#elriel drabble

[lunaatthezoo]

I couldn't resist reposting this drabble @moonfalles and I wrote with the art I commissioned to go along with it.

Moondraw_s created such a lovely, ethereal piece of Elain waiting for her Shadowsinger while he's away on a mission 💕 Read to see what happens when he finally comes home 👀

Art by: @moondraw_s

Commissioned by: me, @lunaatthezoo

Writing by: @lunaatthezoo and @moonfalles

Please do not repost 💖

@elriel-month

[jasmineandcedar]

You already have me

Azriel's confession

An Elriel one shot (Elain’s POV)

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

Warning: sexual content (not explicit)

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had thought of her.

“They’re lovely,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

“It should have been you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain felt him inhale with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[slytherhys]

Night Daisies & Other Excuses - A drabble

A/N: just a silly drabble because a friend gave me this idea and I just had to write something. | divider by @strangergraphics-archive

Azriel hears a twig snap, followed by a sweet, lovely gasp falling from Elain’s lush lips. Her arms tighten around his arm - where they’ve been wrapped around for at least twenty minutes now – and she presses her body further against his side in an attempt to keep still.

Not that he’s complaining. Every whiff of her scent - heady jasmine and sweet honey – nearly brings him to his knees and he has to keep reminding himself that he should be helping her, showing her what he had promised her.

“Do you think it’s close by?” She asks, eyes wide as they stare between the trees, the shadows of night concealing nearly everything.

But not the Cervus Nox – never the Night Court’s native deer.

“There it is.” He murmurs, not able to hide the wonder in his voice. He watches as the deer’s eyes pin him down as it tries to assess a threat. Azriel keeps still, refusing to scare it off before Elain gets a good look at it.

Elain inhales deeply, body nearly shaking with excitement (and he’d know since he can feel it trembling against his side) and he can’t blame her. The deer’s coat is a translucent white, as if painted to reflect moonlight itself; its antlers are wide and tall, onyx so dark they nearly blend into the night. Its eyes sparkle in the night, and Azriel is oddly reminded of his High Lord.

“It’s beautiful.” Elain whispers in awe, squeezing his arm in thanks as she beams up at him. Before he can dismiss her thanks – really, he was delighted to be the one showing her everything the Night Court had to offer – Elain was rising to the tips of her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Azriel goes still, his brain scrambling to find something, anything to say. He clears his throat, aware that Elain is watching him carefully.

“Have you ever heard about the Night Daisies? They grow on a valley just south of the Illyrian Mountains."  He has never felt as thankful for the wildlife of the Night Court as he is tonight. "Perhaps we could try and go see them tomorrow night.” Azriel suggested, pretending the whole time he didn’t just want an excuse to spend more time near her.

Elain smiled softly, the majestic deer all but forgotten as she stared at Azriel instead. “I would love to.” She agreed promptly - pretending the whole time she didn’t have any Night Daises in her garden.

[bloomingdarkgarden]

alternate scene where Elain actually stabs Azriel with the trembling fork and then immediately feels absolutely awful and reactionary about doing so. She takes him to the kitchen to bandage up his hand and pours them both a little whisky for shame and atonement lol. She is incredibly embarrassed but Azriel is like it's fine im dead inside anyway you are very strange and soft and stunning might i spend more time with you.

[soupandstarz]

Imagine Azriel and Elain sitting in the townhouse garden together. Everyone else is away and though he only needed to pick up a report from Nuala he allows himself the indulgence of coming to see her.

Elain is tackling a thorn bush and her hair is getting caught in the brambles so he allows himself yet another indulgence. With utmost tenderness he helps her free herself before beginning to tie her hair in a loose braid.

His scarred hands carefully weave her golden curls into a loose fitting braid as she speaks softly of her new plans for the garden.

Before he realizes it he’s slipping flowers into her hair, snapping off any wayward thorns with his thumb as he lets the blooms say everything he is forbidden to:

Sweet, pink camellias, buttery, yellow daffodils, and pale, white gardenias all dotted her hair.

And when she turned back to him and smiled in that lovely way of hers that melted every part of him, he allowed himself the final indulgence of memorizing every detail before he took off into the sky once more.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

When the Lightsinger Calls (I Hear a Symphony)

An Azriel Drabble

Azriel daydreams of his mate -Inspired by ‘I Hear a Symphony’ by Cody Fry

I used to hear a simple song.

The warm winds of summer blew through the Illyrian mountains as Azriel sat sprawled on a thick branch fifty feet in the air, one leather covered leg dangling as the other stretched across the branch, his back resting against the trunk of an old Oak tree.

Cassian had been butting heads with Devlon for hours. Same shit, different day as they heatedly negotiated new terms for the training of Illyrian females. Devlon, of course, remained as stubborn as an ass. Even after decades of his bullshit, it never failed to chafe Azriel’s nerves that they were under the regime of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history yet had to make nice with stuck-in-their-ways pricks like him. Today in particular had left Azriel feeling less than giving.

Cassian booted Azriel out of negotiations in record time, which admittedly, was likely for the best. Azriel’s dominant stance, deadly gaze, and violent whirling shadows were not best suited for these futile attempts of “sweet talking” Devlon out of his deeply rooted misogyny. If Azriel had his way Truth Teller would do all the talking, but diplomacy unfortunately took precedence.

He may have put up more of a fight when storming out of the Camp Lord’s office had Cassian’s weapon of choice today not had a unique way of toeing that line between diplomacy and force in a way that even Truth Teller could not. No blood spillage necessary, though, Azriel thought with a smirk, the weapon could do just that as well.

The warmth of the suns rays shining through the rustling leaves and the scratch of bark lightly grazing the sensitive membranes of his wings - hitting those spots he could never quite reach - had Azriel drifting off into a light dream state.

As he began to doze, shadows hummed around him, the whistling breeze mixing in with their whirring as they sensed for any incoming threats.

Blending in with their simple song, the creek nearby babbled with the sounds of trickling water, crickets chirped beneath rocks below.

His thoughts became more vivid as his conscience drifted deeper into sleep.

His jaw ticked, wings jerking slightly as he dreamed glimpses of deep red coating his marred skin from the countless souls he’d drawn blood from, lifeless bodies scattered across bloody battlefields, dark cells, the bright flare of roaring fire scalding a child’s hands, his shadows melody becoming broken as they attempted to soothe their master.

The melody became lighter as the flame in his dreams became flashes of light, blurred glimpses of a lovely face appearing in and out of his dreams. A soft laugh intertwined itself with his shadows, the solemn hymn becoming lighter, with vibrant bursts of energy leaving his heart fluttering. More images of the ethereal face flickered through his mind, soft blush dusted cheeks, a radiant white smile, supple fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, plush lips on bare skin, all appearing to the beat of the rising staccato. His lips quirked upward in his sleep as his guard dropped lower and lower and the melody continued growing louder, building into the crescendo of the loveliest symphony he’d heard yet, even in Prythian’s most renowned concert halls.

The music filled Azriel’s entire being, leaving him light as shadow, his flaws forging themselves from ugly into something beautiful, something worthy, as the melody carried his soul toward the light.

Just as his body began to slump out of the tree a sing-song voice brighter than day awoke him. “Careful, Shadowsinger. One might think you’re sleeping on the job.”

He looked down to his beautiful mate, the face his dream had called him to. “My little Lightsinger, did you give Devlon hell?”

She beamed. “Worked a little on him. The girls get seven more hours per week and Cass or I can do spot checks whenever we please. I’ll push for more when we meet again in a few months.”

“That’s my girl.” His eyes shone with the pride filling his chest as he launched out of the tree and swept her off her feet.

“Let’s go home.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose. Azriel only blushed and did just as his lady said, the two falling into companionable silence as her light and his shadow mingled in harmony the entire flight back to Velaris.

And now I hear a symphony.

———————————————-

[violetasteracademic]

Hi ! , if it's not much to ask can you write a small post about Elain and her love of the rain . I know it's not canon but I personally believe she's loved the rain

My love, it is not too much to ask. I cannot think of more wonderful drabble to share! I have a piece called A Sunday Afternoon in Late August that I have reworked a bit to give an Elain Archeron glow-up.

A Rainy Day in Velaris// Elain Archeron

For all the words I've learned in this life, so few can accurately describe the ways in which I love the rain.

Everything wonderful happens when it is raining. The colors of the leaves falling from trees, gold and lilac flowers in the garden- they pop and burst when the sky is cast in grey. It's the slight darkening of the world on a gloomy day that allows the true vibrancy of color to shine through, and I remember that brightness is not the only way beauty is revealed.

I open my windows wide, watching in rapt fascination as the water warps the wood. The pattering on my windowsill sounds just like the tempo of falling in love, and in an instant my heart is primed to do just that. I don my coziest cloak and set out for the glittering streets of Velaris to shop for my favorite seeds, spices, and flowers found at the Palace of Bone and Salt. And perhaps today I'll discover a new favorite thing. The possibilities always feel more within reach when the earth is damp and greedily drinking this gift from the clouds, a gift that will surely help a stunted bud find the strength it needs to bloom.

The smell of rain-soaked cobblestone's evokes something ancient and mysterious. I tilt my head to the weeping sky and time moves like a softened blur. On the days when the weight of my visions and the decisions that lie ahead feel too much to bear, a rainy day in Velaris is all I need to feel grounded once again. I am reminded of how many years these buildings have stood. How many storms the bricks and stones have weathered. And when the streets are coated with blood and ash, it is the rain that washes away the stains.

Then there is the moment after it rains. The world glows gently in a way that wouldn't be possible if that light breaking through the clouds was not still blending with the gloom. Velaris is at its most wonderous like this, in the place where light and dark meet.

Perhaps the same will be true for me.

There is so much about my new life that I still don't understand. So many questions I have about who I am and what I am meant to do. It is so easy to drown it it, to become lost to the darkness and the memories.

But when it's raining, I am both old and young. I am ancient and new. I am all encompassing, and yet so very small.

I breathe in the crisp air, and I hold on to how beautiful it is to feel everything and nothing at the same time. For the plunking staccato to drown out the noise inside my mind.

Only in the rain.

[theladyofdeath]

Elriel: Azriel comes home from a long mission to find elain dancing and singing while cleaning

A/N: Thank you for the prompt! I love me some Elriel. Also, it took everything in me not to put a Mrs. Doubftire vacuuming gif here...lol. I hope you enjoy this sweet little fluff! Warnings: None

Azriel was familiar with exhaustion but it didn't make it any easier. Struggling to keep his eyes open, Azriel landed on the grass outside of his townhouse with a yawn. He'd flown for hours after leading an interrogation that would make the strongest of warriors weary, and every ounce of strength he had left was wavering.

For a moment, he did nothing but stand in the grass, trying to find his bearings. Once he decided that he wouldn't fall over, he put one dusty boot in front of the other and made his way to the front door.

It was quite humorous. A giant Illyrian warrior, clad in worn leathers, walking across the bright green lawn while covered in blood and dirt...It looked like chaos walking through a joyful painting. Azriel felt out of place.

He'd always felt a little out of place, though. This was nothing new. He seemed to always be a blight of darkness in the midst of a brighter world, it was a feeling he'd gotten used to.

The front steps squeaked as he walked up them, each wooden floorboard creaking under his weight. He'd had them for at least fifty years. It was probably time that they were replaced.

He raised his hand to twist the knob but froze, and a smile soon twisted his tired lips. The sweetest, most melodic sound filled the house and greeted him at the threshold. Elain was not one for singing - at least, not when anyone was present. But, her voice was soft, gentle, soothing. She was singing an old folk tale, and although it was of the human lands, Azriel knew bits and pieces of it.

As quietly as possible, he twisted the knob and walked inside.

Elain was in the corner of the foyer, dusting an end table that held a vase full of flowers, singing without a care in the world. As she sang, her body swayed, and just when she twirled, she caught sight of Azriel.

And screamed.

The scream was abrupt but very much warranted considering there was a filthy Illyrian warrior standing unexpectedly at the threshold.

"Why'd you stop?" Azriel asked, after a second while Elain caught her breath. "I was enjoying the show."

Her startled expression soon turned to one of joy. Elain dropped the feather duster and hurried across the vast space between them and threw herself into Azriel's arms - dirt and blood be damned.

Azriel held her close and breathed her in, forgetting everything he had just endured. After months apart and endless nights spent wishing he was at home with her, he had a sudden sense of wholeness.

When Elain leaned back, her eyes were misty. "I've missed you. I wasn't expecting you home yet."

"Is that why you're running around the house cleaning, dancing, and singing in one of my tunics?" he asked slyly.

Elain's cheeks darkened. "Perhaps."

"Don't stop on my account," he mumbled, and kissed her slowly. The kiss was comforting, and although passionate, it was a simple reminder that they had missed one another in Azriel's absence. It felt like coming home.

"Can I draw you a bath?" Elain whispered, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Only if you'll join me," he replied, and although Elain's cheeks reddened once more, she pulled his hand until the front door was closed and they were making their way up the stairs.

They wouldn't come back downstairs for the rest of the night, leaving the feather duster where it laid tiredly on the tile.

[elliemarchetti]

Rotten Petals, Rotten Feelings

Sad Elriel drabble for my alphabet of flowers prompt list.

Modern AU, modern proof reading (which is none).

Part 2 if you're interested in Gwyn's POV

Prompt: Magnolia – Dignity

Words:685

Elain couldn't stop looking at the photo Feyre had sent her. It had been taken the previous evening, at Rita's. Elain hadn't wanted to join the outing organized by Cassian for his birthday, and not because she didn't love her sister's boyfriend, but because she didn't want to see Azriel. What had happened between them wasn’t a situationship, but it couldn’t even be called a simple friendship. They had kissed at the Christmas party, hidden in a corridor whose lights had remained off the whole evening. They had exchanged meaningful gifts in secret, away from prying eyes, and months of sexual tension had finally resulted in a kiss under the mistletoe. They had parted only when they heard approaching footsteps, and though they had been quick to go their separate ways, Elain was certain that Rhysand had caught them. For days she had been waiting for him to call, or at least text – he had her number, after all – but he never did, nor did he seem in the mood to broach the issue the next time they met. It had taken weeks before she’d found him alone, and he’d been quick to tell her he couldn’t give her what she wanted, even thought Elain never told him what she actually expected. So, with a cold and calculated sentence, whatever had blossomed between them had died in the bud, like flowers bloomed too early on a particularly warm winter day and caught off guard by the following frost.

It's all over now, she told herself when the weather started to get warmer, and her friends returned from their respective expensive holidays. By the time spring arrived, she was sure she no longer had any feelings for the elusive and mysterious guy who had stolen her heart during a snowy day.

It was just a stupid crush, it's normal to have those at twenty-three, she reminded herself when her beautiful garden began to paint the view from her room with the colours of the rainbow. She had believed it, she had felt healed, until Feyre had sent her that photo. She knew her sister hadn’t done it in bad faith. It was among many others, one of the usual reports she did when someone couldn’t attend this or that event. Only this time Azriel, who usually shied away from the camera, was featured in one of the shots, along with a red-haired beauty. The lucky stranger looked like a model, her cerulean off-the-shoulder dress something Elain would never have thought of wearing. It wasn’t overly revealing per se, but it seemed too sexy to be worn in public, more like a sleeved slip than an actual item of clothing. Her long, lean legs, so athletic they removed any doubt about her gym-goer routine, were accentuated by tight vintage boots, and every inch of exposed skin was covered in adorable freckles. Her manicured hands were resting on Azriel’s broad shoulders, halfway between the biceps and the deltoids, and their lips were united in a passionate kiss, decidedly more sensual than the one he and Elain had exchanged.

He's over me, was the first thought that crossed her mind when she saw the proof, but now she was spiralling into more self-deprecating ideas.

“I wasn’t enough,” she murmured, as she sat in the shade of her blooming magnolia. The petals of the flowers on the branches were beautiful, silky, fading from a deep pink at the base to the purest white at the tips, but the ones on the ground, the ones surrounding her, had already started to rot, an eyesore in contrast with the green and healthy grass.

In a fit of anger, or perhaps of newfound dignity, she deleted the photo along with all the others of Azriel she still had on her phone. There was no point in pining over someone who had dismissed her so quickly. For good measure, she also unfollowed him on social media, and deleted his number, to avoid asking for an explanation there really wasn’t any need for. He didn’t want her, and that should’ve been enough to move on.

[duskandcobalt]

ya’ll think I can keep this under 5k words? I’m still writing the build up l o l

[mahalachives]

Part 3: Plot? I Don’t Know Her. But Azriel Does.

Summary: You were just rereading A Court of Thorns and Roses in bed when the universe decided to yeet you straight into Prythian, landing face-first in Rhysand’s lap. Now, you're a pajama-clad disaster with Cheeto fingers, emotionally harassing Azriel, befriending Mor, verbally sparring with the High Lords, and naming feral chickens after the Shadowsinger. You may not know why you’re here, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to make it everyone's problem.

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

Elain blinked up at you from the velvet armchair, A Court of Mist and Fury open in her lap.

Her voice was calm. Too calm. “What’s… fanfic?”

Everyone turned.

You grinned.

Rhysand whispered, “Cauldron boil me.”

Cassian perked up, excited like a toddler about to learn a new swear word. “Yeah, what is fanfic?”

Mor leaned forward. “Wait, is it like… stories? About us?”

You clasped your hands together. “Oh, sweet summer children. Fanfiction is the sacred art of writing stories about fictional people doing things they should have done but didn’t. It is love. It is chaos. It is 300,000-word slow burns and 1,000-word smutty drabbles written at 2 a.m. with tears and snacks.”

Azriel, from his shadowy corner, muttered, “That sounds… excessive.”

You turned, eyes gleaming. “Azriel. My broody bat. My tragic Victorian husband. There are millions of words written about you.”

He blinked. “Why.”

Cassian leaned forward. “Yeah, why?”

You smirked. “Because, my dear Illyrian himbo, some of us are emotionally unstable and project our issues onto mysterious males with wings and trauma.”

Rhysand slowly slid to the floor. “We’re in hell.”

“Oh no,” you corrected, pulling out your phone (yes, Helion glamour-spelled it to work in Prythian, bless that man). “We’re in AO3.”

Feyre frowned. “AO3?”

“Archive of Our Own,” you said, reverently. “Where the smut flows freely and the plot is optional.”

Elain tilted her head. “What kind of stories do they write?”

You hesitated. “Well, Elain, how comfortable are you with the phrase ‘knife kink’?”

Feyre made a noise. Rhysand choked on air. Azriel just left the room.

Cassian gasped. “Wait. I have a kink?”

You grinned. “Oh, honey. You have several.”

Nesta covered her face. “I hate this. I hate everything.”

Mor was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I love this.”

You scrolled through your phone, tapping furiously. “Okay. Okay. Listen to this summary: ‘Azriel x Reader. Hurt/comfort. Enemies to lovers. She breaks his nose with a pan. They kiss in the rain.’”

There was a pause.

Then Cassian said, “...Was that based on a true story?”

You looked up. “Not yet.”

You kept scrolling. “Here’s another: ‘Azriel has a pet cat named Murder. Reader is a librarian with anger issues. They fall in love after he gets banned from the library for brooding too loud.’”

Feyre burst out laughing.

Rhysand crawled behind the couch. “Stop. I’m begging.”

You kept going. “Ooh! Here’s a spicy one: ‘The Shadowsinger has needs… and she is willing.’”

Azriel re-entered the room, heard that, and immediately turned around and left again.

“AZRIEL, WAIT,” you called after him. “I HAVE A MODERN AU WHERE YOU’RE A BARISTA WITH TATTOOS WHO SECRETLY WRITES POETRY!”

He did not come back.

Cassian was now on the floor again, wheezing. “Please. Please read more. Do I have any?”

You nodded solemnly. “You are the people’s himbo.”

He looked proud. “I don’t know what that means, but I accept it.”

Nesta was reading over your shoulder now, silently mouthing the phrase ‘tail kink?’ before looking at Cassian like he had explaining to do.

Cassian winked. “It’s canon.”

You turned to Elain, who was quietly reading a fic on your phone titled “Sunlight and Shadows: An Elriel Fanfic.”

She looked up at you, expression oddly serious. “Do… do they all want us together?”

You hesitated. “Uh. Yes. But also… no. Some people ship you with Lucien. Some ship you with Azriel. Some ship you with that one flower you picked in Chapter Twelve.”

Rhysand peeked over the couch. “...Do I have fanfics?”

You gave him a long look. “Rhysand, people have written smut where you turn into a literal shadow tentacle monster.”

He stared.

Feyre slowly turned to look at him.

Rhysand vanished with a soft whoosh of darkness.

“Every time I think we’ve reached peak chaos,” Mor said, “you raise the bar.”

Nesta was now flipping through your phone, face unreadable. “...You said there’s a fanfic where I murder Beron with a hairpin and then make out with Cassian on the throne of flames?”

You nodded. “It has over 80,000 kudos.”

She smiled. “I’d read that.”

“I’d live that,” Cassian said.

You leaned back, grinning like the menace you were. “So. Weekly book club. We alternate between canon and fanfic. Bonus points for smut.”

“Seconded,” Mor said.

“Thirded,” Cassian added.

Elain nodded. “I’m in.”

Feyre shrugged. “Sure.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at Cassian. “Fine. But only if you read them out loud.”

Cassian paled. “Wait- what?”

Azriel’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I will set this house on fire.”

And you?

You curled up in a pile of pillows, heart full of chaos and questionable taste in fiction, and whispered, “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

To be continued...

(Next time: Azriel accidentally reads a smut fic about himself and questions the very fabric of reality.)

[lunaatthezoo]

Waiting for Azriel ♡

A little drabble written back and forth through messages between me and @moonfalles 🫶

Azriel walks through the door in the early hours of dawn to see Elain leaned against the wall, waiting for his return, wearing nothing but a whisper of silk, the straps already off her shoulders and hanging from her breasts.

"You're home late."

She allows her arms to drop to her sides, letting the top half of her dress fall and expose her perfect, soft breasts, as she approaches Azriel.

“Are you hungry? I can heat up some of the breakfast I prepared.”

He slowly chews his lip as he approaches her, his eyes roaming her supple body. "That's not what I'm hungry for."

Elain pretends not to catch his insinuation. She hums and tries to walk past him to the kitchen. “Then I’ll prepare some tea for you.”

She doesn't miss where Azriel’s eyes are glued.

He prowls after her and grips her by the hips, stopping her, lowering his mouth to the crook of her neck.

“My love, would you not hold me after my absence?” Azriel steps closer, until his chest is pressed up to her back. “I rushed home from my mission as fast as I could.”

Elain answers with a cheeky tone, teasing him. "Did you expect me to sit around waiting and pining after you all night?"

He raises his head and an eyebrow at her barely-there ensemble. "It seems you have been doing at least some waiting and pining."

Elain hums as she feels Azriel’s hands brush up her sides, towards the underside of her breasts.

“I couldn’t sleep nor eat. I missed you far too much,” Azriel confesses, finally cupping her heavy breasts in his palms.

"Azriel," she chides through a sigh as he again presses tender kisses to her neck. "You must eat and sleep. I can't have you withering away."

“I will. After,” he promises with a heated gaze and knowing smirk, as he easily scoops her up bridal style, carrying her into their bedroom.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[jasmineandcedar]

An out-of-body experience | Pathetically obsessed 2

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV)

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

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

Warning: sexual content (not explicit)

------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel swallowed hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That definitely wasn’t it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel was absolutely out of his body at this point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain stilled.

So did Azriel.

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

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

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

Bend her over?

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

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

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

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

She peered up at him through her lashes.

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

Was she… pouting?

Azriel swallowed hard again.

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

Yes—she was pouting.

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

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

“I know you would, sweetheart.”

Bless the Mother for she had resurrected him.

------

This is part two of Pathetically obsessed.

Part 1: He had seen the light

Part 2: An out-of-body experience

Part 3: Death glares at family dinners

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

[slytherhys]

Per your open drabble request for Elriel i present to you this sinworthy sentence which you can choose to ignore if you wish:

The last thing Azriel expected at 6:05 in the morning was for Elain to be preparing pastry naked, but....

I am absolutely not ignoring this. Enjoy 🤭

Elriel Month Drabble 2 - Sweet Dreams

The last thing Azriel expected to find in his kitchen at six in the morning was a flour-speckled Elain, mixing cinnamon and milk into a container while humming peacefully.

He blinked. Blinked again, wondering if he was still lying in bed, dead asleep and having the sweetest fucking dream he’d ever had the pleasure of having.

Because Elain was very, very naked.

Standing in his kitchen, the colours of dawn painting her skin, she was temptation personified, a wicked goddess sent to bring him to his knees. Azriel nearly groaned, watching her delicious curves as she kept to her task, completely oblivious to him watching her. She bit her lip, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and it was it took for him to stop pretending he had any self-restraint when it came to her.

He saw the moment she became aware of his presence – her shoulders lowering, goosebumps covering her soft skin. She barely startled when he pressed himself against her back, one scarred hand going to the dip of her waist, the other pulling away the curtain of hair hiding her from his view. He felt her relax against his hold, sighing contently when he dropped a kiss to her shoulder; then one to her neck, her jaw, her cheek.  

“You’re leaving, already?” She asked, a bit breathless.

“Fuck no.” He muttered against her cheek. “Not even Rhys could make me leave this house without having a taste of this.”

“Oh,” She chuckled softly. “These still need to go in the oven.” She was panting, squirming against his hold. He squeezed her hip in warning.

“I’m not talking about the pastries, Elain.” He rasped. “Now be a good girl and bend over the counter.”

[eternalstarrlight]

Death & the Maiden

(I didn't plan to write anything for Elriel Month, but somehow THIS happened lol. I suddenly started getting ideas that were demanding to be written... so I just complied... because, why not? I love Elriel, and it's nice to jot stuff down for funsies lol. So, here's a little drabble for the Death & the Maiden prompt. I may do some of the other ones, but still deciding. Anyway, enough of my rambling, onward to the story!)

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Author's Note: Please keep comments civil, and if you're offended by that ask, I'm probably talking to you. To everyone else, please enjoy reading! 💙

I do not own ACOTAR, nor any of it's affiliated characters, this is merely fanfiction to read and gush over.⚘️

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Death stared at the Maiden from the shadows of the forest's edge. She was not aware of his presence, but he did not expect her to be.

He had not come to bother her, nor make himself known. No, he merely wanted to catch a glimpse of her. To bask in the peace of her presence if only for a moment.

She was resplendent, bathed in the glow of the morning sun as she meandered through her blossoming meadow, stopping to gather blooms.

A more breathtaking sight he'd never beheld.

Death only allowed himself to come steal a glance of her when the burden of his task became too great... the weight too much to bear.

For she was everything he was not.

Goodness... Light... Love... Hope...

Life.

The exact thing he took away. The one thing he could never experience. For his life was death.

Even still, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to meet the Maiden face-to-face.

Would she cower before him as so many did? Flee at the mere sight of him? He was a monster afterall, inducing terror and leaving only despair in his wake...

Or perhaps, maybe... she would offer him a smile. Her hand, as she invited him to stroll with her for awhile. Despite what many believed, Death was not heartless, he felt many a thing, even when he wished he didn't.

But it was times like this, that held these secret, fleeting moments, he was grateful to feel. For the Maiden somehow had become his hope, a light that scattered the darkness...

She made him believe that Life would prevail over Death.

And he loved her for it.

[rahjasmine]

Elriel Headcanon/drabble

When Azriel was taking flight from the balcony of the house of wind to bring Elain to the townhouse she tensed as they became airborne, burrowing her face against his shoulder and tensing. He whispered in her ear, just loud enough to be heard over the wind, “Ive got you, you’re safe with me.”

And he kept his word, bringing her all the way into the townhouse that has just as many protection wards on it as the city itself. Rather than dropping her off outside on the front steps.

And this is why she shows no fear when he takes her in his arms in preparation to run out of the hyburn camp. She knew she was safe with him. Knows that he will see her to safety. And he does. He doesn’t put her down on the outside of camp, he walks her all the way to absolute safety.