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clockwork-ashes · 4 months ago

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All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

There was something about the music that was making Lucien’s head ache. The string instruments were off-kilter, an odd mix of sounds, the drums pounding to the beat of his heart. The blood in his veins seemed to be moving slower than normal, the room was spinning.

Eyes clenched shut, Lucien placed a hand on his temple, the mask permanently stuck to his brow in the way. The cold metal bit into the skin of his palm, sharp as any knife’s blade. His breath caught in his throat, the air around him seemed stale.

He had forgotten.

There was a warning shiver that crawled up his spine as he attempted to remove the mask from its place, the binding magic painfully familiar. His golden eye clicked before it whirred softly and he cast a careful glance around the throne room.

There was a crowd assembled in the large space, sparkling chandeliers casting all the faeries in a strange light. Had he not known better, he would have assumed they all possessed fangs. Viper like smiles flashed, canines sharp enough to draw blood pressed against rose red lips.

Lucien easily spotted members of the Spring Court, their own masks glittering, looking like starlight. He could not recognise any of their faces, their features mixed together until he frowned from the effort.

There was no starlight Under the Mountain, Lucien remembered, nothing but darkness.

A sigh was pulled from his lips and Lucien rubbed a broad hand on his chest, stopping just above his ribs, the fabric of his jacket cheap enough to scratch at his skin. Leaning back into his seat, he let his fingers trace the carved black stone of the arm rest. He much preferred the maple thrones of the Autumn Court, they were far more comfortable, familiar despite the decades that had passed.

A laugh shattered the illusion that Lucien was sitting alone.

Like the point of a sword dragging sharply against marble, Amarantha laughed again and he winced at the nearness of the sound.

Lucien was going to throw up, he felt the burning in his throat as he realised how close he was to the wretched female, so unbelievably close. He was so nervous, he could not even find it within himself to be embarrassed by the whimper that he made as a response to noticing that he and Amarantha were on a dais overlooking the

crowd.

They were sitting on twin thrones, snakes carved into the stone of the legs. This was everything like the Court of Nightmares was in his imagination, there was nothing worse than being trapped prisoner beneath a mountain. Lucien shuddered, knowing exactly whose place he was in.

Where was Tamlin?

The thought was jarring, enough so that Lucien felt his jaw clench in anxiety. He bit his tongue to keep himself from asking the question out loud, tasting the sharp iron of blood.

Amarantha laughed once more, a chorus of giggles and cackles rising from the assembled crowd. The sound echoed in Lucien’s mind as the attendees split a clear path in the middle of the floor.

The Attor had entered the space and the creature slinked its way towards its queen. Wings flared as it flashed a wicked smile in Lucien’s direction, the grey flesh around its mouth pulled taut.

The Attor was not alone.

Claws gripped a cloaked figure, golden curls shone bright as sunlight beneath brown fabric. A girl — a human — was being dragged towards the raised platform. She was looking down, eyes following the pattern of the marble beneath her slippered feet.

Lucien felt as panic choked him, as he lunged from his seat only to fall onto his knees. Something sparked within his chest, a thunderous snap urging him to move.

“My mate,” he said softly, like it was a prayer. No one could have heard, and yet the girl looked up.

Brown eyes, the rich colour of a fawn’s coat, met his across the throne room. A shining thread gleamed to life, shooting towards the girl like a star, from Lucien’s heart to hers. His golden eye was the only witness to such magic before it disappeared. He was instantly pulled towards her, was ready to crawl on his hands and knees to get to her.

Amarantha gripped his shoulder tightly, her sharp nails cut through the fabric of his shirt, split skin. Lucien spared her only a moment’s glance before he twisted his head to look sharply at the Attor, at the girl who was thrown in a careless heap to the ground.

Elain Archeron, Lady of Roses.

The thought washed over him like a wave crashing against a rocky shore.

Lucien would have known her, their bond strong enough to sharpen his senses into remembering.

The Attor pulled at her hood to reveal rounded ears, cheeks pale with fear, eyes wide as she openly stared at Lucien.

“Elain,” he called out, but there was no recognition in that lovely gaze. As though he were a stone thrown into a lake, he felt himself sinking.

Falling.

Lucien jolted awake with his mate’s name still on his tongue.

He was clutching the pillow beneath his head tightly, knuckles white. It was dark, perhaps very late in the night considering there were only embers in the fireplace. Cool, fresh air filtered into the small space and he distantly remembered leaving one of the arched windows open.

For a moment, Lucien had forgotten where he was. He rubbed at his eyes, regaining a sense of his surroundings. His golden eye clicked into place and he froze, all the muscles in his body tense when he noticed the empty side of the bed.

Elain was gone, but her scent was everywhere.

Jasmine and green grass, so out of place within the Autumn Court. It lingered on his skin, on his clothes, and Lucien realised she must have been holding onto him as they slept.

Lucien’s hand reached out involuntarily to pat at the wrinkled sheets. The fabric was still warm, a phantom imprint of her head still on the fluffy pillows. He breathed in deeply, mind a whirl as he wondered where she might be.

Or who might have taken her.

Lucien lurched into a sitting position, breath caught in his chest as his head snapped towards the open windows.

“Elain,” he whispered softly, an unspoken well of emotions as he uttered her name into the silence.

She had pulled one of the comfortable armchairs right up to the sill. Her chin was in her hands, her full lips turned down slightly in the corners. Not exactly a frown, but she seemed lost in thought, pensive. She was looking up towards the sky, searching for something she had yet to find.

“You can’t see the moon,” she said, voice clear as river water. “Through the trees, I mean.” Elain turned to face him and Lucien felt his cheeks warm, a blush rising to the tips of his pointed ears.

A couple of days had passed, and they not yet spoken about the kiss they had shared. There was no awkwardness between them, no feelings of regret that he could feel from her end of the bond. If anything, their friendship was stronger, the bridge between their souls thrumming just beneath his rib cage.

“You alright?” Lucien asked, voice quiet, hoping that she would answer honestly.

Elain sighed, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. She played with the end of her braid, a nervous edge to the gesture.

Lucien said nothing, simply waited for her to continue.

Elain sighed once more, placed a hand onto her forehead. “I’ve been having these dreams,” she mumbled. He could tell from the anxiety that leaked into her tone that there was more to it all than she was currently choosing to share. “They’re very strange dreams, Lucien.”

He tried to calm her steadily rising panic through the bond, keeping his voice soft as he addressed her. “Nightmares?”

Elain shook her head, a few stray curls fell from her braid with the movement. “Visions,” she whispered, the word barely a hissed breath falling from behind gritted teeth.

Lucien’s blood ran cold at his memories of her from the war, the shell of a person that she had become while lost in images of the future. “Don’t worry,” he attempted to reassure her, but Elain’s eyes were wide with fear. He was glad she had spoken quietly, suddenly paranoid that someone might be listening. “We’ll figure it out, Elain, don’t worry.”

“I don’t understand them,” Elain muttered, more to herself than to him. She looked like a withered flower, as though thinking about what she saw was enough to seep life from her.

Lucien wanted her to close the window. He weaved a simple spell around them, to ensure that no one could hear what else they might have said. The sounds of nature fell silent, unnerving to his ears even though it was of his own doing. “Come back to bed,” he offered, wondering why no one had taken it upon themselves in the Night Court to teach her, to help her when it came to her abilities.

“I was doing so well,” Elain said to him, tears bright as silver shining along her eyes. “I hadn’t seen any since the war, it’s been years.” There was frustration in her statement, the legs of the chair scratched along the stone floor as she stood abruptly.

“Elain,” Lucien began, licking his lips as he watched her. “Magic doesn’t work like that, you need to use whatever power you have or it consumes you.” She stood as still as a predator, listening carefully to his every word. It gave him the courage to continue, to at least warn her how dangerous her actions were. “Magic needs release and suppressing it only makes things worse.”

Elain looked just about ready to break down into sobs. “I didn’t know,” she mumbled, fingers working the fabric of her night gown.

“That’s alright,” Lucien said quietly, putting out his hand towards her. He was struggling not to blame the Inner Circle for their silent disregard of her abilities, of the sheer amount of power they chose to forget that she possessed. “Like I said, we’ll figure it out.”

Elain eyed him, but she no longer looked so devastated. She inched towards him, slowly but surely. “I have no clue what the visions could mean, none at all.”

Once she laced her fingers with his, Lucien flashed her a small smile. “Maybe I can help you work them out, I am known to be quite clever.”

When Elain returned his smile, sitting on the mattress beside him, Lucien’s relief was overwhelming. She told him about how she had had no visions, no whisper of any other magic emerging. She had wrongly assumed that along with the destruction of the cauldron, her abilities had disappeared.

By the time Elain was finished revealing the many details of her dreams, they were lying down beneath the covers. Facing each other, close enough their noses were nearly touching, Elain continued to express how worried she was.

“The bones worry me the most,” she murmured. “What else could they mean but death?”

Lucien nearly flinched as he considered her visions. He also had no idea what they could mean, but even he could not argue with her observation. “We’ll search the library, I’m sure we can find some answers there, maybe even a book on deciphering dreams.”

Elain hummed in agreement, and although she still seemed worried, there seemed to be a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. She fell silent, her eyes fluttering shut, and Lucien assumed it was time for them to sleep.

Elain moved closer to him, their legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets. “What were you dreaming about?” Her question had him snapping his eyes open, he traced the curve of her jaw with his eyes as he shrugged.

“Amarantha,” he answered, knowing she would recognise the name. He hoped she would not ask for more information, he was still not used to speaking about all that had occurred Under the Mountain.

Nails sharp as any blade.

Unbearable pain shooting through his head.

Blood on the marble floors.

Lucien was pulled back to the present as he heard the animalistic snarl that fell from Elain’s pretty mouth. Almost as though she knew exactly what awful place his mind had taken him to.

Eyes locked, Elain reached out hesitantly. Lucien noticed a slight shaking to her hand and he held his breath, waiting, anticipating her touch.

Elain’s hand hovered in the space between them. He was usually more aware, careful of his scar and his eye, keeping them covered beneath the curtain of his hair or turned away from those around him.

Lucien had forgotten himself, had fallen onto the pillows unthinkingly. Elain could see him perfectly.

There was a pause, a moment in time where the world seemed to stop its spinning.

Lucien dipped his chin in a silent nod, giving Elain the permission she was seeking. With gentle fingers, she traced the scar where it began, just above his brow. He heard the soft way Elain’s breath caught in her throat, felt as horror at what had been done to him slowly leak down the bond.

“I would have liked to see her death,” Elain mumbled, the promise of violence in her tone. She moved even closer to him, each of her breaths ragged.

Lucien said nothing, could hardly stand the look of absolute rage falling over her features. Beneath it all, he saw that she cared, and it frightened him unlike anything else.

Lucien let his eyes flutter shut, Elain’s soft touch an anchor.

Everyone always thought it was best to ignore the scar, to divert their eyes as quickly as possible. They would look away from him, perhaps in an attempt to be polite.

Lucien could not bear it, had wanted to shout that the scar was there to stay, that they should look at him.

Look at me.

Elain continued to map out the features of his face, to stroke at his split auburn brow before she inched towards his eyelid. The skin there was so thin, it was surprising that the healers and Dawn had been able to save it all, and she softened her touch even more.

Light as a feather, her thumb brushed his eyelashes.

Elain did not stop, did not even pause as she pressed her palm to his cheek. The most brutal of his scars, the one everyone flinched away from. Faeries, with their ability to heal hardly ever had any marks that lasted the test of time. He had only ever seen a few permanent marks — the ones on his brothers’ backs. Everything else would fade, return to how it once was, unless the wound had been particularly harsh.

Elain though, had a human heart, and as Lucien had come to learn, humans were creatures that could embrace change and thrive.

Elain finally stopped once she had traced the smaller scar that cut across his lips. She pressed a gentle kiss there, nothing but a sweet brush of their mouths.

Lucien shifted, pulled her close so that he might kiss her again. She smiled against him, threading her fingers into his hair. His hand was on her waist, and they were kissing, his tongue past the seam of her lips.

Elain was not as shy this time, falling onto his chest when Lucien laid down onto his back. She gasped when he dragged his teeth along her full bottom lip, returning the kiss as she cupped his face with both her hands.

Lucien let her decide what she wanted to do next, and was surprised at the way she moved against him. He ran his hands from her waist, up her back, and towards her hip, urging her to do as she pleased.

Elain took her time, kissing him sweetly on the mouth one last time. Then she kissed his cheek, lips like silk. Finally, she kissed his eyebrow, pulling away to gauge his expression.

Even in the dark, Lucien could see that she was blushing. He smiled up at her, and she seemed to realise that she was leaning on him with all of her weight.

Elain breathed a small laugh, falling onto her side of the bed. He heard her giggle into the pillows as she turned to face the opposite direction. She pressed her back against him, and Lucien threw an arm over her, waiting to see if she would ask him to move.

Elain simply relaxed into his hold. “Good night, Lucien,” she said softly.

“Good night,” Lucien murmured, falling asleep as he thought about the gentle way Elain had traced his scar with her fingers.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #autumn court #ashes writes sometimes #all you have is your fire #eris vanserra #will be getting his own chapter in the next couple of days #he’s too fun i love writing his pov #thank you for reading <3

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pellucid-constellations · 11 months ago

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Of Oblivious Minds (4)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: Thank you for reading and sorry for the wait!! I hope you enjoy :) Let me know what you think ❤️

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

You were leaving today, and suddenly—with your bags at your feet and the air around you filled with stagnant silence—a few days seemed so juvenile. So… inconsequential in the grand scheme.

You would leave, and when you returned everything would be the same. Azriel would still love another and you would still be left with the bleak realization that you had spent the last few centuries denying a love that you knew to be fruitless.

Nothing would change if you were to be gone only a few measly days.

But if you were to be gone a month? A year, even?

Much of your work for Rhysand could be done from afar, especially with the library in Day Court. Helion wouldn’t mind; he’d asked you to consider an extended stay in the past. And maybe there could even be something there, something to take your mind off of your true home.

The home that wasn’t Velaris.

You saw him every time you closed your eyes. His rare smiles, his even rarer laughs; you saw the way his watchful eyes skated across every room you entered and reminisced on each twitch of his hands—the way you could feel it against your fingers when you grabbed for him in the busy streets of Velaris.

Azriel was inescapable, even when you battled against your vision and attempted to drift to sleep.

He was everywhere, everything.

But he wouldn’t be in Day Court, and although that wouldn't stop your thoughts, it would be something. It would be distance.

With a flick of your wrist, you sent your bags away to Day Court and heaved in an uncomfortably large breath. You knew he would do little to deny you, but you still needed to ask Rhys. He was your High Lord and employer, above all your friend, and you knew it would take a little persuading.

Maybe tears. Yes, tears were very moving and equally as conjurable at the moment.

It only took one step before the knock on your door left you still. Your shoes made a dent in the carpet and you could hear him breathing on the other side of the ornately carved wood. You could always tell when it was Azriel.

You shifted your weight from one knee to the next, gripping your skirts at the thigh. Azriel knocked again, this time in a faster pattern—more rushed.

You bit into your lip. You hadn’t planned to see him again, not before you left. You would deal with the repercussions of such an act later on, but not now. Not when you had finally gotten your emotions under control for long enough to have a conversation with Rhys.

It made sense to you now why you had repressed this for so long.

The sound of your voice was startling. “Come in.”

The door creaked, but the sound was overpowered by Azriel’s boot clicking against shining marble. The shadowsinger entered before his shadows, but the wisps followed close behind, quickly abandoning their master in favor of darting toward you. They twisted up your legs and elbows, rolling into your hair and dancing along your fingertips.

Something like fear, love, crushing defeat tugged and tugged at your chest.

“Azriel,” you greeted, aiming for a surprised tone and failing. “Have you come to see me off?”

The spymaster didn’t smile. “Rhys sent me. He said you might have a message for him.”

That cauldron-damned meddler. Of course he somehow knew about your reservations. You doubted he knew exactly what you had to say, but you had been dragging your feet all morning and were currently about an hour late for your own departure.

And of course he had sent Azriel of all people.

“Oh! Well, I suppose I could go and—”

“Why is half of your vanity gone?”

You blinked, startled by the words. If Azriel was anything, he was polite and never one to cut someone off. You went to search Azriel’s expression but found him zeroed in on the table pushed into the corner of your room.

“What?” It was all you could think to formulate.

But Azriel was quick to respond. “Almost all of your things are gone. Your perfumes and the pots of cream you keep on the side. You’ve only left the items you don’t use anymore.”

“How do you know—” you cut yourself off this time, ignoring the glaring question that tried to blind you. “Azriel, I’m going away… to Day Court. You know this.”

But Azriel only shook his head, stalking over to the table and yanking the drawer open so harshly it shook the mirror. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he went to your closet, throwing open the door, shoulders rising and falling with more effort.

“Azriel—”

“You’ve packed too much.” He turned to you, some of his shadows returning to wind around his chest. “You’ve taken most of your clothes.”

“You know I always overpack,” you laughed, but the laugh sounded fake, painful.

You fought the urge to cower under Azriel’s scrutinizing gaze. It was as if he was on fire, as if he was aflame and filled with something that had been pent up for far too long. If someone, anyone, were to look inside of you, they would see the same thing.

Which is why you needed to get far, far away from this situation. Away from him.

But the longer you looked back at him—the longer you tried to slap that easygoing smile on your face—the longer he stared back with the same steady intensity.

“Is something the matter?” you tried.

Azriel’s hand twitched.

That feeling crept along the edges of your ribs once again.

“Is something the matter?” he parroted, jaw so impossibly tight the words came out pinched.

You finally looked away, playing with your fingers. “Yes?”

He started laughing. But it wasn’t the kind of laugh that made you feel light. It didn’t fill you with pride for eliciting such a sound from him, nor did it make you want to laugh in return. It made you feel dark; as Azriel laughed, you wanted to heave the sound back within the depths it flowed from.

“There are several things that are the matter, y/n, but I’d say the most pressing is that you have been avoiding me for weeks. That every moment I’ve tried to spend with you has been promptly evaded and now you’re leaving and you had no intention of saying goodbye.”

“I was going to—”

“Please,” he pleaded, eyes soft yet so achingly desperate. “Don’t lie to me. Not right now.”

The indent in the carpet was becoming permanent; you couldn’t seem to move.

“I’ve been… I’ve been going through a hard time. Leaving seemed like it was the best for me. Just for a little while. Just until I could sort a few things out.”

“For how long?” he asked, voice cracking along the precipice of the last word.

You paused then, staring hard into his eyes. “A while.”

A shaky breath left the shadowsinger, his chest reflecting the sound. He ran a hand into his hair and tugged at the roots, an action you hadn’t seen him do in years. A sickening sort of pity ran through you—a sort of responsibility.

Because Azriel was your friend, and he was going through something, too. You had no idea if his mate reciprocated his feelings. You found it hard to believe that anyone wouldn’t love Azriel, but the conversation you’d overheard last week gave nothing away.

Maybe Azriel hadn’t told her yet because she didn’t love him. And maybe you were being a bad friend by not being there for him.

Tossing your hurt to the side, you took a step forward. Azriel watched the movement, eyes flickering behind you to catch the previous imprint of your feet on the carpet.

“I’m sorry,” you began, resolute. “I’m sorry that you felt you couldn’t tell me. And that you’ve been… having a hard time. I know I’m not leaving at the most opportune time, but you can write to me and I can help you.”

Some of the brokenness on Azriel’s face morphed into confusion. “Help me?”

“With your mate.”

And it was as if Azriel had been shot. He physically recoiled, his right foot coming down to catch him as he fixed his imbalance.

“I know you wanted to keep it private, but I overheard. Azriel—” You swallowed. Hard. “—It’s so wonderful that you’ve found your mate.”

Something was set in motion, and Azriel was shaking his head. His gaze was fixed on you and his eyebrows were pushed together in a painful expression and he just kept shaking his head as your chest caved and it became hard to breathe. Something pulled from within and it felt like your heart was unraveling.

Couldn’t he see how hard this was? How much it took from you just to acknowledge that he was destined for someone else?

The shadowsinger seemed unaware of your inner turmoil, instead taking long steps across the room until he reached you. He leaned down, brought his hands up to your face, and he broke another piece of you as his forehead touched yours.

He was whispering something, words so low even your fae ears couldn’t catch them, but you knew they were fast. Fast and incoherent and you weren’t even able to find their meaning in his expression because his eyes were squeezed so tightly.

“Please, just notice. See it, angel, it’s there.”

Your jaw quivered. He was so close to you. The few words you were able to make out were confusing.

“My oblivious girl. Please.”

“Azriel—”

When he opened his eyes, the world fell off its axis. The fear in your chest—the feeling that had been unraveling you and leaving you weak—alighted. It pulled and pulled but this time it didn’t hurt. It no longer left splinters embedded in your ribs or took the breath from your lungs.

As you looked up at Azriel, it was only soothing and warm and—

Mate. Azriel was your mate.

You pushed back from him, stumbling and catching on the rug as you went toppling down to the floor. There was no pain from the fall; a numbness overtook your body where the warmth once flowed.

“You’re my—Azriel, you—”

There were no endings to the sentences you began. Azriel tried reaching a hand down, but when you wouldn’t take it he joined you on the floor. He sat with you between his legs, bringing you forward until your knees curled against his chest. And then he wrapped you in his arms and then his wings, taking calming breaths as yours ran rampant.

“I am your mate,” he finished for you, so much more soothing than you had ever heard him speak.

“But Elain,” you gasped out, finding solace against his chest. You leaned your forehead against him and relished in the heat.

“What of Elain?” Azriel asked, bringing a hand up against the back of your head.

“You love Elain.”

“I do not love Elain.”

“And Mor?”

“I do not love Mor, either.”

You nodded against him. This would take longer for you to come to terms with later, but only simple answers were getting through to you now. And the bond—the bond—sang as you touched Azriel. The bond didn’t care if you were confused or hurt or disbelieving.

Your mind swam as a new influx of emotions filled you, but there was a distinction to them and you knew they weren’t your own. At first, it was hard to pick through them all; there were so many that they all blended together. There was an obvious tender love, but also a crippling fear that mingled with a darkness you couldn’t place. There was adoration and hopefulness and a sense of peace that lay at the bottom of all else.

But you could tell this peace was new. It wasn’t as deeply ingrained as the others.

Azriel leaned back, craning his neck down to catch your gaze. “Do you feel that?” he asked. When you nodded, he continued. “Those feelings have always belonged to you. All of them. I know there is not a lot of proof of that, and I will spend the rest of my life making up for that, but they have always belonged to you.”

“Have you always felt mine?” you asked, voice sounding unused.

“Since I’ve felt the bond,” he nodded.

“How long have you…”

Azriel sighed, but it wasn’t out of irritation. The bond told you as much. “Months.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “Then why did you never—”

Azriel shushed you as your voice cracked. He ran both hands behind your head and held you steady as his lips pressed to your forehead.

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

Throat still closed, words still choked, you replied, “That is idiotic.”

This time, when Azriel laughed, you felt that pride spark up in your chest. “I know, angel. Gods, do I know that.”

There was a brief pause, a respite to the revelations and emotions in the room. You counted your breaths as you pressed against Azriel, and he ran his hands up and down the length of your spine, chaste kisses pressed to your head as the minutes ticked by.

“Don’t leave.” Azriel broke the silence. “Stay. Please.”

When you didn’t answer, he kept talking.

“You don’t have to love me. I know that is a lot to ask and there are still so many questions left unanswered. But, y/n, I have loved you for a long, long time. I couldn’t bear it if you left. It has been difficult to even function this past week with you avoiding me. If you were to leave—”

“I only avoided you because I thought it wasn’t me,” you interrupted, pulling back once again to meet his gaze. “I thought you didn’t love me and I couldn’t stand it, so I wanted to leave.”

A grim line set into Azriel’s mouth. The desperation returned to his eyes. “We have wasted so much time.”

“I wouldn’t say wasted. Not when you were here. Not when I was still with you.”

“Angel.” The word came out like a plea, and then his lips were on yours. His hands pressed you closer and his mouth was hot against yours and it was everything you’d spent three centuries ignoring. You loved him, gods did you love him, and in this kiss was every proof that he loved you.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, musing the already displaced strands. His wings quivered as you kissed him more, the action sending little pools of light into the bubble he had created. They felt warm against your eyelids, and when you pulled away to see the cause, Azriel moved his attention to your jaw, your cheek, your neck.

“You are my mate,” he affirmed against your skin, low and gravelly. “Mine.”

You pulled his head away, leaning your forehead against his own. “And you are mine.”

“I love you,” he said.

And you couldn’t say it back, not yet. Azriel seemed unperturbed by this and accepted your small smile as a reply, reciprocating it tenfold. His smile shone in the pockets of light created by his wings and his eyes no longer looked sad. It made you want to say it back.

When that guilt flooded you and your mouth parted, there was a tug at the bond instead. You gasped at the feeling, blinking up at Azriel with owlish eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months,” he admitted, smile softening as he ran scarred fingers along your cheeks. “Every time I felt your doubt or fear. I figured I could startle it out of you.”

You rubbed at your chest. “It feels warm. And…” You couldn’t find the words.

“It feels good, angel. This bond was cold and it hurt, but it—it feels good. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

A breathy, awestruck laugh escaped you. “You know, I still have to go to Day for the weekend. It’s court-appointed.”

Azriel groaned, burying his face in your neck. “Then I will come with you,” he grumbled, words muffled against your skin.

“You cannot. But you can wait for me to return and I will come right back here.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfiction

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