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nikethestatue · 3 days

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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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ladyveravincent · 2 days

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Something Much More than Love

Excerpt from Chapter 20

“And I think that the daises next to the- ?” The light bells of the clock chimed, causing Elain to blush as she realized the hour.

“Oh Gods! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to babble about garden plans for… three hours ?” The copious amounts of liquor caught up with her as she let out a deep infectious laugh, drunk and dizzy with delight until she fell onto a chuckling Azriel's shoulder.

Had there ever been a happier Solstice? He didn’t know. On top of the blue embroidered towels from Mor lay the headache powder, perhaps the funniest and most endearing gift he received throughout his five centuries on Earth. When he saw Mor’s gift, the old familiarity of his affection seemed duller than usual, even a pang at the memory of a male who enjoyed love from far away, so if it left, it would not hurt.

But this? This was pure. No pain, no confusion, just ease and laughter. He had pined for Elain since he met her, but two nights ago, something shifted. When she fixed his plate at dinner, it transformed his inhibitions into vulnerabilities. He didn’t want to admire from afar, he wanted to listen to any word that could pass through her lips, worried if he spoke he’d miss something important.

He had loved Mor, for centuries. But perhaps he did not know how happy love could be until he met Elain. Perhaps love did not require sacrifice and pain. Perhaps real love was the eagerness to learn anything about another soul simply because of its existence. Unconditional love was foreign to Azriel. His mother was a rare spirit, he received that undying affection from Jophiel, but he never considered that sort of love could exist romantically.

Now he knew.

But he still was a coward. He couldn’t admit what he felt for Elain, but he knew it would bloom into something very, very pure.

“No! No, keep going, I think you were getting to the oak trees by the irises-” They were laughing too hard, their noses touching, liquor on their breath, and happiness on their tongues.

Honey. Jasmine. Happiness. Peace. That’s what love was like now.

He was so happy she decided to stay.

Her head rolled slightly, sleepiness and alcohol causing the lids of her lovely brown eyes to become heavy, in a so very endearing way. Elain was a beautiful woman, but a divine Fae. Did she know how often he thought of her upon waking? That he wondered how she looked in the morning light as she breathed away her dreams? What did she look like when she brushed her curls, or when she bathed her smooth skin? Did she like warm or cold bathwater, and did she know the ways she could touch herself to bring a blush to those cheeks? Could he ever help her find out?

“You deserve more,” she said and pointed to his empty whiskey glass. How true her statement rang. He glanced at the packet of thistles that lay next to the garden plans, a gift given away from the eyes of his family. With glee, Elain exclaimed thistle was the flower she unsuccessfully searched all of Velaris for in the fall, and couldn't believe he got his hands on the seeds. He neglected to tell her he went to the continent that fall when he noted she looked for it on market stall shelves for months. It seemed so small a gift, though, she seemed not to mind, but rather, touched. If he ever got over his cowardice, he'd make sure the following Solstices were filled with gifts fit for a Lady.

The Lady in question stumbled over to the cabinet, stopped to pick her poison, and decided on a bottle of port.

“Ha!” she squealed with delight and took a large swing.

“Keep that up, and Cas and I will have to take the blame. No one will believe it was you.” She held up her hand to silence him as her gulps continued. He got up to take it from her, but she backed away, her eyes never leaving his.

“Elain, you really want to get me in trouble?” He already was in trouble.

“Mmmmh!” she kept going until he glanced up in shock.

“Oh Gods! Rhys, we’re so sorry,” She turned beet red and instantly let the bottle drop to hide it behind her skirts, and in one quick swipe, Az had the port at his lips.

“You!” she screeched in delight and beat her fists on his arms as he walked away, the bottle going down smoothly.

“Oh, sorry?” With one eye closed, he looked down the neck of the bottle. “You wanted some?” Elain raised it to her lips, and he burst out laughing when only a drop remained.

“Fine. For having to listen to me drawl about begonias for four hours.”

“I didn’t mind,” he answered truthfully.

“No male is that patient, you're just polite.”

“Well, your very thoughtful present remains unused. So you know I tell the truth,” he said. With a wide smile, she sat down on the floor against the couch.

“Good, because we all know that you’ll be using double whenever I’m around,” she replied, and he plopped next to her, very happy she let him lean into her body.

“Triple for everyone else,” he remarked and tapped her foot with his boot. After a moment's pause, she reached out to squeeze his hand.

“Thank you.” He blushed bright red.

“What for?”

“Everything.” He simply nodded.

For months, Azriel sought out Elain to make sure she was still in Velaris, in the hopes his friendship would convince her to stay. He was ashamed his family assumed she would adjust to Fae life with no resistance, that their not-so-subtle teas with Lucien wouldn’t encourage her to run back to the human lands. They underestimated her fighting spirit, and wrote off her silence for acceptance, relegating her to a pitiful damsel. She was anything but.

That clever girl visited any library in Velaris and figured out in less than two months what Amren took centuries to plan. When he glanced at her notes, he was not just impressed, he was terrified. Through her detailed and thorough cursive musings, he came to realize Elain was nothing short of a genius.

While she so easily tricked each family member into thinking she was content to bake and garden, he caught the Seer studying notes under the table or saw candles aglow from her bedroom window at midnight while the shadows of a furiously scribbling quill danced on the walls. And no one was the wiser until tonight’s dinner. Even then, did they know how much she knew?

He only agreed to help because he knew what it was like to be a stranger in a strange land in an even stranger body.

“What’s your home like?” she asked.

“My home?”

“Illyria.” When she said it, his home sounded real. She had been once before, very briefly, in the haze of her early days as Fae, but by the wonder she wore upon her face, she wanted to hear about his home. Not the land itself.

“It’s-” Shouts and fists from his father and generals filled his ears, images of his mother as a starved servant flashed through his mind. But they dissipated when he saw the mountains.

“I come from a place where its people are like the mountains.” He raised her soft hand and drew several peaks into her palm.

“We bow to no God, for the mountains bow to no one, not even the wind.” He gently whistled a low ancient tune and she mimicked him.

“Ramiel is the heart of our land.” Her skin was so soft, and he relished drawing a circle over a faded cut from a thorn.

“And in the spring for one week, there are three stars above, Arktos.” How would her skin feel against his?

“Carynth.” Did she taste like honey too?

“And Oristes.” He pressed each star onto the tops of her fingers.

“That is the symbol of Night Court, the mountain with the stars.” What unknown thoughts lay inside that brilliant mind?

“Beautiful,” she said, mapping the steppes and stars on his palm. He nodded when she remembered each valley and peak.

“Illyrians are warriors. When we are very young, males are put into training camps across the land. I trained at a camp called Windhaven, which is how I met Rhys and Cas.” He took a breath to say more, but Elain started to trace the tattoos that traveled up his arm.

“What do they mean?” she asked, her large brown eyes filled with such a pure curiosity. He tried to suppress his proud smile when he rolled up his sleeve to show her more.

“They are given to warriors for luck and glory on the battlefield. I got them in honor of my mother,” he said as her finger traced an intricate swirl. No touch had ever been so divine. “I, uh, do not come from a noble background, so I wanted her to have a son that bore the marks of a Lord’s son. To know her hard work was worth something.”

“She must be very proud of you.”

“I would like to think so,” he said sheepishly. It was easier to say one’s son was a warrior than to admit they were an executioner.

“You know, Azriel,” his head jerked up in shock. She had never called him by his name. But to hear it from her lips was nothing short of life itself.

“I don’t remember much when I first came to Night Court, but I do remember your scars. And I used to think they reminded me of the bark of trees. But now,” she raised to examine them, “I see they are like the stone that forms mountains. You wear your lineage on your hands very, very well.”

“Oh, no, that’s- I um, I-” his breath came fast, and the tears of shock started to well.

“Yes, I see raises and ridges, stars, and rivers. What do you see?”

“I see,” he bit back tears but kept a stoic face, “I see a young boy whose hands were set on fire by his half-brothers, and I hear the word bastard on their lips and I feel my father’s anger and I search- I search for,” he turned toward a wide-eyed Elain, eyes full of sympathy. Not pity, but sympathy.

“I search for light,” he finished. She glanced over her shoulder as pink and orange hues filled the room, dawn around them.

“Seems like you found it,” she said.

This was something much, much more than love.

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

#a03 fanfic #elain #elain x azriel #elriel #fanfic #azriel #azriel and elain #azriel x elain #actoar

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