods, he looked genuinely upset. Azriel didn’t know what it was with these Archeron sisters, but somehow the three of them had the power to make normally unshakable men like himself, Cassian, and Rhys act like fools. Entranced. Spellbound. Like they were each carrying some kind of ancient magic woven into their skin.

“I have CrossFit at 6AM,” Nesta said stiffly. “I never miss it. Elain, let’s go.” She rose from her chair, gathering the steel back around her like a cloak.

But then Elain said, quiet and certain, “I think I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Azriel blinked. Something hot and electric lit behind his ribs.

“Elain… are you sure?” Nesta asked, and her posture shifted, arms folding across her chest, protective, bracing. “I don’t want you walking home alone.”

“I’ll be fine, Ness. Really. You forget—I walk home from the shop all the time.”

Azriel watched the way her voice softened at the nickname, the way Nesta’s jaw tightened but didn’t argue. “A fact which you know I hate,” Nesta said, cool and lawyer-precise. “You should never walk alone at night.”

“I’ll walk her home,” Azriel said. He agreed, an angel of light shouldn't be out anywhere at night, even in a safe area like this. She was light and warmth and impossible softness, and the idea of her alone on a dark street made something in his chest go cold.

Nesta turned to him slowly, narrowing her eyes, sizing him up like she was trying to decide whether to trust him with her most precious thing. Apparently, he passed.

She gave one curt nod. “Fine. Elain, text me as soon as you're home.” And without another word, she spun on her heel and walked to the elevator.

Elain sighed beside him. “I promise she’s one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. She’s just… wary. About trusting new people.”

Azriel nodded, following her gaze as Cassian stood and, without a word, trailed after Nesta. Longing was written all over him like ink.

“I’ll be right back,” Cassian muttered.

“Well, he’s a brave man, I’ll give him that,” Elain said with a little laugh.

And gods, he would have done anything to keep her laughing like that. The wind chose that exact moment to sweep across the rooftop, curling her hair around her neck, fluttering the hem of her dress. She shivered.

That was it. That was all it took.

“You’re cold,” Azriel said, quietly, certainly. Not a question. A fact.

He stood, gently nodding his head toward a more sheltered area of the rooftop. “Come on. I’ll keep you out of the wind.”

She didn’t hesitate. Just stood, trusting him, and followed. They walked side by side beneath strings of fairy lights that blurred gold and blue, passing laughing couples and clinking glasses, the hum of the rooftop wrapping around them like a low, melodic current. And yet, it all faded the moment they stepped into the alcove, a little sheltered corner half-hidden by tall planters and low glass walls, softened by the warmth of the lights and the faint perfume of flowers.

The city spread below them in a wash of color and movement, but here, in this tiny world carved out of steel and velvet, it was quiet. There were two chairs nestled close together, separated only by a low table, and Azriel sat without thinking, grateful for the narrow space that brought her close. Grateful for the excuse to stay near without question.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, at the way her lips parted ever so slightly, hear cheeks pink from her slight chill, and thought, this is dangerous. Because if she kept looking at him like that—like he was someone worth looking at, someone safe—he wasn’t going to make it out of this night unscathed.

“So,” she said, her voice light, head tilting to the side in that way he was already starting to memorize, already starting to expect, like some secret little ritual between them, “how does someone like you get into tattooing?”

Azriel leaned back, arms folding slowly across his chest. He could have shrugged. Could have given her the same clipped version he gave everyone else, the sanitized, surface-level summary. But something about her presence, the way she looked at him like he wasn’t a riddle to be solved but a story she actually wanted to hear… it made him want to tell the truth.

"I went to school for engineering," he said, voice low, steady. "I liked pulling things apart. Figuring out how they worked. It made sense, back then. But tattoos," he continued, glancing down at the ink coiled around his forearm, "were always part of my life. In my culture, as an Illyerian, you start getting them at sixteen. It’s a rite of passage. A reminder of who we are, where we came from. I started drawing, then apprenticing. And one day I realized... I felt more alive putting ink to skin than I ever did staring at blueprints."

A short, humorless laugh slipped past his lips, and he looked away. "So I quit. Opened my own shop."

Simple words. But the leap he’d taken, the fear, the free-fall of choosing something unknown, something uncertain, still lived somewhere deep inside him. When he looked back at her, her smile had softened, her eyes shimmering under the rooftop lights, warm and bright like candleflame.

"That’s brave," she said quietly, her voice almost breathless. "Choosing yourself like that."

And for a moment, the entire world collapsed into the space between them. Her gaze touched something in him that felt almost too tender to bear....like she wasn’t just looking at him, but into him. Past the ink and the shadows. Past the control. She saw him. It scared the shit out of him.

"How about you?" he asked, desperate to pull some of the attention away, to breathe.

"I opened my shop end of last year," she said, fingers curling slightly around her drink. "I've always loved to garden. But, like you, I went to school for something totally different—music. Classical performance. I play piano."

Piano. Of course she did.

"But my fiancé....ex-fiancé....at the time said it wasn't practical, so I switched to communications. Whatever that means," she added with a self-deprecating laugh. A laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Not that it really matters, he ended the engagement anyway. Guess I wasn't exactly the right fit for forever."

Azriel stared at her, the woman who somehow lit up the entire space around her without even trying. Everything about her shimmered quietly: the curve of her mouth when she smiled, the warmth in her eyes, the way her laugh carried the weight of summer and made the air feel golden. Her eyes caught the rooftop light like late afternoon sun falling across wildflower fields... soft and wild and full of color.

He didn’t understand how someone could look at Elain and see anything other than extraordinary. The very idea....the fact that someone had once made her doubt her own worth, had told her that her dream wasn’t real, wasn’t worthy, that she wasn’t worthy... it was so absurd it bordered on obscene. It was offensive. Infuriating. And it made him want to punch something. No, someone.

Whoever that man was, whoever had taken her hand, made her believe in a future, and then walked away because she didn’t fit into his neat, controlled version of the world, he could get hit by a bus and Azriel wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse. Because Elain wasn’t made to be trimmed down to someone else’s standards. She wasn’t meant to be made small, to be denied. She was born to grow things, to create beauty, to take what was empty and fill it with life. And the thought that someone had looked at her and chosen to walk away… It twisted something in his gut, something old and wounded and entirely too raw.

All he could see now was her at a piano. Bathed in soft light, her fingers delicate but certain as they moved across the keys. He could see the way her brow would furrow just slightly in concentration, how her body would move with the music, like the melody lived inside her bones. He imagined her completely lost to it, eyes closed, letting sound become her language, her offering. And he imagined himself in the shadows, sitting in the farthest corner of the room, saying nothing at all, just listening. Reverent. Still. Watching her do what she was born to do. Witnessing it like it was something sacred. And gods...he would do it forever if she let him.

"He’s an idiot."

Elain blinked, startled. Her eyes found his, wide and uncertain.

Azriel didn’t look away. "Anyone who could leave you doesn’t deserve the air you breathe."

It came out sharp. Too sharp. But he meant it. Meant every syllable, every breath behind it. She stared at him, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the space that had cracked open between them. Azriel sat back slowly, dragging in a breath that felt like it scraped through his lungs.

He didn’t want to scare her. Didn’t want to ruin this. So he softened his voice.

"Their loss," he said quietly. "Trust me." 🌸🎀💕🌷

Their conversation continued, but Elain couldn’t stop replaying the words he’d said—“Anyone who could leave you doesn’t deserve the air you breathe.” He hadn’t said it like a compliment, hadn’t said it to impress her. He said it like a fact, unshakable and true, something carved in stone and offered to her like a gift she hadn’t known she needed. The way his voice had dipped, steady and rough, like he meant every syllable, it was terrifying, the way a single sentence could unwind so much of her.

Because for so long, she had believed it was her fault. That Graysen left because she was too soft, too quiet, too full of delicate dreams and impractical hopes. That she wasn’t clever enough, or sharp enough, or glamorous enough to be someone a man like him would proudly stand beside. She had blamed herself, the way she always did. Just like she had blamed herself when their parents died, carrying a guilt that therapy and time had never fully soothed—if only I had done more. If only I had noticed sooner. If only I had been enough.

That shame had become a second skin, quiet and invisible, but always there. So when Graysen walked away, she had told herself it made sense. That it was simply the universe confirming what she’d already feared, that heartache was what she was made for.

But Azriel... Azriel had looked at her with those steady, unreadable eyes, and somehow, his gaze had felt like anything but judgment. His eyes dragged over her not like he was undressing her, but like he was trying to memorize her. Every glance had been soft and careful, reverent in a way that left her unmoored.

She wasn’t sure, entirely, if she was still living in the real world. Hours had passed—maybe two, maybe three—and she hadn’t noticed. The noise and motion of the rooftop bar faded into blur, the rest of the world lost somewhere far outside the bubble of their little corner. Time had thinned around them, stretched until it barely seemed to exist at all. There was only him. Only her. Only this space between them that felt like it could go on forever.

It wasn’t until her phone vibrated violently on the table, followed by the shrill, familiar sound of Nesta’s name flashing across the screen, that she remembered anything else. She blinked, startled back into the present, and murmured a soft apology to Azriel as she reached for the phone. “Where are you?!” came Nesta’s sharp voice the moment she picked up. “You should have been home hours ago. I’ve been up worried sick. I’ve texted you dozens of times.”

Elain winced, glancing at the screen. And sure enough, a flurry of missed texts and calls waited for her.

“I’m fine, I promise. I’m still at the bar. With Azriel,” she said, glancing up at him as she spoke his name for the first time aloud. It tasted warm on her tongue, like something she should have said long ago.

A beat of silence. Then: “The bar? At 12:30AM? With him?! Elain, what on earth is happening? Please don’t tell me you’re falling for the brother. Absolutely not happening. Go home. Now.”

Elain flushed, cheeks burning. “I know. I know I never stay out late....I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

“If you are not home by one, I’m coming to get you. Send me your location right now. Do not go home with him. Do not sleep with him.” And then Nesta hung up.

Elain slowly lowered the phone, her face hot with embarrassment. She could feel the weight of Azriel’s gaze.

“Is everything okay?” he asked gently, concern flickering across his features.

“It’s fine. Nesta got worried. I didn’t hear my phone... I normally go to bed early,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her dress, trying to compose herself, even as she felt the sharp sting of reality prick at the fragile magic of the night. “I’m a bit of... well, a bit of a homebody.”

There. She said it. And now he knew. Now he knew she wasn’t glamorous, wasn’t wild or untamed. Just a girl who loved flowers and quiet nights and books in bed. Just a girl he would never want.

But then he smiled. And said, simply: “I’m the same, actually.”

She blinked, startled. “Wait....no. I don’t believe you. You seem like the kind of guy who’s out all night.”

Azriel let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh. “I do love staying up late. But mostly because I can’t sleep. Or I’m up reading.”

Elain stared at him. And she swore—swore—a faint blush crept up his cheekbones, barely there in the low light. “Well,” she said, slowly rising from her seat, smoothing her skirt as she stood, “it appears the two of us are out past our bedtime.”

And for a fleeting moment, just before he stood too, she caught a flicker in his expression, like sadness. A quiet flicker of something raw and reluctant, as if he too didn’t want the night to end.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. He stood, and followed her out. The air had cooled, brushing softly against her bare arms, the breeze gentle and clean. But Elain barely felt it. Her skin still hummed from where his words had landed, from the way he’d looked at her. From the simple, impossible truth of how much she didn’t want this night to end either.

------

Azriel walked beside her, a quiet, steady presence at her side. Not too close to crowd her, but close enough that if she tilted her hand even slightly, she might brush his knuckles with her own. The city glowed around them, blurred gold and blue, the buzz of distant music, the occasional hiss of a car passing by. But somehow it all felt muted, background noise to the quiet hum growing between them.

He didn’t say much. Neither did she.

But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was the kind that settled into your bones, warm and grounding, like a secret only the two of them knew. Every once in a while, she'd glance up at him, at the way the streetlights caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the dark fall of his hair, the steady focus in his eyes like he was memorizing every street they passed.

She should have felt nervous. Walking alone at night with a man she barely knew. But with Azriel, it wasn't fear she felt. It was...safe. Safe and steady, like the world could tilt off its axis and he would simply shift his stance and keep walking. They reached her building too soon.

Elain paused at the bottom of the steps, suddenly reluctant to break whatever fragile, golden thread had spun between them.

Azriel shifted, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, as if he was trying to keep them to himself. The soft lamplight caught the silver thread stitched into his black shirt, like little constellations hidden in the dark.

She opened her mouth, words balancing on the tip of her tongue.

You could come up for a minute. Would you like some tea? I don't want this night to end yet.

But the words tangled somewhere between her ribs and her throat. Azriel watched her with that steady, unreadable gaze. He shifted, just slightly, closer. He looked at her mouth. Just for a second. Just long enough to make the breath catch in her chest.

And then, slowly, carefully, Azriel lifted one hand from his pocket. Not to touch her. Just to trail his fingers lightly over the cold iron railing beside her, a ghost of a movement.

"Goodnight, Elain," he said, voice rough and quiet and meant only for her.

Something about the way he said her name made her shiver.

She nodded, the words still caught in her throat, and climbed the steps, feeling his gaze on her back the whole way. When she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder. But he was already gone.

Still, the night seemed to hum with his absence, like a chord struck and left vibrating in the dark.

@elriel-month

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duskandcobalt · 9 months ago

Text

Everywhere, Everything: Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary: Back in the same city once again, Azriel and Elain are no longer able to ignore what's simmering between them

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: smut. just smut. (18+ pls and ty)

Missed the first seven chapters? You can find the Masterlist for this fic here 🥰

A/N: hello again friends, i'm baaaaack :)

Once again, I must begin by saying thank you for all your lovely comments and messages on my fics and on my wip wednesday posts because they truly keep me going 💕 I hope you enjoy this next installment.

ENJOY XX

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Azriel couldn’t keep his foot from tapping against the linoleum floor of the Velaris airport as he kept an eager eye on the escalator that descended into the tiny arrivals hall.

He’d picked Elain up from this airport a number of times when she’d gone on work trips or holidays with her sisters. But he’d never picked her up like this - waiting for her inside instead of on the curb. Waiting for her with this new situation between them ever present in the back of his mind just as it had been ever since the morning after Christmas when they’d unexpectedly gotten a little too carried away in his workshop.

He had the thought that maybe he should’ve brought some flowers with him today - if only to have something to do with his hands because right now he couldn’t decide whether to keep them in or out of his pockets and so he’d been fidgeting like a madman for the last fifteen or so minutes. It was a wonder airport security hadn’t confronted him for suspicious behaviour.

The issue with bringing flowers was that they were headed straight to Nesta and Cassian’s house for the long weekend and the thought of explaining why he’d bought Elain flowers to her brother-in-law was enough to give him a headache.

He’d already received a look from Rhys when he’d volunteered to pick her up under the pretence that it would make life easier for him and Feyre but maybe he’d been too eager given the speed with which he’d offered when they’d been discussing the logistics for this weekend.

But Azriel couldn’t have possibly kept his cool. Not when the last time he’d seen her in person he’d had to drop her off at her sister’s house without so much as a kiss on the cheek because Nesta had been standing outside, waiting for her on the porch with a look on her face that hovered somewhere between worry and disappointment, as if Elain were a wayward teenager who’d snuck out for the night.

It’d been months of separation and now she was once again back for her nephew’s birthday and though they’d been in near constant contact - texts, phone calls, hours spent on Facetime each evening - he couldn’t wait to see her again and he was desperate for a bit of time alone with her - even if it was just the forty five minute drive from the airport to Nesta’s house on the outskirts of town.

Azriel raised up on his toes and then back down again - made note that perhaps he’d been spending too much time with Feyre because he’d clearly picked up that nervous habit from her - and then focused his attention back to the escalator again just in time to see a girl with brown hair cascading over her shoulders, a bright smile on her cherry red lips, and pretty eyes that were already set on him.

There were no words for the way that first glimpse of her made him feel. No possible way to describe the rush he felt in his chest or the anxious itch of his palms. For all the slack he caught for keeping his feelings to himself and hardly ever letting his emotions show on his face, now his cheeks actually hurt from the way he was grinning as Elain not so casually rushed across the floor to him before abandoning her bags and launching herself into his arms.

He caught her easily, lifting her up with his arms wrapped tight around her middle - savouring the feel of her hands as they wove through the strands of his dark hair.

“Hi,” Elain giggled, resting her forehead against his.

“Hi, Lain,” Azriel smiled back, carefully setting her back down on her feet so he could move his hands from her waist up to her face, tilting her chin up to him before he lowered his lips to hers.

He felt the momentary hesitation, the bit of slight shock. He thought for a split second that maybe he’d pushed his luck with her, taken it too far, but the feeling was short lived because he soon felt her relax in his arms, melting into the kiss - melting into him. He knew what would’ve been going through her head. Knew that she’d paused for a moment because they’d never had this before - the chance to be so open, to put on such a display of affection where anybody in their small town could see them.

“Missed you,” she whispered against his lips, suddenly shy. Her face was flushed, eyes shimmering as she pulled back and looked at him.

“Missed you, too.” Azriel whispered back, pecking her cheek once more for good measure. “Ready to go?” He asked, waiting for her nod of confirmation before reaching for her suitcase with one hand and taking her hand in the other because he simply couldn’t keep from touching her in some small way.

The walk to the car was quick, quiet words exchanged about the flight as they walked - turbulent to start but otherwise fine. He knew how much she hated landings and so he’d given her hand a squeeze when she relayed with a small laugh the way she’d gripped the armrest, wishing he’d been there to hold her hand instead.

There’d also, much to his chagrin, been a slight moment of embarrassment when Azriel started his car only for music to start blaring from the speakers - a bass heavy club track with female vocals that featured on his rotation of music he listened to whilst at the gym. He’d been listening to it on the way to the airport at top volume to keep his mind distracted.

Elain had looked over at him, a teasing grin on her lips and one sharp eyebrow raised as he sheepishly lowered the volume and quickly picked up his phone, switching to an indie folk song that was more indicative of the style of music he typically listened to throughout the day. “I see your club rat days aren’t completely behind you, after all.”

Azriel chuckled as he threw an arm around her headrest and put the car in reverse, looking over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot.

“Only within the constraints of this car and the gym, I’m afraid.”

“Shame… I was hoping to see you with some glow sticks in hand again. It’s been awhile.”

Azriel shook his head at how much amusement she was getting out of this moment. He’d had a reputation in his college days for enjoying a good night out and while Elain had only witnessed him in his prime party days a couple of times, she’d never let him forget it. “Don’t worry, I keep the glow sticks in the glove compartment and pull them out at red lights to entertain myself sometimes.”

“Very funny,” Elain rolled her eyes, settling into her seat and looking out the window as she quietly hummed along to the song that was now playing.

Azriel watched her out of the corner of his eye, enjoying having her as a passenger in his car once again, happily chattering away about what they’d been up to and what this weekend had in store for them. It wasn’t until they were on the last five or so miles to their destination that he noticed how quiet she’d gotten a little over halfway into the drive, the conversation dying down into what he believed to be a comfortable silence.

But the more the silence continued, the more suspicious he got. He’d caught her twice now not-so-subtly sneaking long glances at him while she fidgeted with her necklace and shifted repeatedly in her seat, legs crossing and uncrossing as if she couldn’t get comfortable. It was dark out but he could just about spot a little crease between her brows - a dead giveaway she had something on her mind.

He’d just opened his mouth to ask about it when she looked over at him.

“Could you pull over?”

“What?” Azriel frowned, looking over at her as he slowed down, approaching the end of the long, dark road they were on. “Are you okay?”

His own forehead creased in concern as he scanned her from head to toe. He didn’t know what he was looking for, could barely even see her properly now that the sun had fully set behind the mountains.

“Yeah, I’m fine… I just… I… can you turn down here?” Elain gestured to the left where the paved road turned to dust and gravel - no street lights to be seen. They were supposed to go right and over the train tracks before turning into Nesta and Cassian’s neighbourhood.

Azriel turned left as directed, driving a little further down the road before pulling to the side and putting the car in park. He twisted in his seat to face her, the dim lights from the dashboard doing little to help him see her.

“Lain, what’s wr-,” Azriel didn’t get a chance to finish his question because Elain was unbuckling her seatbelt and was halfway over the centre console of his car a second later - her lips fused to his neck, her hand skimming the waistband of his jeans.

“Can we,” her hand slid along his jaw, turning his face toward hers. Her lips were inches from his. “Please, Az. Let me…”

The other hand that settled low on his waist slid down further, fingers gently palming him where his body had begun to catch on far quicker than his mind.

“Fuck,” Azriel let out an involuntary groan, his hips keening upwards into her touch. “Jesus, Lain…here? Now?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. She breathed in the scent of him, tracing a path with her mouth to his ear where he felt her teeth just barely graze his ear lobe. “Been thinking about it all day long… this whole drive, on the plane, when I was at home. Want you in my mouth.”

Azriel cursed again under his breath, so caught off guard by her uncharacteristically brazen words to even notice that she’d undone the button and zipper of his jeans until he felt her fingers wrap around him, lightly dragging up his quickly hardening length. Just a tease of a touch that had him breathless.

He shouldn’t be surprised that she was acting like this - so out of her mind with the need to have him that she’d gone as far as to make him pull over when they were mere minutes away from seeing her family.

She’d been so eager a time or two on those late night calls, after all. Had only vaguely pretended to be shy when after hours of exchanging increasingly salacious texts, he asked if she’d undress for him. She’d nodded, a pretty blush creeping up her neck as she slowly took off her clothes and propped her laptop between her legs, dutifully following his instructions - lower, slower, yes, just like that… good girl - until she was coming for him, rapid breaths, his name muttered into her pillow, the light from her computer screen casting her perfect skin in hues of blue.

“Come here,” he groaned, suddenly impatient, overcome with the need to have her - wanting to give her what she was begging for. He unbuckled his own seatbelt and pushed his seat back as far as it would go, helping her over the console and onto his lap, chuckling when her ass hit the horn. She maintained her focus, kissing him once, twice, then shifting down - squeezing herself into the space between his legs, her knees on the floor of the driver’s side, her hands on his thighs, her lips tracing a path around the head of his cock.

It was like something out of a wet dream. It was every filthy fantasy he’d ever had. Elain on her knees, signature deep red lipstick staining his skin like a map of all the places her lips had explored. Heavy lidded eyes watering as she took him into her mouth - deeper, then deeper still, until he felt the back of her throat, heard the soft choking sound of her taking just a bit too much.

“Careful,” Azriel whispered, gathering her long hair in his fist and holding it back so that it stayed out of her way and gave him the view he was after.

Elain drew back, taking a deep breath as she smiled up at him - eyes glazed over with lust. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” she dragged her tongue over his head, her fist tightening and twisting around him. “For years.”

“Yeah?” It’s all he could manage because she was back to it, that torturous mouth making him see stars. The way she hummed around him in confirmation brought him right to the edge. Only a few minutes and she already had him there, thighs tensing as he tried to hold back just a second longer. “Elain… I’m gonna,” he tried to warn her. Tried to give her the option. But she kept going, nails digging into his thighs, almost smiling around him as he tugged at her hair so her eyes were focused on his as he spilled into her mouth with a loud groan.

He watched in a daze the motion of her throat as she swallowed, taking everything he gave her in stride until he was completely spent. He released her hair,carefully tucking it behind her ear as she dragged her tongue over him one last time.

Azriel reached down after she pulled off him, thumbing at her full bottom lip - now slick with spit. “This mouth… all I’ve been thinking about is your mouth. These lips, that lipstick - thought about it on my cock.”

“Hope I lived up to your expectations,” she smiled, shy once again.

“Exceeded them,” he slipped his thumb further between her lips, shaking his head when she playfully dragged her teeth over the pad of it as if she just couldn’t help herself. He had to pull back, keep his hands to himself before he abandoned all plans and hauled her into the back seat of his truck to return the favour.

Elain pressed small kisses to his thighs and his chest as she did her best to make him presentable again before settling back on his lap with her arms around his neck, her face once again tucked into his neck. “Thank you.”

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh as he leaned back to look at her, hands cupping her face. “Think I should be thanking you.”

She shook her head, smiling at him. “Needed that.”

All he could do was grin at her stupidly, tracing her cheeks and then her lips, before he kissed her. Slow. Deep. In no rush.

To hear that she wanted him like that, needed him… he could almost come again just from the thought of her feeling that way. He was so in over his head, so deeply gone for her.

“Az,” she swallowed, biting down on her lip. “We should go… before the girls send a search party.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, hands squeezing her ass once more before helping her back over the console and into her seat. He righted himself, readjusted his seat, and turned the engine back on. He started driving back towards the train tracks - his hand on her thigh, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The memory of a moment on a dirt road now a secret just between them - nothing but the stars in the night sky as their witness.

…

Filthy.

It was downright filthy the way Elain felt about him. Filthy the way she walked into her sister’s house knowing her lipstick was on Azriel’s body, crudely smeared under his jeans. Filthy, the way she could still feel his fingers threaded through her hair - the gentle tug of his fist until her eyes were on him so he could watch as she swallowed. Filthy the way she wanted to avoid eating or drinking if only to keep the taste of him in her mouth just a little bit longer.

She’d wanted it from the second she’d gotten ready for the airport, slipping on her favourite underwear while imagining him taking it off her. She’d wanted to make him feel the way he’d made her feel a time or two now - knew that he wouldn’t be keeping count but still, she’d been itching for it and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out as soon as she first spotted Azriel upon arrival at the Velaris airport. It was a miracle she’d even lasted that far into the drive. It was even more of a miracle that she’d been able to stop after all was said and done considering that now, hours later, there was a persistent ache between her legs the begged to be attended to.

Arriving at Nesta’s house had been a much needed distraction. She’d checked her appearance in the visor mirror just to make sure there wasn’t any incriminating evidence of what they’d done lingering on her skin and then climbed out of the car just in time for the front door to swing open and her nephew to appear at the top of the stairs, shouting her name in excitement.

From there, she’d been dragged into the house - taken on a tour of the toys and books he’d forced his parents to drag along for the weekend - before he finally handed her over to the adults when the excitement faded and the sleepiness took over.

She was happy to be back in this house with her favourite people. It was so different from the last time she’d been here, when Graysen had been glued to her hip, his eyes carefully keeping track of her every move. The last time she’d been here, she’d told Azriel that they couldn’t be friends - at least not like they had once been.

She couldn’t believe just how much had changed in such a short span of time. She couldn’t wrap her head around just how differently everything had panned out. Now she was back in one of her favourite places, no overbearing boyfriend in sight. And yes, she and Azriel weren’t friends, certainly not like they had once been. But it was true in a much different way than she’d anticipated and she couldn’t possibly be happier about it.

It had been so easy to fall back into old patterns with him - the comfortable ease of their long friendship rekindled as if the year or two of limited communication had never happened. But while those first few weeks after Christmas were just like old times - friendly conversations talking about everything and nothing - at some point their daily phone calls escalated, certain things slipping out with the darkening of the sky and a couple glasses of wine.

They’d sp0ken about their situation a few times over the phone. She’d confided in him about Graysen - about the mistakes made and the lessons she’d learned. About her hesitancy to jump straight into another relationship. So they’d agreed to keep things casual, to not label anything just yet. Still, it was evident by the constant tension between them, that they were undeniable more than just friends.

Perhaps that should’ve been obvious, given that the last time she’d seen him in person he’d had his head between her legs and it would’ve gone further had Nesta not rudely interrupted.

She’d hated leaving him like that and had been so eager to see him afterwards but the New Year's rush had been hard to avoid at work for both of them and so they’d ended up agreeing to see each other when she visited for Nyx’s birthday - and to keep this new development just between them- until they could plan their next steps.

That’s how they ended up in this house - Elain unable to look Azriel in the eye for more than a few seconds while surrounded by their family and friends without thinking of everything she wanted to do with him. She’d been more than happy to entertain Nyx and to help prep dinner. To do absolutely anything that would keep her busy so that she didn’t have time to think about the way she could feel him sneaking looks at her every time they were in the same room. With the distraction of other people, she could push aside the desire coursing through her for just a moment.

Somehow, Elain had made it through the night successfully. She hadn’t raised any suspicions. Had managed to interact with him in a way that was just the right amount of friendly. But now, laying in the bedroom she always stayed in at Nesta’s house, all she could think of was him. Of what they’d done in the car on the way here just three or four hours ago.

She wanted him again. Wanted his hands on her body. Wanted his tongue in her mouth. Felt like she needed him in a way that was borderline embarrassing.

She picked up her phone, opening their text thread. She typed and deleted multiple messages before locking her phone and putting it face down on the nightstand. It felt too desperate to text him like that. Juvenile almost. But it was torture - each shift of her legs, the soft touch of the sheets, the feel of her t-shirt twisting around her sensitive skin - it all added to her incessant need. Her nipples were hard peaks and there was a thrumming low in her core that was becoming impossible to ignore. She’d never in her life felt frustration like this, pinpricks of sweat gathering at her hairline.

She knew this wasn’t something that she’d be able to work away herself like she did when she was alone at home and desperate for him- in bed, her fingers stroking between her thighs.

Elain sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She needed air. A glass of cold water. And if she walked by his room… if she happened to see the glow of a light underneath the gap in his door, then that would be the sign she needed. Maybe then she’d knock. And if he happened to be awake, if he happened to open the door, then she’d feign ignorance - was just going to the kitchen and saw your light was on…

With her mind made up, she slipped on her robe and padded to the door with the intention of venturing to the kitchen but she didn't make it far at all, pulling the door open only to almost walk face first into the solid wall of Azriel’s chest.

“Oh,” she swallowed, dragging her eyes up to his face.

He looked just as dishevelled as she felt, his hair tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“I was just going to the kitchen because I needed some -”

“Save it,” he shook his head, voice low as he stepped towards her, forcing her to retreat back into her room. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, too distracted by the look of determination in his eyes as twisted her around and quickly closed the door behind them.

Her entire body sparked to life, burning as he reached for her again, both hands firm on her hips until she was completely pressed up against the door with nowhere to go, his hips flush against hers, not even a single inch left between them. It was that movement that made her snap out of the daze, it was the feel of him hard and heavy against her stomach that left no room for questioning what he was here for or that his intentions matched exactly what she’d had in mind while she’d been tossing and turning in her bed.

Azriel wasted no time, hands deftly undoing the tie of her robe, reaching up to slip it off her shoulders until it fell to their feet. His fingers were under her t-shirt a moment later, fingertips skimming the soft curve of her breasts.

“Az, wait…” Elain breathed, trying to put a bit of space between them if only to clear her head a little. “Feyre and Rhys…”

“Don’t wanna hear names that aren’t mine right now,” he said gruffly, rolling his hips against hers.

“It’s just that they’re right next door. I share a wall and they could hear…”

Azriel only smirked down at her, thumbs circling her sensitive nipples. “Guess you’ll just have to be quiet then won’t you. Do you think you can manage that?”

She knew he was being smart with her, knew that he remembered just how not quiet she’d been the last time he’d had his hands on her like this. But her rational brain had seemed to vacate the premises and so instead of offering some sort of rebuttal back, Elain was muttering something like I can be so quiet, I promise I’ll be so quiet as she turned them around, tugging him down towards her and pulling him to the floor.

“Right here?” Azriel raised an eyebrow, hands travelling up her legs and under the hem of her oversized t-shirt, leaving goosebumps in their path, until his fingers curled into the straps of the lacy underwear she wore.

“Yes,” Elain nodded, not bothering to explain that the headboard would likely be an issue for them. She lifted her hips up to make it easier for him to tug her underwear down her legs. “Here. Now. Need you.”

“I know,” Azriel soothed, hands pushing her shirt up her torso before lifting it off her head, leaving her sprawled out underneath him - naked on the carpet. “I know, angel.”

Elain bit down on her lip, watching as he quickly stripped out of his own clothes before lowering himself over her. One big palm was placed on her thighs, calloused hand spreading her wide in a way that would’ve made her blush if she wasn’t so focused on the blissful feeling of his weight settling on top of her and pinning her to the floor.

That same hand maneuvered in between their bodies, fingers easily parting her and slipping through her center - teasing and testing. He cursed under his breath, clearly pleased with what he found there. “You’re so fucking wet already, I think you could take me just like this but I’d like to taste -”

“No,” she shook her head quickly, blindly reaching between them to grip his cock, guiding it to where she was wet and ready for him. “Please.”

The feeling of him settling against her entrance was divine, and her back arched in search for more.

“Wait, fuck.” Azriel stopped all of a sudden. “Condom… they’re in my room. I can just go and…”

Elain locked her legs around him, nails pressed into his shoulder blades to keep him from moving any further away. She couldn’t bear for him to leave. Couldn’t possibly waste one more second with him when they were already so short on time. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill and I haven’t… there’s no one else so if you’re good then I’m good.”

“I’m good, Lain.” Azriel nodded quickly, relaxing a little as he once again situated himself, dragging his cock through her once before he pushed in just the tiniest bit so she could feel that beautiful pinch of initial pressure. “You sure?”

“Yes, fuck, pl-” her words were choked off with a gasp as Azriel pushed into her so slowly, each incredible inch of him sinking into her until there was nowhere else for him to go.

His lips skated over her jaw until they found her own, kissing her sweetly as he withdrew out almost all the way before sliding in again. “There’s no one else, Lain. Just you.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes fluttered open to look at him as he sank into her.

“Yeah, that’s how it’s gonna be now. Isn’t that right, angel?” He whispered as he plunged into her over and over again - slow, decadent drags of his cock that had her whimpering beneath him. “Just you for me and me for you.”

“Yes,” Elain nodded frantically, hips bucking up against his, desperate for more.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Azriel read her signs and lifted her knee, pushing it up and out to the side, allowing for a deeper fit that had her biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“I’m yours. Fuck, fuck, I’m yours.” Elain moaned, lips seeking his mouth for another kiss.

She didn’t know what had gotten into him but she relished in it. Body growing taut at the suggestion of belonging to him. Maybe it was the distance for him as well, the time spent apart, that had him just as crazed as she had been. Just as feral.

It was so good. So fucking incredible to have him like this, so deep inside her, making her feel so unbelievably good that she couldn’t even think straight. It was undeniable that this was more than sex. Despite the carnal urge they’d both felt, this had to be more than just physical desire between them. She couldn’t get enough. Wanted even more.

“Az?” Elain raked her nails up his back, tugging lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck until his eyes were on her. “Will you fuck me?”

She could see the look of confusion in his eyes, the little crinkle on his forehead as if he was trying to figure out if that wasn’t exactly what they were currently doing. It took a second but she could pinpoint the exact moment he caught on to what she meant because his eyes darkened and his lips twitched.

“You want it a little harder, hm? A little rough? I’ll give you whatever you want.” He pulled out of her, kneeling back and nodding as he looked down at her. “Turn over. Get on your knees.”

Elain bit down on the inside of her cheek, nervous anticipation coursing through her as she flipped over as directed. Her hands and knees were on the floor as she turned back to look at him, watching as he knelt behind her, hands kneading her ass . He gave her no warning before lining himself up and pushing into her in one rough, hard thrust - knocking the air clear out of her.

She hadn’t even noticed that she’d made a noise until his chest pressed into her back, his hand covering her mouth as he nipped at a spot just below her ear. “Thought I told you to be quiet.”

She loved him like this. Loved the authority. The dominance. The control. She needed it sometimes and she loved that he did as she wanted, fucking her properly without making her feel like any of the other men she’d been with had made her feel in moments like this. Because for each rough movement, there was praise.

You’re doing so well, angel. Azriel told her as he gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You feel so fucking good. As he placed a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down into the rug to create the perfect arch of her back.

Look how pretty you look when I’m fucking you. So beautiful when you’re taking me. As he fisted her hair, roughly turning her head until she caught their reflection in the mirror hanging on the closet door beside them.

“Az!” Her voice was muffled slightly by the carpet, her eyes hazy as she watched him fuck her - the measured snap of his hips, the flex of his arms as he gripped her hair, her hips, her ass. He was so strong, so assured in his motions as he easily positioned her just how he liked.

She hoped and prayed that these walls were solid enough to block out noise because while she was doing her absolute best to stay quiet, there was nothing to be done about the sound of his skin hitting hers each time he fucked into her. Nothing to be done about the sinful, slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of her given how wet she was.

“What is it, Elain?” He asked. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” she begged. She didn’t even really know what she wanted but she knew she wanted more of him. More of his touch. More of his words. Just more of him. “I’m so… I’m so close, please, I just need more.”

Azriel slowed his thrusts, pulling gently on her hair until she was up on her knees, her back tight to his chest. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her lips were on his neck tasting the salty skin there.

“Feel like you were made for me.” His arms wound around her. One arm snaking up between her breasts to put slight pressure on her throat as he held her up. The other arm drifted down her torso until his fingers found her throbbing clit, his thumb smoothing quick circles there as he continued to push into her with deep, powerful thrusts. She pulsed around him, her stomach pulling tight as her desire reached a precipice with each stroke of his cock and each tap of his thumb. “There you go, Elain. That’s it.”

“So good. You feel so good.” She murmured, so pleased with the intensity this new position brought. “I’m so close.”

“Come for me, baby.” Azriel urged, his thumb still working her beautifully. “Be a good girl for me and come on my cock, Lain. Can you do that?”

Elain made a small noise of agreement, pushing back onto him to match his thrust, amplifying the feeling of him so deep inside her that she felt him in her belly, stretching her in the best way. It was like he was made to fill her. Made to fuck her.

In the end it was his words that did it - the gentle praise coupled with the rough motion of his hips and his hands. It was Azriel whispering about how well she was taking him that tipped her over the edge. She collapsed back into him with the force of her orgasm, her teeth buried into his neck in a halfhearted attempt to muffle the way she cried out his name.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Ride it out. Take what you need.” His fingers continued to stroke over her, wringing out every last drop of pleasure until she was utterly boneless - absolute putty in his arms as he maneuvered them so that she was on her back again with him between her legs. “Just a little more, okay? I’m right there with you.”

When he dipped down to press his mouth to hers, Elain accepted it greedily as she spread her legs apart and welcomed him in. She was so sensitive, aftershocks of her orgasm still pulsing through her as he entered her again. She savoured the way their tongues slid together, moaning quietly as he lifted her hips and fucked into her quickly until his own hips started to falter.

“Where do you want it, Lain?” Azriel asked, voice gravelly as he attempted to hold himself together.

“Anywhere. Wherever you want.” Elain told him, meaning every word. He could do whatever he wanted and she’d let him. He could come on her stomach, her breasts. Even her face if that would please him. But there was really only one place that felt right at this moment. One place that caused her to tense around him as if to wordlessly suggest the idea. “Inside me. Come inside me.”

She heard him groan at the suggestion, a string of low curses flying out of his mouth at her words. “Want it inside you? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” Elain wrapped her legs around him, pulling him further into her. Showing him exactly how much she wanted it. “I’m yours, Azriel.”

He said her name as he came, hips stilling as his forehead pressed to her chest. She could feel it, the warm sensation, the jerk of his cock as he gave her everything he had until there was no room left for it all. Elain felt it on her thighs, felt it seep out of where they were still joined.

“God,” Azriel moaned in disbelief, head still buried against her chest as he attempted to regulate his breathing. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Elain agreed, threading her fingers through his hair as she gently untangled her legs from his waist. He grabbed his t-shirt from where it was laying next to them, dabbing it against her thighs as he pulled out of her - ensuring nothing spilled from her onto the rug beneath them.

There were no words for what just happened. No possible way to summarise everything she felt in that moment. She’d never felt like that before. It was almost too good to be true how unbelievable it was. How incredible he’d made her feel. She couldn’t believe how much time they’d wasted not doing that.

They laid there for ages, neither of them able to find the energy to make it to bed. Instead, Azriel reached up and pulled a couple pillows to the floor along with a blanket, draping it over their naked bodies before pulling her into him. Her breasts against his chest. Her legs entwined with his.

They exchanged kisses in between whispered conversation- slow and heated - hands tracing and grasping until it was inevitable that somehow neither of them were ready to stop. It wasn’t long until Elain was on top of him, breathy moans slipping from both their lips as lowered himself onto his cock, riding him slowly. Grinding against him, taking her time drawing out their pleasure until they couldn’t possibly take it anymore and they both finished with stifled moans.

“Az?” Elain broke the comfortable silence that had settled between them afterwards, her finger stroking along his jaw as his own fingertips traced soothing patterns down her arm.

Azriel hummed, sleepy eyes fluttering open.

It made her heart skip a beat - how beautiful he was like this - sex tousled hair and tired hazel eyes. Lips swollen, the dim moonlight illuminating his sweat slicked, tan skin. He was like a piece of art and she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to be the one to see him like this. To be the one that had messed up his hair and bitten his lips.

“My necklace,” she forced herself to focus, swallowing nervously before she continued. “I never asked when you gave it to me but I’ve always wondered… the letter on the back…”

Elain trailed off, watching carefully as Azriel tilted his head back further into the pillow sandwiched between his head and the floor. She bit back a smile as a warm flush of colour crept up his neck and seeped into his cheeks. He’d caught on quick to where she was headed with this inquiry and his reaction was enough to hint at what his answer would be.

“The ‘A’ on the back isn’t for my last name is it?”

“No,” Azriel answered quietly, his hand drifting from her arm. “No, it’s not.”

Her breath hitched in her throat as his fingers smoothed over her sternum, sliding in between her breasts until he reached the pendant. He flipped it over, thumb pressing into the small letter hidden there like a secret.

“Do you engrave your initial onto all the jewellery you make?” She asked.

“You know I don’t,” he answered. The initial signs of embarrassment were gone from his face and in its place was an unabashed, earnest honesty. “That was just for you.”

“Why?”

“You really don’t know, Lain?” He shook his head, tugging on the pendant gently. “I knew I couldn’t have you the way I wanted. Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance… so I thought I’d give you just a little piece of me. I suppose I liked the idea of my initial being right here. Against your skin. Close to your heart.”

As if to punctuate his words, he did just that - pressing the oval into her skin just as she’d done time and time again over the years in an attempt to steady herself in moments where she needed comfort.

She knew. Of course, she knew that the letter on the back hadn’t really been for her last name. She’d seen the way his eyes fixated on it each and every time he saw her since he’d first put the necklace on her. Noticed the way he’d relax when he saw that she was still wearing it year after year.

It was a relief to know that all this time, what she’d secretly hoped to be true was actually true.

“You’ve got a possessive streak, huh?” She didn’t know what else to say so she settled for the safe option of making a joke. Everything else that fought to leave her mouth would be too honest. Far too much, far too soon. “All that talk earlier about being yours…”

“I meant it,” he slipped his hand further up her neck, up to her jaw. His hold on her was loose but still, her blood heated with the suggestion behind the action. “We don’t need to put a label on anything. We can keep this quiet, keep it between us. But if we’re doing this then there’ll be no one else. Not for me. Not for you.”

“So we’re doing this, then?” she asked, finally breaching the question that had been hovering between them like a grenade over the past few months. “We’re… exclusive?”

“Yes, Elain.” Azriel laughed, lips hovering over hers as his thumb smoothed over the expanse of her throat. “We’re exclusive.”

She closed the distance between them, her lips pressed to his as Azriel rolled her onto her back and used his knee to guide her legs apart for the third time that night.

#elriel fic #everywhere everything #my writing #elain x azriel #modern au #acotar fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elriel smut #azriel smut #posting at an unfamiliar time so idk if you see this you see this lol #im SCARED #long time no smut

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nikethestatue · 1 year ago

Text

Happy birthday to my bestie, my mate, my Elriel sister @tswaney17

I wouldn't have joined this fandom without her. So if anything, blame her! Jokes aside, I hope you have a marvelous year and meet your own stranger in the night. Please enjoy!

One shot

Summary: Elain Archeron is celebrating her birthday and happens to meet an enigmatic and mysterious stranger who upends her world

She smoothed her black bodysuit over her hips, though it wasn’t wrinkled and then tousled her hair, in what she hoped, was sexy, beachy curls.

Anyone else would’ve told her that she looked great—well put together, elegant, and not trying too hard. But to her self-critical eye, she saw a slew of imperfections. Hips too wide, breasts too large, stumpy fingers...She could stand here all night and critique herself, but what would be the point? It was what it was, right? Some part of her though, liked what stared back. The black bodysuit hugged her in all the right places, and paired with strappy golden heels and some delicate gold jewelry, she looked...nice. Not quite her 31 years old. Her friends always said that she was a ‘young 30’. She looked about 24. But inside, there were days when she felt 78.

Oh well. Time to go. That’s not to say that she didn’t want to back out of her solo restaurant trip about 25 times today. Internally, she’s been telling herself that she is too busy, too tired, too poor, and that staying in with a bottle of wine and pizza would be just fine. Another part of her wanted to get out. Even if she looked like a loser, dining alone. At least it was a Wednesday night—not the weekend—so she could theoretically make up a story of being on a business trip. Not that anyone’s going to ask. But she needed that security blanket for herself: “I am eating alone, because I am here on business’. Yeah, that sounded legit. She was a successful, professional woman, determined and confident, and she was on business in Chicago.

She grabbed her clutch and headed out.

It was a warm evening by Chicago standards. The middle of April could be blustery or it could be blistering. You never knew. Tonight was lovely, actually. Trees were in full bloom—white, pink, yellow, assertive red, purple, even blue—bursting in flowers of every shape and size along the streets of her neighbourhood.

Beatrice was a quint restaurant in Fulton Market. Or as ‘quaint’ as a restaurant could be in the bustling, hipster corner of the city. She only knew it because she’d come here before with her stylish, popular co-worker, Morrigan. She recalled how Mor wore a pristine baby blue bodysuit, sky-high heels, and a sparkling silver belt studded with glittery gemstones. Mor’s hair was a waterfall of golden blonde, which cascaded sensually down her back. Her skin was flawless. Her makeup was perfection, and her nails the right shade of pearl. When they were seated, all the girls in the party immediately rattled off a list of things they didn’t eat, were allergic to, and ‘avoided’. Mor announced that she was ‘celiac’ in a tone that implied that obviously she was celiac! And then proceeded to order bread. When the waiter told her that bread has gluten, Mor said that ‘she was allowed to today’.

Back then, she’d ordered something called the Straight ‘A’ Salad, not wanting to tuck into something juicy and fatty in front of everyone. It ended up being empty and unsatisfying. But she still wanted to go back there, because the other items on the menu looked good, the vibe was nice and not overwhelming, and the drinks were inventive. If nothing else, she’d get her full in alcohol.

“Follow me, Miss,” the hostess beckoned her and she scurried quickly between tables, wanting to be seated as soon as possible.

It was nice. The table was by the wall, and she could see inside the restaurant and out the window. She laid her clutch on the table and exhaled. She was here. She was in her place, in her chair.

She made it.

“Are we celebrating anything tonight, Miss?” the waiter asked, when he approached with the menu.

“Oh no,” she laughed, “I am on a business trip.”

“And do you have any allergies?”

“No!” she stated decisively. No. She is going to eat what she wanted. No faux allergies for her.

The drinks menu looked a bit intimidating. Lots of things with Mezcal and Elderflower and words like ‘smoked’ and ‘hibiscus ginger kombucha’. After discreetly googling what kombucha was, she gagged and decided on a Lemond Drop. Safe and sound.

The waiter wasn’t exactly impressed by her choice, but she didn’t care. Instead, she ordered Cheddar Popovers with bacon butter, and green chili queso for appetizers. It harkened back to her California upbringing, where things were less formal, the food less complicated, and the loneliness less acute. She suddenly and desperately missed her sisters, who lived back home. She missed the sun, tacos, trips to Sacramento and the simpler life she had back home.

Sighing, she sipped her cocktail and looked around. It was fairly bustling, couples and friends chatting animatedly, drinking their complicated drinks and laughing. But...she felt okay. Not amazing, but okay. It was peaceful.

It felt peaceful until her eyes fell on a singular, solitaire figure of a man, who sat at the bar, with a drink in front of him. The reason she even paid attention to him was because he was literally breathtakingly beautiful. So handsome, her breath stalled in her chest. Big. So goddamn big, it felt like he was sucking the air into the vortex of a black hole that he’d created just by simply...being. He sat, unmoving, in a sharply cut suit and a white shirt, unbuttoned at his neck. The other reason why she looked at him was because he was staring back at her. Big, bold, unflinching stare. Those incredible, luminescent eyes almost glared at her, and she wished she’d know what colour they were. The man’s face remained impassive, but he continued staring, even once she’s averted her eyes and squirmed in her seat. And now, all she could feel was his stare, following her every move. It was suddenly hot, and she felt her nipples pop like tiny Whack-A-Moles beneath her bodysuit. Served her right for not wearing a bra! Jesus Mary and Joseph. Well, her evening was ruined just like that. Instead of being at peace with her lemon drop and her popovers, she was not being scorched by the gaze of this absurdly handsome man, and all she wanted to do was look his way and see if he was still looking at her. While she didn’t want him to be looking at her. But she wanted to make sure that he was. Oh, god. What. The. Hell.

She was on the verge of fanning herself, before realising that she’d be looking like she was having hot flashes, and it was too early for that. Her nipples were hard as bullets and she was forced to cover her breasts with her folded arms, just to maintain some sense of decorum. As she ‘busied’ herself with her drink, she snuck a momentary glance at the man. He was still there, but no longer looking at her. Instead, he was on his phone, and a deep sense of regret and longing washed over her at once.

He was interested in her for 23 seconds.

That was it.

But she supposed that for the most handsome man in the world to take notice of her for 23 seconds was sufficient enough.

“Miss, your popovers,” the waiter stepped up to the table, placing one plate down in front of her, and then the other, “and queso. Please be careful, it’s hot.”

The food looked fine, but somehow, she no longer felt particularly hungry. She wasn’t sure if it was because the man was no longer looking at her, or because he was looking at her before. Did she want him to look at her? No. No, she didn’t. He was entirely outside her comfort zone, with his piercing gaze and his unnaturally good looks and he was definitely a player, so there was no need for all of this.

On her birthday, all she wanted was peace and quiet. She didn’t need smouldering men giving her the death stare. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on her food. The popovers were light and fluffy and crispy on the outside, and the bacon butter was to die for. Sinful, but so, so good.

She sunk into her seat, enjoying her cocktail and alternating between the popovers and then the rich, spicy queso. She was still deciding on the main course—penne with spicy vodka sauce? Slow cooked short rib?

“Miss,”

Her contemplation was interrupted by the waiter, who was holding a drink.

“From the gentleman at the bar,” he said and placed the drink in front of her.

Her mouth fell open. Whaaat...

Timidly, she allowed her eyes to travel to the bar and sure enough, there he was. Staring. A small, secret smile touched his beautiful mouth and he inclined his head just a bit. She didn’t exactly know how to act in these situations. Was she supposed to drink the drink that he sent? Invite him over? Go over there herself? Ignore him like a total douche?

Okay, first things first. She raised the pretty coupe glass to her lips and tentatively sipped the drink. Sour and smokey, with a touch of sweetness and heavy on lemon flavour, this was definitely a whiskey drink. And she didn’t like whiskey. But for some reason, she really liked this. She took another sip, a bolder one, and then glanced at the man. He was smiling, as he watched her drink, and when she swallowed, he winked at her. Approving? Enjoying watching her? Smug? Pleased? She wasn’t sure. But she...

“Ready to order, Miss?” the waiter was back, and she absently said ‘fish tacos’ which isn’t what she even wanted, but she was too scrambled to come up with a better idea. “Very good,” the waiter chirped, and before he disappeared, she said, “can you ask the gentleman who bought the drink to join me?”

Her throat was dry. Her underarms were sweaty.

WHAT was she doing??

She never did anything like this before? Inviting strange men to eat with her? Never!

“If he wants to,” she added quickly and the waiter nodded.

God, please say no. Please. Please god, let him say no. I don’t want it. I don’t.

There he was. Moving through the restaurant like the Angel of Death. Dark and tall and slim and muscular. Jesus. He was actually coming over! Oh. No. Nononononono.

And then he was standing at her table, how own drink in hand.

“I wasn’t sure if Whiskey Sour was the way to go,” he said—his deep, dark, raspy voice matching his appearance to a tee. "But it looks like I did well.”

She swallowed hard and then muttered, “Is that what it is?”

Yep, it sounded lame even to her own ears.

“Indeed,” he confirmed. “First time?”

Somehow, this made her blush. A simple question, and a correct assumption, but for some reason, it was laced with innuendo.

Their eyes finally locked.

Hazel. His eyes are a gorgeous greenish amber colour, spectacular like the rest of him.

He took a sip of his drink and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, swiping the droplet and that made her even sweatier than she was before. Soon she was going to be sweating like a sumo wrestler—which of course is the most enticing look a woman could sport.

“No, I’ve had it before,” she finally managed to answer.

He smirked a knowing smile.

“Have you?”

As he was looming over her and attracting way too much attention from the females of the species, and even some males, she all but ordered him, “you can sit down!”

He smiled again, that smooth, secret smile, saying, “I thought you’d never ask”.

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just watched him in silence as he slid onto a chair across from her.

“Thanks for the drink,” feeling awfully uncomfortable, knowing she was not great at small talk, and completely out of depth with this man, she thought that this was all a pretty bad idea. What was supposed to have been a quiet and nice evening alone, was turning into...well, she wasn’t sure what it was turning into, but it was something.

“You aren’t waiting for anyone, are you?” he asked, sounding curious. “I wouldn’t need to fight a boyfriend or something...I mean, I’ll win, but,”

She huffed, and snorted a laugh.

“So confident?”

He shrugged, “pretty confident”. After a pause, he pressed, “so?”

“No,” she blushed despite her best efforts to appear cool. “I am here alone. On a business trip,” she lied smoothly, grateful for having this little nugget in her pocket.

He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, lounging comfortably. Suddenly, he said,

“Nope. Try again.”

Startled, she glowered at him, not knowing what he meant. All the while, as she squirmed in confusion, he casually drank his whiskey, watching her closely.

“What,” she brought her glass to her lips and took a generous swig of the drink, “what do you mean?”

“Only that you are not being exactly truthful,” he shrugged, and then grabbed a popover and swallowed the whole thing easily. “You aren’t here on any business trip.”

“What?!” she exclaimed with indignation. “Excuse me! How do you know? What do you mean?”

His eyes slowly slid over her bare arms, her chest, her neck, and again, she blushed like a fool, but there was no stopping her body’s reaction to this strange man.

He was...enigmatic.

“A beautiful woman like you, wearing something so elegant and understated,”

Understated? Did he mean boring?

“is not in Chicago on any business trip. So, that makes me think—if you aren’t waiting for anyone, and you are dressed up, then you must be,” he cocked his head, considering, “celebrating something? A new job? A birthday?”

Most of his words rolled right over her head, because all she heard was ‘a beautiful woman like you’. He thought that she was beautiful? He? HE thought that?

“What?” she asked dumbly.

He chuckled, amused. “You are a little naughty liar, is what I am saying,”

“You can’t call me that!”

“Then don’t lie to me.”

She bubbled her lips and finished her drink. Finished already? Shit.

He noticed it too and motioned for the waiter.

“Another drink for the lady,” he ordered. “And I’ll take another whiskey. And,” he thought for a moment and added, “bring us a bottle of champagne.” He looked at her and asked, “what are you eating?”

“I think I ordered fish tacos,” she recalled, watching him in confusion.

“Want to eat them?”

“I dunno.”

“Mind if I cancel them and order us steaks?”

“Uhh...okay?”

He did just that, telling the waiter that he’d pay for the tacos as well.

Who the hell was this guy? He flicked his fingers and just got whatever he wanted. The waiter didn’t even question him! ‘Of course, sir’ ‘Whatever you want, sit’ ‘Right away, sir’.

“So, is it your birthday?” he asked once the waiter ran to fetch the drinks. Literally, ran.

“No.”

His brows knitted together and he pursed his lips.

Something about him and his look made goose bumps rise on her skin and she shifted under the table, crossing her legs. This guy and his unbelievable dominating bossiness were both scary, but also highly sexual. She knew that she was a bit of a submissive at heart, but that was mostly because she read way too many omegaverse books. But now, she was faced with a true Alpha. When they spoke of an Alpha Male, she suddenly became aware that she was in the presence of one. He wasn’t just tall, dark and handsome—even if he was a walking cliche with all of these attributes. But it was his undeniable, almost God-given natural dominance and superiority that she found so fascinating. And yes, so appealing as well.

“It’s not your birthday?” he repeated.

“N-no,” she bleated pathetically.

He didn’t respond immediately, but only drummed his fingers on the table, and she noticed that his hands were scarred. Rather extensively. Burns, from what she could tell. Jesus. How did he get these? And both hands, too.

“Lie to me again, and I will take you over my knees and spank that perfect bottom until you beg for mercy,” he warned, his voice impassive, his face unchanged.

Her mouth dropped open and she thought that she was going to slide under the table and dissolve into a puddle.

Was she supposed to cause a scene and slap him? Was she supposed to storm out of the restaurant? How does one reacted to being threatened by a spanking by a complete stranger?

Also, he thought that her ass was ‘perfect’?

“Let’s start anew, beautiful girl,” he proposed then, while she made silent gasping noises like a dying fish.

The waiter arrived just then, and only that prevented her from fainting or screaming out loud. He popped the champagne bottle with flourish and poured both of them a measure, while also setting their cocktails down before them.

“Don’t come back until the food is ready,” the stranger warned the waiter and the man nodded and left without saying a word.

“What is your name?”

She swallowed, but remembering his warning, she decided to go with the truth this time.

“Elain.”

“Gorgeous name,” he approved. “It suits you. I am Azriel.”

“Azriel,” an exotic name for an exotic man. “Nice to meet you. I think?” she ventured and extended her hand to him.

“Pleasure is certainly all mine,” he said, squeezing her hand in his huge, warm, powerful palm, watching her with strange, almost palatable hunger. “Whether you’ll receive pleasure from me or not remains to be seen,” he decided vaguely and she bit her lip, sensing that innuendo again and not knowing how to deal with it.

The one time a guy was instantly interested in her, and he is a dangerous weirdo. Figures. Just her luck.

He raised his glass and said, “Happy birthday, Elain! I hope it’s wonderful to you.”

“Thank you. That remains to be seen, I think,” she said softly and they touched their glasses. She sucked the champagne quickly, and with a sense of foreboding and some kind of desperation. She had no idea where this was going, or what he wanted from her. But she wanted it to continue. At least for the duration of this dinner.

“What do you do?” he inquired, dipping a chip into the queso, but instead of eating it, he held it out to her. She looked around, in some kind of futile hope that someone would save her from this, but there was no one. Only this stunning, somewhat insane man, who was feeding her chips and dip.

“Come on, beautiful Elain. Open up,” he urged soft, his voice smooth and husky and so tempting.

Numb, and only driven by the sound of that sensual voice, she opened her mouth and he gently pushed the chip inside. As she pulled it between her teeth, he brushed his finger over her lower lip and then brought it to his mouth and sucked.

“More?” he whispered and then concluded, “more.”

He dipped another chip and fed it to her again.

“So?”

“I am in marketing,” she answered, knowing in advance that hers was the most uninspiring answer in history. But she was more preoccupied by the fact that she was being fed chips by a strange man in the middle of a restaurant.

“And you live in the city?” he asked further. “Please don’t even start with the whole ‘I am here on business’.”

She sighed and admitted, “Fine, I am from the suburbs. But I work in the city. What do you do?”

He didn’t seem too thrilled about her question and took his time eating the last of the popovers.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked finally.

“Yes, of course. Why not?”

“You might not like it.”

“Why wouldn’t I? What do you do? Kill people?” she joked.

He smiled at her, but the smile was less of a smile, and more just a stretch of his lips. The smile didn’t reach his eyes

“And if I am?” he wondered at last.

She frowned and then it dawned on her and she laughed, “what? You kill people?”

“Maybe.”

A shiver ran down her spine and she gawked at him in shock. Until she dissolved in a flurry of laughs.

“You had me there for a sec!” she wiggled her finger at him. “A+ for a perfect deadpan delivery! I am impressed.”

He didn’t seem to be laughing, but he added, “but they were all bad”.

She stopped laughing and nervously shifted in her seat.

“Wait. What?”

“You wanted to know what I did for a living,” he reminded her.

As she processed his words, he just sat there, watching her intently.

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed at last, realisation dawning on her, “it’s a scam, right?! You are one of those guys who pretends to be an assassin, or a millionaire, or in the CIA and then I fall for it, and in two months you’ll start asking me for money and I blow all my savings on you and then never hear from you again.”

Shaking her head in disbelief she grabbed her napkin and then said, “thank you for the drink, Mr. Azriel. But I am not stupid. I appreciate the gesture—the razzle dazzle—but let’s part ways right here so that no one leaves here too traumatised.”

He listened to her impassively and in the next moment, the waiter arrived with their steaks.

She was hungry and upset, but she knew that she couldn’t stay here any longer and remain in his company. The whole thing was too bizarre and she didn’t want to get in trouble. And this man was clearly trouble. Or maybe troubled. Or both.

“Azriel, I am,”

“Sit,” he ordered, though his tone was soft. “You are safe with me. Don’t worry. But you did ask me what I did for a living,” he insisted again.

“Well, when I did ask you, I didn’t expect for you to tell me that you are some kind of a killer!” she snapped, her voice rising.

“I’d rather you didn’t yell,” he requested. “However, I wanted to tell you,”

“Why?!” she exclaimed. “Don’t killers usually try and keep their profession,” she made a quotation mark sign with her fingers, “a secret?”

“Normally, yes,” he agreed. “But, I want you to trust me and I felt that being honest is the best way to earn that trust.”

“Trust me? Why? And,”

“Because I want you,” he interrupted her and his tone was blunt, but calm.

“Wha,”

“I want you,” he repeated. “I saw you and you...well, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And now, I am obsessed with the idea of learning what you’d look like when I enter you. What sounds you’d make when you come on my tongue.”

At that, the big steak knife fell out of her trembling fingers and she wondered if she was having some kind of out of body experience. An ‘episode’? She wasn’t prone to episodes, but hell, there was a first time for everything, right?

He shrugged, and continued like this was a perfectly sane conversation they were having, “Sorry if this is a bit unorthodox,”

An understatement of the century!

“However, I am not one to mince words,”

Another understatement of the century.

“And when I want something, I go after it. And right now, I want you.”

She made a gurgling sound, but he ignored it, then cut into his steak, and chewed slowly.

“However, you don’t strike me as someone who sleeps around or who is used to the type of man I am,”

Was any woman?

“Therefore, I wanted to build a baseline of trust between us. Like I said, you have nothing to fear from me. I am simply a man, interested in a woman.”

He was anything but, but okay.

“So,” she finally found her voice which was lost somewhere in the bottom of her stomach, “telling me you are an assassin is your way of establishing a baseline of trust?”

He looked at her hand, which was clutching a butter knife, her knuckles white, and smiled faintly.

“I suppose so.”

She reached for the bottle of champagne, but her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely grasp it. Smoothly, he took the bottle and topped off her glass. This was probably the worst idea—to continue drinking—but she couldn't think of anything else.

“Why don’t you relax and eat,” he suggested. “The steak is cooked perfectly.”

“I don’t think I am hungry.”

“Nonsense. Lay down your weapon of choice, dig into your dish and relax a bit. Have fun. It's your birthday!”

He then raised his glass and mused, ‘what should we toast to?”

“Me remaining sane after this dinner,” she muttered under her breath.

He laughed.

“How about ‘to the future’? Because tomorrow with you is worth every yesterday I spent without you,” he said and she almost choked.

He couldn’t be for real.

No man talked like that. Ever.

“Listen, I know I could a little blunt, but in my line of work, I have to move quickly and I typically don’t get many second chances. And I don’t want to miss my chance with you,” he drank his champagne and watched her attempt to concentrate on her steak. “And when I said that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I am being honest. I saw you across the restaurant and you kind of blew my mind. It happens, you know,”

“No, it doesn’t,” she argued. “Only in romance novels.”

“Okay,” he shrugged, “so we have a romance novel beginning, so what?”

“It’s not real,” she insisted.

“Well, while you think on that, tell me when I can kiss you, because I’d really, really would like to kiss you right now,”

“Never!” she shrieked. “Stop talking like that!”

She desperately needed him to stop talking. Stop using that sensual, deep baritone to say deliciously sinful things to her. Because if he continued, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. She kept trying to shield her breasts from him, since her nipples were achingly sharp, threatening to poke through the top of her body suit. And between her legs—disaster. She was flooded. Every glance at his strong, powerful hands made her wonder what they’d feel like between her thighs. What his soft lips would taste like if he did get that kiss from her. And every word he said just made her wetter and wetter. She feared she’d have a stain on her clothes once she got up from her seat, and the thought alone was mortifying.

“I think you should let me kiss you,” he insisted, watching her intently.

“No, I am not kissing you!”

God, this steak was good!

“How about this then,” he proposed slowly, “I scoot closer to you, and you let me play with your clit, while you eat, and then you come all over my hand. I pay the bill and we go to my place and I’ll continue making you come. Because all I want to do right now is kiss every inch of your porcelain skin, and fuck your soft, lovely mouth and watch my dick disappear between those rosy lips. And then you’ll come on my dick in your perfect pussy and ask for more, while screaming my name. And if you let me, I’ll fuck that gorgeous ass as well and will make you come from that as well. And then you’ll sleep in my arms and in the morning, we’ll go get breakfast.”

She watched him in dull astonishment, her brain failing to work properly as she attempted to process his words.

This really couldn’t be real. At all. No man, in the history of mankind, ever said words like these to a woman.

Yes, he just sat there, with her perfect face and his perfect body, and waited.

“And then you’ll go and kill some people at work?” was all she managed to say to his explicit monologue.

She’s never been fucked anywhere, let alone her ass. So yeah.

“Well, not at work. For work,” he corrected.

“Uh uh,” she sighed. “And you are okay with me knowing about that then?”

“Like I told you, I want you to trust me.”

“Uh uh,” she sighed again. Then she set her napkin aside and told him calmly,

“Azriel, it certainly has been an interesting evening. I thank you. I am not sure I’ll ever forget it, or you, but...I don’t think that I am the girl you need,”

“All me to decide that,” he argued sharply.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, before clarifying, “I suppose I choose not to be that girl for you.”

“Why?”

“I like my boring little life. It suits me. And you...you don’t suit me or my life.”

She couldn’t even believe her own assertiveness. She was rarely like this.

“It’s unfortunate,” he said sadly. “Forgive me if I offended you,”

“Astonished, more like,”

“Better than offended.”

She got up from her chair and her knees felt soft and shaky, and for the first time she understood what ‘jelly legs’ were. She had jelly legs because of him.

“Thank you for dinner. I better be going.”

“I’d like to walk you to your car,” he offered.

“I think it’s a bad idea. Besides, I am getting an Uber. I drank too much. Goodbye, Azriel.”

She rushed out of the restaurant and onto the bustling Fulton Market, where there were hundreds of people milling around. Her fingers trembling, she got her phone out of her clutch and pressed the Uber button on the verge of hysteria now. She didn’t know where she was going even, so she pressed ‘home’ even though she knew this Uber would host like $60 at least. But she needed to get away. Away from here, away from him, away from making a bad decision. Very bad, terrible decision that she was yearning to make right now.

3 minutes.

Okay, she just needed to make it for 3 minutes out here, until the car came.

She glanced at the phone frantically, over and over again, watching the little car move along the street diagram.

Suddenly, a familiar scarred hand reached over her shoulder and grabbed her phone.

“Wait! Give it back!” she demanded desperately.

Azriel smiled at her and then typed something in her phone.

“Now you have my number.”

A text chimed, and he added, “and I have yours”.

“We’ll never see each other again,” she promised.

“We’ll see,” he said simply.

Finally, Honda Civic! Blue! There she was!

She bounced on her heels impatiently, hoping he wouldn’t do anything, and yet hoping that he would at the same time.

Ugh.

“Goodbye, Azriel,” she said again.

He opened the door for her politely and before she folded herself into the car, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“Happy birthday, beautiful. I’ll see you later.”

Azriel ‘The Shadow’ Night had two problems on his hands.

As he watched the Honda weave in and out of busy traffic, he lit a cigarette—an occasional bad habit of his—and inhaled deeply.

Nothing that he told her was a lie.

He did find her to be incredibly beautiful. And his attraction to her was instant and hit him like an avalanche. He’d never felt anything remotely like this before. He wanted her with every fiber of his being and know, innately, that their paths were crossed forever and for a reason.

The only omission in his tale was that their meeting was not accidental. And that she was the target, who was his current assignment.

Now, he needed to figure out how to murder her, while keeping her alive.

#elriel #elriel fanfic #my fanfiction #my writing #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elain #acotar fanfiction #Modern AU

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dulcetwhispers · 6 months ago

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FIGHTING TEMPTATIONS

( a modern au)

Elain Archeron’s life wasn’t her own. From the moment she drew in her first breath, her mom had her whole life planned out to a tee. Her mother never failed to voice her harsh opinions, and Elain bent over backwards to comply to her wishes each time, because she wanted her love and approval. It just seemed she was never good enough.

Azriel Knight didn’t do “love”. He had seen, as well as experienced, his fair share of relationships crumble — whether that be in death or heartbreak. He stuck to what he knew best: boxing. With three titles underneath his belt, he was regarded as the best boxer of the century with only one boxer drawing close to his skill, Lucien Vanserra, his adversary.

With one glance, Azriel is instantly drawn to her. Only she has another man wrapped around her, Lucien Vanserra.

! COMING SOON !

#elriel fanfic #elriel #modern au #modern elriel #boxer azriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #pro elain #pro azriel #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #pro elriel

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bloomingdarkgarden · 2 years ago

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E L A I N + A Z R I E L | A Modern Love Story

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #modern au #acotar #acotar moodboard

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violetasteracademic · 4 months ago

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Velaris Memorial Hospital: Part Three Reveal

Last year, Velaris Memorial Hospital was little seed inspired by the late October leaves. A story of the Archeron sisters and the lives of the Bat Boys entangling in a hospital fraught with a scandal, and deeply inspired by the Tortured Poet's Department and Grey's Anatomy.

The Manuscript: Rhys and Feyre are star-crossed lovers who collide over a dirty pumpkin chai latte. She's a children's art therapist in the cancer ward at Velaris Memorial Hospital, and he's the new owner of the hospital. Their connection is undeniable. Perhaps a thing of soulmates. But with the tangled web of lawsuits and Feyre's unstable ex-fiancé at the center of it all, the mountains between them are higher than the stretch of the Velaris skyline. (Read the first six chapters here.)

The Albatross: Nesta and Cassian share a tense and steamy moment as strangers at a rooftop bar, only to find out they have to team up to save Velaris Memorial Hospital from the fallout of a scandal. Can the director of public relations and head of financial strategy maintain their professional lines while fighting each other and their chemistry? And will the skeletons in their closet and ghosts of their past keep them from being more than just physical? (Read the first three chapters here.)

And now it's time for...

Elain is a labor and delivery nurse at Velaris Memorial Hospital. Despite her chaotic and exhausting schedule, there is nothing she craves more than stability. Set guidelines. She never makes a decision if she isn't certain of the outcome. Newly engaged to Graysen Nolan, she's on track to have everything she ever wanted, even if it doesn't feel exactly how she imagined it would.

Azriel is a world renowned photojournalist on the front lines of war, humanitarian crises, and the parts of life that most people turn away from. He's traveled from country to country and lived out of hotels for years on end. His life is all risk, no rest, and no looking back. But lately, the thrill of the job isn't enough to keep him distracted from the demons he's been running from.

When Azriel takes a six month corporate photography contract to help his brothers rebuild Velaris Memorial Hospital's reputation, he crosses paths with Elain Archeron. On the surface, they couldn't be more different. But as layers peel away, their similar aches and dreams draw them together.

They decide to push each other to try new things and explore different sides of life. But as their connection deepens while time counts down on Azriel's contract, and Elain's fiancé urges her to start planning the wedding, they tow a dangerous line.

Read chapter one of Velaris Memorial Hospital here.

Thank you to @rosanna-writer @tealeaves-and-rosepetals and @yourstarsmyscars for the beta read, and thank you to all the readers who have given this project so much love and support!

Preview below the cut:

Chapter One: I Circled You on a Map

Summary:

Elain's engagement celebration with her sisters takes a turn that might alter more than just the course of the evening.

I haven't come around in so long But I'm making a comeback to where I belong So when I touch down Call the amateurs and Cut 'em from the team Ditch the clowns, get the crown Baby I'm the one to beat Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

This happens once every few lifetimes

Elain

“So…” I said, my hands fidgeting nervously in my lap. His eyes snapped up quickly, as if he was shocked by the sound of my voice. My throat caught, but he smiled softly at me, and something eased in my shoulders. “Where is your favorite place that you’ve ever traveled to?”

His mouth twitched, so slightly I almost missed it. “Coming in with the hard questions first, I see.”

“Really?” I giggled. “I assumed you'd be asked that all the time.”

“Not as often as you’d think,” he replied. There was something sad in his smile. Lonely.

“Okay, so not your favorite. Maybe… the most… memorable? There wasn’t one place that just… struck you?”

I had never been anywhere but Velaris. Beyond my fear of flying, my family didn't take vacations or even go camping before my parents died. My sisters and I never bothered to get cars. Our life in the city was very insular and walkable, and we relied on public transit or ride sharing when necessary. We'd talked about renting a car to go on a road trip, but it never happened. Graysen and I planned for romantic getaways, but our schedules never lined up.

Still, even within my small world, there were places that stuck with me above the others. Certain houses that had particularly beautiful trim and architecture, or streets where the prettiest orange leaves fell on the dark cobblestones, brilliant and striking against the black wrought-iron gates that fenced in the rows of townhomes. Some places just crawl under your skin and take your breath away, even for simple reasons.

Azriel hummed, considering. I felt it everywhere.

Gratitude rushed over me when the waiter dropped off our drinks at that moment. I needed to focus somewhere else so I didn’t seem like a creepy weirdo who couldn’t stop staring.

I ordered The Lighthouse, a Virginia Woolf twist on a dark and stormy with lavender bitters. Azriel ordered non-alcoholic beer.

I briefly wondered if I should ask if he was bothered by my drinking, unsure if he avoided alcohol entirely or just this evening. But he clinked the rim of his bottle to everyone’s cocktails and seemed relaxed. Which was a relief, because although I hardly ever drank, I had already decided I was going to get extremely drunk this evening.

When he focused back on me, I noticed his gaze had a sound. It crackled.

“I’d say the place that struck me the most was Trieste,” Azriel finally answered after a few long sips.

“Where is Trieste?” I asked, gulping down my delicious drink garnished with lime, ginger, and a spring of fresh lavender.

“Italy. But what makes it unique is that it's barely attached to the rest of the country. It’s a small port city on the gulf, on the opposite side of the Adriatic Sea from Venice. It’s like this tiny piece of Italy carved out of the coast of Slovenia, holding onto Italy by a near negligible strip of land.”

I stared at him wide-eyed. I’d never heard of Trieste before. My heart ached to see this small portside city across the sea from the rest of its country. To smell the salt air that only comes from being near that kind of water, and walk along the shimmering coastline with a rich espresso and pastry in hand.

And then, the alcohol must have already gone to my head. Because when I tried to picture the little dot on a map off on its own, on the other side of the sea from Rome and Florence and Naples, I started laughing.

Azriel’s lips sliced into a sardonic grin. God, he was really handsome. More than seemed fair for one mere mortal. Not that I was attracted to him in any meaningful way. It was simply an objective fact.

“What?” he asked, pursing his lips as if he was trying not to laugh at me laughing.

I took a deep breath and regained my composure as best as I could. “You must be quite the contrarian,” I said. At his raised brow, I clarified, “Your favorite place is the part of Italy separated from the rest of Italy? You're a total travel hipster.”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a bright glimmer to them as his lips quirked. “No one has said hipster in over a decade.”

“A hipster would say that,” I said sagely.

He laughed whole-heartedly, and my spine felt like a live wire. I waved at the waiter to ask for another drink.

“Okay…” He rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I see your point. But, counterpoint, part of what makes Trieste so special is how many cultures have influenced it throughout history. In Greco-Roman times, it was a settlement that belonged to the Roman empire. Then it fell under Habsburg rule, then the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was a free territory for a while, then came full circle and has been incorporated by Italy for about half a century, with countless other influences along the way. In Trieste, you can swim in the sea, visit Roman ruins, Austrian castles, attend a Slovenian theatre, go to a German cafe, or see canals comparable to Venice all in one day. Doesn’t that sort of make me the opposite of a hipster? To choose a place that has so many good things instead of one really niche thing?”

I could hardly breathe as my mind swirled with images of everything he was describing. I also tried to ignore how sexy it was that he knew so much about it and could to describe it in such vivid detail. Not in an annoying mansplaining kind of way, but…passionate. Curious. Deeply observant.

Sexy wasn’t the right word. I certainly was not imagining if that passionate curiosity and observance carried over into… sex. It was just the first word that popped into my head. And I couldn’t happen to think up a better replacement.

“There’s really a city like that?” I asked. It sounded too magical to be real.

“There really is,” he nodded. “I’ll show you the photos I took sometime.”

Heat rushed to the surface of my skin. “Alright,” I said, even though that could never happen.

Within the walls of Rita's, we were safe. So long as we weren't making plans beyond the evening, there was nothing to feel guilty about.

Subscribe on AO3 to keep updated as the story of the three brothers and the three sisters unfolds across Velaris Memorial Hospital!

#elriel #elriel fan fiction #elriel fic #elriel au #feysand fanfiction #feysand au #nessian fanfiction #nessian au #but all ships are welcome at Velaris Memorial Hospital #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #acotar modern au

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slytherhys · 2 years ago

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12 Days of Christmas - ACOTAR Edition

In the spirit of the Holidays, I will be writing & posting short stories about the ACOTAR characters for the next 12 days. Please note that some will be shorter than others and that this is simply meant to be a fun time for everyone that loves these characters as much as I do!

PS. I'm open to requests.

AO3

1st day of Christmas - Christmas Decorating

New Traditions (Modern Elriel AU)

Living with Elain Archeron, Azriel had found, implied a great many things. For starters, there wasn’t a windowsill that wasn’t peppered with colourful vases, the leaves green and luscious all year around. The kitchen, now covered in all kinds of baking supplies he couldn’t even begin to name, was constantly in such a state of disarray that the simple task of getting a glass of water easily turned into a hefty task. He couldn’t complain – not when every day he was greeted by a different kind of pastry his girlfriend was eagerly trying for the first time.

These, however, were details Azriel had been expecting when he first asked Elain to move in with him. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the sight of the enormous garland covered in berries, orange slices and small pinecones, hanging on their front door. Nor did he expect the tiny, chubby snowman sitting on it, staring at him with unwarranted joy. Azriel scowled.

It was the first day of December.

He opened the door, briefly wondering if Bing Crosby’s voice was crooning from their neighbour’s living room and not theirs. If the sweet voice singing along wasn’t his girlfriend’s – who couldn’t possibly be decorating on the 1st day of December – and belonged to Mrs. Allis instead.

Such wishful thinking was short-lived.

The house, Azriel noticed, smelled distinctively of ginger and cinnamon, and the wooden table in the foyer, usually covered in random knickknacks and their house keys, now sported entirely too many candles and a knitted reindeer wearing a Christmas sweater, welcoming him home with an innocent smile. Azriel settled his keys next to it, feeling oddly disturbed.

Azriel eyed the kitchen with concern. He wouldn’t go in – not yet at least – but he could glimpse Elain’s baking supplies on the counter, as well as a plate filled with red velvet brownies. Azriel swallowed a groan, fighting the urge to eat one – Elain knew how much he loved red velvet, but this felt premeditated. It felt like a bribery.

He kept walking, following the sound of Elain’s voice as he pointedly ignored the gingerbread house kit on the kitchen table (and the fact it remained unopened). Apprehension coursed through his body as he eyed the mistletoe hanging in the archway leading to the living room. As it was, Azriel usually decorated on the week before Christmas, and that was if Cassian nagged him enough that he’d just give up and put up whatever crappy decorations he had gotten throughout the years (read an old, plastic Christmas tree and a few random Christmas ball that didn’t really look good together). Azriel rarely spent Christmas in his own house, so it had never made much sense to decorate in the first place.

Elain, however, clearly had different plans.

Sure, this was their first Christmas together, but he couldn’t say he had expected this much…dedication on her part.

Azriel stopped in his tracks just as he reached the living room, eyes widening as he took in every single detail. Their once cosy living room was no longer. Their couch, a beige, dull thing by default, was covered in a fuzzy, checkered blanket, white pillows dotting its cushions. The usually empty mantelpiece was now covered by a green garland, dotted with fairy lights. Hanging from it, two stockings – one with an A stitched into it, the other with an E (if he seemed to smile at the sight of it, it was purely a muscle spasm).

He fought the urge to groan, side-eyeing the checkered blanket with horror once again. At least, he thought, there were no knitted animals in the living room.

Needless to say, he wasn’t entirely convinced on the Christmas decorations.

His girlfriend, however, was a sight to behold. He crossed his arms, fighting to not let his amusement show as he watched her. Even in her pyjamas and frowning at the tangled Christmas lights in her hands, Elain was lovely. Her cheeks were slightly pink, lips pursed in concentration as she appeared to fight the knotted mess in front of her (it seemed to Azriel she was losing, but he refrained from commenting on it). There was an old Christmas hat on her head, one Azriel faintly recalled taking home from one of Cassian’s holiday parties. It was entirely too big on her head, but it only made her all the more charming.

She was sitting on the floor, right next to a very tall, very bare Christmas tree. More boxes littered the floor around her, but Elain remained humming, unconcerned and completely unaware of Azriel’s presence in front of her.

Azriel hated to ruin her peace, but the checkered blanket seemed to mock him from the couch. He cleared his throat, face stoic ever as Elain yelped and looked up, eyes widening as she blushed.

“You’re home!” She greeted, standing up as she unceremoniously dropped the Christmas lights on the floor. Azriel raised an eyebrow, watching her as she turned down the volume of the music.

“What are you doing?” He asked, briefly wondering if this was one of those times Nesta had accused him of taking himself too seriously. Whatever that meant.

Elain, however, wasn’t deterred by his seriousness. She smiled prettily. “Decorating.”

Azriel made a show of raising both eyebrows. “It’s the 1st of December.”

“Yes.” She simply said, as if that explained everything.

“It’s the first of December.” He said again, not sure she had heard him correctly the first time.

“I’m aware.” She said, pushing the beanie away from her eyes. She did look adorable. “I’m in a festive mood. I wanted to do some light decorating.”

“Light?” He was vaguely aware he sounded like a crabby old man. Elain was too if the twitch in her lips was any indication. “Isn’t this all too much?” He still asked, eyeing the blanket.

He truly didn’t like that thing.

Elain blinked. Then she blinked again, taking in their living room. The couch, the tree, the mantle garland. Then she frowned. “Are you messing with me?”

Azriel scoffed. “Why would I be messing with you?” He took a step in her direction and Elain eyed him suspiciously. “There’s a gingerbread house in our kitchen.”

“No, there’s a gingerbread house kit in our kitchen.” She explained very slowly. “We’re going to build it together.”

“No, we’re not.” He chuckled, but his smile quickly fell away at her raised eyebrows. “We are?” He asked, frowning even as she walked towards him, a pretty smile on her lips.

“We are.” Elain said, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down as she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “But I made you red velvet brownies as a reward.” She whispered.

Azriel groaned, pressing his head against her neck, making her squeal as his beard tickled her skin. “You can’t distract me with brownies.”

“Are you sure?”

Azriel chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist as he pushed the Christmas hat away from her eyes. “I am.”

“Well, can I distract you with something else?” She asked, her fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck. Azriel hummed, pressing his nose against her neck, taking her in for the first time in hours. He was almost distracted. Almost.

“Can we at least get rid of that blanket?”

Elain frowned, eyeing the couch. “What’s wrong with the blanket?”

Well, its very existence was wrong, in his opinion, and he opened his mouth to say just that.

“Nesta gave it to me.”

He promptly closed his mouth. The blanket was staying, then. Mother’s tits.

He cleared his throat. “And the tree?” He asked instead, trying to swiftly change the subject. Elain eyed with him a cheeky smirk, making it clear she was fully aware she had won the fight before it even begun.

Gods, he loved her.

“Were you going to start decorating it now?”

“Oh, well. No.” Elain turned shy, chuckling nervously. “I actually wanted to decorate it with you.”

“Right.” He nodded. “On the 1st of December?” He asked. Just to be sure. Elain chuckled, playfully pushing him away even as he tightened his hold around her.

She looked at the tree, avoiding his eyes. “I just wanted to give you a new tradition.” She shrugged. “Our own tradition.”

Oh. Oh.

He was an absolute fool.

Azriel looked at her, his heart beating wildly inside his chest. “You did, love?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If you want to, that is.”

It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and show her exactly how much he did.

He kissed her instead, his tongue seeking hers, his hands roaming around her body. He groaned at the taste of her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. Elain smiled against his lips.

“Is that a yes?” She asked, gasping as his hands found her ass.

“How could I ever say no to you?” And little did she know how much he really meant it.

Which would explain why, merely hours later, Azriel could be found wearing a stupid Christmas hat, ignoring the stupid checkered blanket, and helping Elain put up the last of the ornaments on the too big Christmas tree. And if he had a smile on his face…

Well, that had everything to do with the girl in his arms.

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ariastarke · 11 months ago

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the elriel brain rot has well and truly returned

#by this i mean i was writing a fairly light modern au #and now......now i am thinking of.......a certain type of folklore figure #perhaps starting with a v and ending in ampire #elriel #hush m

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lunaatthezoo · 4 months ago

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𝕊𝕚𝕟 & 𝕊𝕒𝕝𝕧𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔸𝕣𝕥 𝕊𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 | 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕤

Modern Elriel is back with another scene from my mafia romance AU fanfic "The Light Between Sin & Salvation."

@jazbell did an absolutely beautiful job with this piece and I have been so excited to share it. I should mention that art pieces based on my fanfic are not going to be posted in the order of the chapters~ we'll keep it interesting instead 😜

Link in bio to read the fic 🌸🦇

Art by: @jazbell

Commissioned by: me, @lunaatthezoo

Please do not repost. Shared and likes appreciated 🫶

@elriel-month @azrielappreciationweek @elainarcheronweek

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elriel fanart #elain archeron fanart #azriel fanart #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #acotar #azriel x elain #sin and salvation #mafia elriel #pro elain #modern elriel #modern acotar #au elriel #au acotar

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whatisamettafor · 5 months ago

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Modern Azriel is some kind of pretty tech nerd IT guy at Scientist Elain's lab.😂

#azriel shadowsinger #elain archeron #elriel #pro elain #pro elriel #acotar modern au

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mirrorballpages · 2 months ago

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Wrote Chapter 2 of my Elriel AU (And if you like it, I'll finish the rest of the chapters!)

Azriel didn’t sleep. The night before played in endless loops through his mind, scenes rewinding and re-forming until he couldn’t tell where memory ended and fantasy began. He kept seeing her face, lit by the rooftop glow, the breeze teasing her curls, the soft smile that tilted her lips as she looked at him like he wasn’t someone to be feared or pitied or fixed. Like he was just… someone. Just Azriel. And that undid him more than he could stand.

He didn’t know what the hell had happened. He’d met her once. Spoken to her for a few hours. But somehow, impossibly, it felt like something had shifted in him, like something ancient and tired had stirred awake. And gods help him, but he wasn’t sure he could look at anyone else and feel anything close to this again.

Which made no sense.

Because Azriel didn’t do this. He didn’t date. He didn’t linger. He didn’t stay. Not because he wasn’t capable of wanting more, but because he didn’t believe he was allowed to. He was the one women flirted with when they wanted danger without depth. The one they touched like a secret, something thrilling but temporary. And he let them. Because it was easier that way. Safer. Cleaner. No expectations. No risk.

He wasn’t cold. He was, if anything, too much. Too romantic, too protective, too full of feelings he didn’t know where to put. But love? Real love? The kind Rhysand had with Feyre—the kind that required presence and softness and vulnerability—he didn’t believe he could survive it. Not when there were parts of him no one had ever seen. Parts still blistered from childhood. From what he did for Rhys when asked. From what he hadn’t done when he should have. The scars on his hands weren’t from some noble act of heroism. They were from being failed. From being forgotten. From surviving things no one had ever apologized for.

Letting someone close meant risking all of that being exposed. Letting someone see—really see—meant relinquishing control. And Azriel had built his entire life on control. It was the only thing that kept him from unraveling.

And her...

Gods, her.

What would someone like Elain want with someone like him?

He lay in bed long after the city had gone quiet, one arm draped over his eyes, willing the thoughts to stop, to fade, but her voice kept coming back. Soft and bright and real. Her laugh echoed between the lines of his memory like sunlight catching on glass, and the way she’d looked at him—open, curious, so heartbreakingly kind—it sank into his chest and refused to leave.

He kept thinking about what she said. About her past. About not being the right fit for forever.

How the fuck could anyone leave her?

When the first light of morning broke across the apartment walls, pale and cool, Azriel sat up and ran a hand through his hair. That question hadn’t left his mind since the moment she’d told him. Since she’d smiled through it, soft and sweet, like it hadn’t gutted her. Like she hadn’t been abandoned.

And gods, maybe that was the worst part— Not the breakup. Not the man who had left. But the way she’d carried the weight of it like she deserved it. Like it made sense to her. Like it was logical that he would do that.

Azriel couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop turning it over in his mind like a knife he was trying not to grip too tightly.

Because the truth was, Elain didn’t just shine, she bloomed. Every part of her seemed to unfold gently, quietly, without apology. She didn’t demand attention. She just drew it. The way flowers bend toward the sun without even trying.

And from the moment he saw her—flushed with color, half-laughing, eyes like golden light breaking through cloud—he hadn’t been able to stop watching. Not in the possessive, prowling way people assumed about him. No, this was different. Deeper. A kind of awe. A kind of ache.

He was drawn to her because she wasn’t trying to be anything. Not seductive. Not mysterious. She just was. And maybe that was what wrecked him most.

Because Azriel had spent his whole life building walls. Holding everything back. Making sure he didn’t need, didn’t hope, didn’t want. And then Elain looked at him like she saw right through the armor and didn’t flinch.

She was softness, and everything in him had been taught to treat softness as weakness. But with her, it didn’t feel weak. It felt sacred. Elain Archeron made him want things he hadn’t dared name in years. Companionship. Stillness. The kind of quiet that didn't feel like isolation, but peace.

He couldn’t stop picturing the curve of her smile or the way she’d tucked her hair behind her ear when she laughed. And gods, he hadn’t even asked for her number. He’d walked her home, watched her disappear behind her door, and never once thought to ask.

What a fucking idiot.

But she’d said she was working today.

And before he could overthink it, before he could talk himself out of it, he was up and out the door, boots hitting the sidewalk, the morning air still crisp with summer air.

He walked to her shop, the sun still low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the cobbled pavement. The storefronts were quiet, their windows catching the early light, glowing like honey. And then he saw hers.

The shutters of Elain’s flower shop were partially drawn, but the door was unlocked, a hand-painted “come in” sign swinging lazily in the breeze. Through the glass, the world was already awake—her world. Warm soil and clipped stems perfumed the air, jasmine blooming sweet and heady in the corners of the windows. The light inside pooled across the floor in soft angles, spilling over buckets of roses and eucalyptus, over scattered ribbons and bits of petal and green.

And there she was. Spinning gently from one arrangement to the next, barefoot and focused, her long cardigan drifting behind her like it had a rhythm of its own. Her hair was half-pinned, curls slipping loose around her face, and she was humming under her breath—just loud enough that he could hear the echo of it, faint and fragile, even through glass. So he quietly knocked, hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake.

“Azriel. What—how—hi!” Her voice stumbled, caught somewhere between surprise and shyness, and when she opened the door, the scent of warm petals and freshly cut stems wrapped around him like sunlight. He stepped inside before she could second-guess it, into a world made of softness and green things and the faint undercurrent of jasmine in bloom.

"I was just walking by getting coffee and saw your lights were on." It was a lie. A small one. Okay, a big one. One she probably saw right through. His voice came out lower than he meant, already affected by the scent of her shop, the quiet intimacy of watching her tuck a loose curl back with the inside of her wrist. Something so small it shouldn’t have hit him like it did.

She laughed softly, brushing her palms on her apron, cheeks already flushed. "Oh! Well, sorry I'm so flustered. Nuala called out sick, and her sister, Cerridwen won’t be in for another few hours... and of course I a behind on a few last minute orders for today." Her eyes widened, gesturing vaguely to the chaos around her - loose stems in buckets, ribbon spools unspooled like wild vines, a partially finished bouquet wilting gently in the corner.

“Can I help?” he asked, already reaching for an empty bucket before she could protest. “I mean... I don’t know anything about flowers, but I can follow directions. And I’m great with scissors.”

Gods, he wanted her to say yes. He’d take orders. He’d scrub the floor. He just wanted to stay in this space that smelled like her.

She hesitated, biting her lip. “I really don’t want to take up your whole morning. It’s Sunday—your day off.”

“I’ve got nothing to do today,” he said, voice steady, unwavering. “I’m all yours.”

The words were out before he could pull them back. She blinked. Her blush deepened. And then, she winked. “Well… technically, you do owe me a bouquet.” A sparkle lit her eyes, “Bet’s a bet.”

Azriel’s heart did something inconvenient and reckless. “Right,” he murmured. “Okay, so floristry boot camp. I’m ready.”

She laughed—bright and warm, the sound ringing against glass and water and light. She handed him an apron, their fingers brushing as she passed it over. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, backing toward the workbench. “Floristry’s no joke.”

Azriel looked down at the pink apron, a sharp contrast to his all black attire and boots. Then up at her. “Neither am I.”

🌸🎀💕🌷

Elain did not wake up this morning thinking Azriel would be in her shop. In a pink apron. Helping her with flowers.

No, instead she had tossed and turned beneath her cotton sheets, watching the shadows crawl across her bedroom walls as the night slowly unraveled into morning. Her body was still, but her mind—her heart—was anything but. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him again. Azriel. The name echoed in her chest like the fading note of a song. His voice, his smile, the way he had looked at her like she was something worth paying attention to....she kept replaying it, again and again, until the memory blurred and shimmered like a dream.

She still couldn’t believe it had been him—the handsome stranger she’d been quietly watching, the one who passed her shop like a shadow in motion, golden skin inked with stories she didn’t know, sunglasses hiding eyes that had still somehow managed to pin her in place. She’d made up little narratives in her head about him. Who he might be, what he might do. Never once had she imagined that they would end up sitting together in the corner of a rooftop bar, talking like they’d known each other in another life.

And gods, she’d stayed out late. With him. Elain Archeron, the girl who liked to be in bed by nine with a book and a cup of tea, had sat in the glow of starlight and string lights with Azriel until after midnight. She hadn’t even noticed the time. All she’d noticed was the way his eyes softened when she spoke, the way his voice dipped when he asked questions about her life, as if the answers mattered. As if she mattered.

She couldn’t remember the last time her heart had fluttered like that. Couldn’t remember the last time her hands had trembled just slightly with nerves, or the way her laugh had felt like something bubbling up from her chest that she didn’t have to suppress. Not even with Graysen. Their relationship had been quiet, composed, built in pieces over time like a puzzle slowly coming together, but never once had it lit her up from the inside. Never once had it felt like this.

This thing with Azriel—whatever it was, whatever it could be—it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t careful. It burned. Softly, but undeniably. A flicker of flame in her ribcage. And gods help her, she couldn’t stop wondering if he felt it too.

She buried her face in her pillow, groaning softly. Don’t be ridiculous, Elain.

Azriel was handsome. Devastatingly handsome. The kind of man who looked like he belonged in dark corners of art galleries or in black and white photographs taken on rainy days. He was quiet, but there was a gravity to him, a weight she couldn’t quite name. He probably dated women who were all angles and ink and certainty. Women who wore leather jackets and red lipstick and didn’t blush when someone looked at them too long.

Not soft florists who wore pastel cardigans and cried at animal rescue ads. But still, here she was, standing in her shop, with him so close she could smell his night chilled cedar cologne. Or maybe he just smelled like that normally. Gods, of course he would just smell that good all the time.

They’d fallen into such an easy rhythm that Elain almost forgot they hadn’t done this before.

Azriel was better at arranging flowers than he had any right to be. He trimmed stems with careful hands, read her cues without needing words, and—somehow—made the mess of ribbons and leaves feel like a shared secret instead of a chore. They moved around each other with unspoken grace, close enough that the backs of their hands brushed every so often, each time sending a warm little shiver up her arm.

He was funny, in a dry, unexpected way—quiet jokes tucked into the spaces between conversation. And he was watching her. She could feel it. The way his eyes lingered when she smiled. The way he leaned in, just slightly, when she spoke about flowers and their meanings, like he was memorizing the words, not just hearing them.

“You know,” she said, nudging his elbow gently with hers as she arranged a row of white ranunculus, “I didn’t expect you to be good at this.”

His head tilted slightly. “Should I be offended?”

“Not at all. I just assumed you’d be more ‘dark alley, dagger behind the back’ than ‘floral wire and ribbon curls.’”

Azriel looked at her then, that slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You think I carry daggers?”

Elain gave him a slow once-over, lips curling. “I think you’re the kind of man who has at least three hidden weapons at all times. Probably names them. Probably sleeps with one under your pillow.”

He laughed under his breath, low and quiet, and it did things to her. “Only two weapons under the pillow,” he murmured. “I’m not unreasonable.”

She arched a brow, pleased. “So you do name them?”

“You’ll have to earn that secret,” he said, handing her another stem. Their fingers brushed. Elain tried not to blush and absolutely failed.

“I’ll have to earn it?” she echoed, glancing up at him beneath her lashes. “Is that how this works now?”

He met her gaze, steady and unreadable, and something flickered behind his eyes. Not amusement. Not just. Something quieter. Like he didn’t know how to stop looking at her.

“Maybe,” he said. “But you’re doing well so far.”

“So,” he said, placing a pale pink lisianthus into the bouquet she was finishing, “is it frowned upon to ask your florist out for coffee while she’s training you in bouquet combat?”

Her breath caught. She looked up at him and his expression was soft. Hesitant, but open. Like he wasn’t just flirting now. Like he was asking.

“Only if the florist says no,” she said, her voice lighter than she felt.

And gods, his smile. It was small, almost shy, and it wrecked her completely.

He shifted a little closer, just enough that their shoulders nearly touched. “Then I think I’d better take my chances.”

She could barely think around the way her heart stuttered. He was about to say something else—she could feel it, poised on the edge of the moment like a breath before a kiss—

“Well, well, this is cozy.”

Elain jumped slightly, the sound of the doorbell and her employee’s voice snapping the spell. Cerridwen stood just inside the entrance, one brow arched, dark curls pinned up and eyes full of mischief. Azriel stepped back half a pace, his expression carefully smoothing, though Elain could still see the hint of pink in his cheeks.

“Oh—Cerri! Hi! You’re early,” Elain said, too quickly, brushing her hands down the front of her apron.

“Mmm,” Cerridwen said, her gaze flicking between them as she shed her coat. “Didn’t realize today’s arrangement came with brooding six-foot-four company.”

Elain went hot all over, and Azriel—bless him—just chuckled softly under his breath. “I was… helping,” he said, though his eyes were still on Elain.

Helping. Gods, was that what this was? She didn’t look away. Didn’t move. Because now that she knew he’d been about to ask.... she wanted to say yes. Even if the moment had passed.

They were almost done. The last bouquet was nestled into its vase, the ribbons tied, and the mess of stems and clippings swept neatly into a bin. The shop still smelled of roses and jasmine and the hint of gardenia clinging to Azriel’s sleeves. Elain pulled off her gloves and stepped back, brushing her hair behind her ears.

“Well,” she said, trying not to sound reluctant, “we’ve just about caught up. Cerridwen can help with the rest.”

“Then let me grab coffee,” Azriel said eyes still fixed softly on hers. “You’ve earned it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him he didn’t have to, but he was already moving, pausing only to flash her the smallest, most devastating half-smile. And when he reached for the door—

He was still wearing the pink apron.

Elain’s face flamed. Bright, helpless heat rushed to her cheeks, because of course he made a pastel apron look like part of some grungy, underground fashion shoot. Gods, the man had the audacity to walk out of her flower shop in a faded pink apron over a fitted black t-shirt, black jeans, combat boots, sunglasses, and windswept hair, like some absurd daydream of opposites attracting. The bell jingled softly behind him. And she was frozen.

“Don’t tell me that is the handsome stranger you’ve been eyeing for weeks,” Cerridwen said dryly, already halfway through tying her apron. Her voice held a note of scandalized delight.

Elain groaned and pressed a hand to her burning face. “I haven’t been.... okay, maybe I have been. A little.”

Cerridwen snorted. “A little? Elain, you literally paused in the middle of a sentence the first time he walked by. And I have never seen you blush so hard in your life.”

Elain sighed, half-laughing. “Okay, fine. That’s him. But we weren’t just, like, flirting. We met last night." Cerridwen’s eyes went wide. "At Feyre’s party. Turns out he is the brother of her new boyfriend. And yes, the brother is equally handsome. As is the third brother... who I think is into Nesta... but she also almost killed him... But Azriel...we ended up talking. For hours. On the rooftop. Until 1 AM. And he walked me home.”

“You talked? You stayed out past midnight? Elain, I thought you were going to say you shared a drink or danced once, not spent the night under moonlight talking with him. He’s gorgeous. And also, how does he look like a bodyguard and a sculpture at the same time?” Elain groaned again, louder this time, and leaned against the worktable.

“He’s not interested,” she muttered. “He’s just being nice.”

“Oh my gods, are you serious? Elain. Have you seen the way he looks at you? Like you hung the damn moon.” Cerridwen stepped closer, lowering her voice. “He looks like he wants to memorize the sound of your laugh. And you’re standing here acting like he showed up because he’s bored?”

Elain opened her mouth, but the bell jingled again. And that was it. Because there he was. Stepping back inside like something out of a dream she hadn’t let herself have. Sunglasses perched on his nose. That ridiculous pink apron still tied around his waist like it belonged there. One hand held a tray of three steaming coffee cups, the other—gods—held a white bakery box.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked,” he said simply, setting the box down on the counter. “So I got... a variety.”

He opened it. A dozen pastries. Croissants, fruit danishes, cinnamon swirls, lemon tarts, a chocolate brioche. Every color and shape, carefully packed in paper and string.

“Didn’t want to assume,” he added, that quiet edge of shyness in his voice. “Figured it was better to overdo it.”

Elain stared. Actually stared. Because what the hell was happening. He looked like sin and kindness wrapped together, and he had brought her pastries like he had known her her whole life. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, traitorous and full of hope.

Cerridwen, behind her, whispered loudly: “I told you.”

They settled into the small café table near the front window, the soft morning light spilling across the petals scattered on the floor, catching in Azriel’s hair and making him look almost ethereal in a way that felt unfair. Elain curled her fingers around the warm paper cup, grateful for something to ground her.

Cerridwen raised a brow as she grabbed her own drink and selected a danish from the box.

“Well, I have invoices to check in the back before we open in 10,” she said, with a tone that could only be described as barely concealed glee. Her eyes cut pointedly toward Elain before she disappeared through the curtain, the subtle hum of music in the back room starting up a beat later.

Elain took a small sip of coffee, then glanced at the box of pastries. “You really brought a dozen.”

Azriel shrugged one shoulder, sipping from his own cup. “Didn’t want to assume. I figured… better to be over-prepared than risk disappointing you.”

Her heart flipped. Stupid, fluttery thing. She reached for a croissant, breaking it gently in half to busy her hands. “You have a habit of showing up when I least expect it,” she said, trying for lightness, but her voice came out a little softer than she intended.

“Would you prefer I didn’t?”

Elain blinked. The smile slipped off her face for just a heartbeat. “No,” she said, more breath than word. “No, I— I like it.”

She wanted to say something more. About last night. About now. About the fact that her heart was fluttering in her chest like it had just woken up after sleeping too long.

But he beat her to it — or nearly did. He shifted in his chair, fingers trailing the seam of his coffee cup, eyes briefly on the box of pastries as though composing his thoughts with sugar. Then he looked at her.

“Can I…” he began, voice low, a little rough at the edges. “Would it be okay if I had your number?”

Not can I take you out. Her breath caught, and she blinked, partly from surprise, partly because gods, the softness in his voice undid her. Like he wasn’t used to asking. Like it took something from him to even say it. Like it mattered more than he wanted her to know.

And yet. And yet—something sharp and small bloomed behind her ribs. Not pain exactly. Just the echo of almost. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Maybe nothing, maybe everything. But after the way he looked at her earlier, after the way his voice dipped, after the near-confession before Cerridwen walked in…

She thought he’d ask. Thought he wanted to. And maybe he did. Maybe he almost did. But he hadn’t. So of course she smiled. Of course she took his phone, fingers steady even as her heart curled a little inward.

Because it was just flirting. That’s all it was. A game. He didn’t mean it. Not really. She was a florist. Soft and quiet and easily overlooked. He was just being kind. Friendly. He probably smiled like that at everyone. Probably brought pastries to every woman who let him crash her morning routine in a pink apron. It didn’t mean anything.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. That was all. That was all. But his eyes lingered, warm and unreadable, like he wanted to say something else and didn’t quite know how. Or maybe he did know, and just didn’t let himself.

The front door chimed softly, the first customer of the day stepping in, the jingle like a bell waking her from something fragile and half-dreamed. Cerridwen emerged from the back room in a practiced glide, her smile already turning professional as she went to greet them.

"I should... I should go. Let you get back to work. Thank you for the bootcamp. You’ll hear from me.”He reached behind his back, fingers tugging at the knot of the pink apron, and when he slipped it off and handed it to her, something small and inexplicable cracked inside her. The moment—the magic of it—felt like it folded up with that apron. Like this tiny, perfect world they'd built between the stems and petals had vanished as suddenly as it appeared.

She took it from him, brushing the fabric between her fingers, and told herself not to look too wistful. Not to ache over something that wasn’t hers to begin with.

“Thank you,” she said softly, for everything she couldn’t say out loud.

He offered a soft smile, and then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Elain stood there, apron in hand, her chest tight and full all at once. Like she had been holding her breath for an hour and now didn’t know how to exhale.

It’s fine, she told herself. It was a moment. A sweet, unexpected moment.

But even as she thought it, her heart wouldn’t slow. Wouldn’t stop hoping. Because the truth shimmered in the quiet as she looked back toward the door he’d just walked through:

She didn’t know what this was, or what it might become. But whatever it was, it meant something.

And Elain, still trying to slow her racing heart, smiled into her coffee cup and quietly, irrevocably, let herself hope.

Read The Rest on AO3

@elriel-month

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