#elrielmonth25

Elain looked to her side, the beautiful dress that Feyre had laid out for her, a soft pink, with ruffles on many skirts and flowers embroidered on it, a light puff on the sleeves. This had to be a dream, she'd never seen such a beautiful dress before, she picked it up, placing it over her form to admire in the mirror, "Aww..." She cooed at herself, already imagining herself wearing it later for Solstice.

I hadn't heard it in a while

My boredom's bone-deep

With soft steps, Elain Archeron padded down to the main halls bustling with activity, Feyre and Cassian already two bottles deep on wine, Azriel and Rhysand reprimanding the pair as they tried to fix the decorations. She found herself smiling at the scene, even if a hollow filled her, she wished to join them, her family, and laugh with them. Still, she sneaked past them and into the kitchen to find her new friends, Nuala and Cerridwen, already cooking.

In the latest days, baking and cooking brought her peace. Donning an apron to begin kneading dough, feeling it melt under her hand, she loved showing her love for her family through food. As she watched the dough rise in the oven, Feyre came to talk to her, her words bringing up memories of her talk with Nesta.

This cage was once just fine

Am I allowed to cry?

She shook her head of the memories, not wanting to think of it. She sliced through bread, giving Feyre quick and short replies, not wanting to think of how Nesta had just left after the war. How she stopped reaching out, and when Elain tried to reach her, she'd yelled at her like never before.

She turned away, telling her sister she was fine, everything was alright.

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks

As the rest of the Inner Circle walked in, Cassian approached her, pressing a kiss to her cheek before he lifted her out of the way, and Elain smiled despite herself.

She greeted everyone as they went by, Amren nodding, Mor greeting with a kiss to both her cheeks, Rhysand simply shaking his head at his brother, giving her a smile.

Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox

Then he walked in, a glass of wine in hands, wings folding back to reveal a simple pair of black pants and shirt, his shadows melting to the corners of the room, to reveal his face fully to her.

Elain's throat went dry, stilled as she looked him over in all his beauty, the way he carried himself, the way he turned to her. She didn't even realize when Feyre left to take a seat.

"Hello..." She whispered, as if time itself stood still.

He stepped closer. Her eyes were white.

I'm seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

His hands, those scared, beautiful hands over her waist, drenched in combined sweat, back arched, moans falling from her lips. She could feel the thick length of his cock driving home inside her wet, warm, cunt. Home.

An imprint of his cock pressed in her abdomen, he was too much, too much in the perfect way as his hands gripped the plush skin of her hips, pulling her closer as she cried, almost painfully, lost in pleasure, "Ah- Ah- Ah-"

Breathy moans in the air as she covered her face to drown the sounds.

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

His hands scratched down her thighs, wrapping them around his waist for a better angle to go deeper, as if it was even possible, his cock pressed against her walls, kissing her cervix with each thrust.

He moved his hands between their bodies, finger rubbing circle's around her clit. Her legs trembled as he put pressure on her sensitive clit, the inner muscles of her cunt gripping her tightly.

They moved as one, sounds of skin slapping against skin, her moans, his grunts, the only sounds audible.

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

Her hips bucked wildly, meeting each powerful thrust, taking him impossibly deeper. The stimulation on her clit sent shockwaves through her body, pushing her closer to the edge.

With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt, his hot seed erupting deep inside her spasming cunt. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over her, making her toes curl and her back arch off the bed.

They rode out the aftershocks, gasping for breath as he collapsed on top of her, still buried deep within her quivering heat. Their sweaty bodies stuck together, heartbeats syncing in the aftermath of their passionate coupling.

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Elain blinked, snapping out of her vision, a blush colouring her cheeks as she looked at a now concerned Azriel, hoping he wouldn't be able to scent her arousal.

"Sit. I'll take care of it." Azriel said instead, taking he dish she was holding.

Elain stood silently with her hands still out, as if still dazed, heart hammering from the vision she had of his—their future. "I—I’ll be right back."

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

She rushed out, breathing heavily as she closed the door to her room, looking at herself in the mirror, the vision still clear in her head, of his hands, her body pressed into hers, the way he touched her.

Shaking her head, she entered the bath, washing her face, and sighing. She let her eyelids flutter shut, allowing the cold water against her skin to calm her racing thoughts. But the vivid images persisted, seared into her mind. The feel of his strong arms around her, the taste of his mouth, the sound of his ragged breaths.

I keep these longings locked

In lowercase, inside a vault

She sat at the edge of the tub, letting her hair fall over her shoulders, threading her fingers through it. Slowly, she soothed her heart, calming it of the feeling she held so close to her heart, slowly braiding her hair as she tried to empty her mind of it.

She stepped out of her room, apron off, hair redone, with a nod to herself as she made her way downstairs, to where her family was feasting

As she descended the stairs, the savory aromas wafting from the dining hall filled her senses, grounding her in the present moment. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering haze of desire that clung to her like a second skin.

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

"Please don’t wait on my account," Elain took her seat at the head of the table, noting how no one had started eating. Cassian glaring a Azriel. Azriel ignoring him.

She looked around, feeling a layer of tension in the air as she reached out to start filling her plate with food, Cassian only starting until she was done, making her wonder if something had happened, with the way Cassian had glared at Azriel, if the shadowsinger was behind none of them eating before she returned.

"Still getting used to it?" Feyre broke the silent tension, asking Amren, the ancient being, now a normal High Fae, Elain relaxed.

These fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me, we've already done it in my head

Elain stood silently on the night of Winter Solstice, studying the darkness of the sky, looking deep into the abyss. She'd had another vision during dinner, nights before, him and her, tangled together, declarations of love were said, of commitment, of belonging.

And all that had triggered the vision was her stretching before getting up, her feet nudging against his.

He stirred slightly, then wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, "Always. You and me."

She smiled, turning her head to capture his lips in a slow, sensual kiss, pouring all her feelings into it, wanting him to know how much he meant to her. They stood there for a long while, lost in each other, the world fading away until they heard the distant chime of the clock tower signalling midnight.

If it's make-believe

Why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

Elain caught Feyre moving towards her from the corner of her eye, but the voice she heard wasn't her's.

"Happy Solstice." Azriel whispered from the opposite side, his voice soft, gentle, no sigh of the scary warrior she'd heard he was.

She turned to face him with a smile, finally looking away from the snow.

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, deep, joyous as he held the gift Elain had got for him, headache powder, since he rubbed his temples so often. The sound was unlike anything anyone in the Inner Circle had ever heard.

Cassian and Rhysand joined in, Cassian held the bottle from his brother's hands, turning to Elain, "Brilliant."

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

Elain blushed at his words, at the way Azriel now looked at her, hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. "Thank you. This will be invaluable."

Elain's breath got caught in her throat, his gaze never leaving hers, as if he was drinking in every detail of her expression, the flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. In that moment, Elain felt seen, truly understood, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

My bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name

Building up like waves crashing over my grave

Groaning above him, she went up and down his thick length, in the secrecy of his home, her cunt swallowing up his cock, her hips moved downwards, moving in a sensual rhythm as she rode him, taking him deep inside her with each downward motion. The leathers creaked softly with the friction of their joining, the only sound amidst the stillness of the night.

His hands gripped her waist, guiding her movements as he watched her, mesmerized by the erotic dance of their bodies entwined. His breath hitched as he felt her clench around him, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through his veins. "You're more than invaluable to me."

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

His words were a whisper, a vow, a promise of things yet to come. And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet intimacy of the night.

His hands tightened on her waist as he pulled her down harder onto his thick shaft, burying himself to the hilt inside her tight, wet heat. He groaned low in his throat, overcome by the intensity of their connection, the way her body seemed made to fit perfectly with his.

Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them—this was more than just physical attraction. There was a depth, a richness to their bond that neither wanted to ignore or deny.

What if I roll the stone away?

They're gonna crucify me anyway

She stood in the River House, quite after the Winter Solstice, her soft steps padding alone, when her eyes landed on Azriel. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.

"I..." She swallowed, a gift in her hands, "I was coming to leave this in a pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier." She lied.

The gift, something to put in his ears, to block the sounds Cassian and Nesta undoubtedly made

What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me

Her mate was just a level up, but the way Azriel chuckled, with him was where she wanted to be. "I wasn't sure if I should give you your gift." He whispered.

He couldn't do it in front of him, of their family, and Elain understood, feeling a tension shift in the air as he pulled a velvet box from his shadows.

Elain sucked in a breath, exaling softly seeing the pretty necklace nestled between the plush cussions, his shadows shifting off him and into the darkness.

They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly

I choose you and me religiously

"It's beautiful." She breathed, taking the necklace, admiring it, a thing of secret, lovely beauty. Hues of red, pink and white. She looked up at him as his shadows took the box away, "Put it on me?"

She exposed her back to him, feeling him sweep her hair to the side, exposing her neck to him. Scarred fingers on his neck, almost melting at his touch. Azriel took his time to clip the necklace around her neck, making Elain shudder softly. She turned on her heel to face him, standing so close yet so far, his hand flat against the back of her neck.

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

He knelt in front of her, face hidden in the layers of her dress, licking and sucking at her cunt, his tongue delving deep into her folds, lapping up her juices as he savored her sweet flavor. His hands roamed her curves, caressing and kneading the soft flesh of her hips and thighs. He loved the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the very essence of her.

His tongue circled her clit, flicking gently before applying steady pressure, drawing out her pleasure. He could feel her trembling, hear her soft moans echoing, spurring him on to bring her to the brink of ecstasy.

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

She moaned, gripping his head through the dress as he continued to feast on her cunt, his tongue probing, swirling, suckling, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Her grip on his hair tightened, nails digging in as she struggled to stay upright, overwhelmed by the intense sensations coursing through her body.

His tongue plunged deeper, fucking her with long, slow strokes as he devoured her dripping core. He could feel her walls clenching around his invading tongue, her juices flowing freely, coating his chin and lips. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, urging him on as he relentlessly pleasured her.

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as he drove his tongue deeper, faster, revelling in her complete surrender to pleasure. Her taste, her scent, her very essence consumed him, igniting a hunger that only she could satisfy.

With a final, bold stroke, he sealed his lips around her throbbing clit, sucking hard as he felt her climax crash over her. Her scream echoed through the chamber, music to his ears, as her body shook and convulsed in his grasp. He drank in every drop of her release, savouring the sweet nectar as he brought her down from her high, his own need growing with each passing moment.

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

"Yes." Elain breathed. Just a taste, where only the Mother could see them, in the dead of night, where no one else might see them.

His hands laced through her thick hair, tilting her head up, he wanted it, she wanted it. She parted her lips slightly, eyes searching his before they closed. Giving him both offer and permission. He lowered his head towards her.

He sent me "Downtown Lights"

I hadn't heard it in a while

"This was a mistake." He said, voice forceful as he stepped back, hand pulling from her hair.

She opened her eyes, wondering if she'd heard him wrong, about what he wanted, "I'm sorry." She whispered, hurt in her eyes shining

"You don't—Don't apologize," He said, "Never apologize, it's I who should..." He shook his head, "Goodnight."

Am I allowed to cry?

She rushed back upstairs, the door to her room slamming as she sank down on her knees, sobs leaving her lips almost painfully as she cried, hair framing her face as she curled into herself, trying to hide from the world, she felt a shadow shift from her before it rushed to wherever it was Azriel had left.

Elain whipped her head up, glaring now. "It’s just a story."

"Of course." He let his smirk grow. "A story about a brooding duke who follows a woman across the country because he’s so obsessed with her he can’t sleep at night?"

Elain made another strangled noise. "You are insufferable."

"Or a masked stranger who is fated to love the heroine after just one dance?"

Elain looked one breath away from throwing the book at him. Azriel chuckled, eyes gleaming. He was enjoying this far too much.

She straightened, regaining some of her composure. "What’s wrong with them?"

Azriel lifted a brow. "Nothing at all. I’m just learning new things about you."

She huffed, crossing her arms. "And what exactly have you learned?"

He let the silence stretch between them before saying, "That you enjoy a bit of obsession in your romances."

Her lips parted slightly, her blush creeping down her neck. Azriel waited. Then, in a quiet, challenging voice, she said, "Would you prefer I read about spies instead?"

Azriel blinked. Elain tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something sharp, knowing. "Perhaps something about a mysterious, brooding male who lurks in the shadows, always watching, never letting himself be seen?"

Azriel’s smirk faltered. Elain smiled sweetly. "You wouldn’t happen to have any recommendations, would you?"

Azriel just stared at her, his usual smooth confidence suddenly abandoning him entirely. Elain laughed softly, flipping open her book again. "That’s what I thought."

And Mother above, Azriel knew he had just lost this battle.

--------------

The next time he found her reading, he did not tease. Not outright. But as he sat in the armchair across from her, pretending to read his own book, he couldn’t help but watch her. The way her eyes darted over the page, the way her lips parted slightly, the way her cheeks turned pink every now and then. He was dying to know.

So, after a long silence, he asked, "Why do you like them?"

Elain looked up, startled. "What?"

"The books." He gestured toward her latest romance. "What do you like about them?"

Elain hesitated. For a moment, he thought she might refuse to answer. But then, she surprised him. She set the book down on her lap, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "They always end happily. No matter what happens," she continued softly, "no matter the obstacles, the longing, the heartbreak… the characters always find each other in the end."

Azriel didn’t move. Because of course. Of course Elain Archeron, who had lived a life filled with uncertainty and heartbreak and loss, would crave stories where love always won.

She smiled, almost shyly. "I like knowing that, in the end, they’ll choose each other."

Something tightened in Azriel’s chest. Because wasn’t that what he had spent his whole life convincing himself he couldn’t have? A love that would choose him back. He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t know how to. So he just watched her, watched the way the firelight danced across her face, the way she waited for his response as if his opinion actually mattered. And then, before he could stop himself, before he could think better of it—

"Tell me your favorite part."

Elain blinked. "What?"

Azriel gestured to the book in her hands. "Read me your favorite part."

Elain stared at him. Then, slowly—so slowly—she flipped through the pages. Evangeline had spent years perfecting the art of ignoring Dorian Blackwell. It was easy, at first. Ignoring his dark, unreadable eyes whenever they found hers across ballrooms. Ignoring the way his presence always seemed to press against her skin, even from across a room.

Ignoring the fact that, no matter how far she ran, no matter how many times she insisted she did not want him— He never let her go.

And now, here he was. Again. A storm standing in the doorway of her cottage, his broad frame drenched from the rain, his cravat undone, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Evangeline." His voice was low, hoarse. She did not move from where she stood by the fire. Did not let herself tremble.

"You should not be here," she said quietly. "You should be in London, playing the part of the cold, untouchable Duke."

His lips curled slightly, but there was no humor in it. "You have always misunderstood me, Evangeline."

"Have I?" she challenged. He took a step closer. Then another. Evangeline’s pulse hammered.

"You think I follow you because I enjoy the chase?" Dorian’s voice was softer now, but there was something dangerous beneath it—something frayed, something breaking. "Because it is sport?"

Her throat worked. "What else could it be?"

He let out a low, rough breath. Then—he was there. Close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes, could see the way his jaw clenched, as if restraining something too big, too consuming.

And then—softly, like a confession, like something that cost him everything— "I have been in love with you since the moment you first defied me."

Evangeline stilled.

Dorian’s hands flexed at his sides, as if he ached to touch her. "Since the moment you looked me in the eye and told me I was not the man for you."

Her breath came too fast, too sharp.

"You are cruel," she whispered.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. "Perhaps. But not with this. Never with this."

She shook her head. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. "You are obsessed with winning. You cannot love me."

Dorian exhaled sharply, then—before she could move, before she could breathe—

He dropped to his knees. Evangeline gasped.

Because Dorian Blackwell, the untouchable, unreadable Duke of Thornhaven, the man whose name made others tremble, was kneeling before her. His head bowed. His hands fisted against his thighs.

"Say the word," he murmured. "Tell me to leave, and I will. Tell me you do not feel this, and I will never come back."

Evangeline’s chest heaved. But Dorian lifted his gaze then, and the words tangled in her throat.

Because his eyes—gods, his eyes. They were not cold. Not calculating. Not the eyes of a man playing a game. They were raw. Unraveled.

Wrecked.

And Evangeline knew.

Knew that this was not about winning. Knew that this was not obsession, not pursuit. Knew, with terrifying, unshakable certainty, that this man loved her.

Had loved her for longer than she could fathom.

And she—she did not know how to stop herself from loving him back.

Azriel sat back, listening. And he wasn’t sure when he started watching her lips instead of the words. Wasn’t sure when the teasing had stopped and something heavier had settled between them. But when she finally lifted her gaze, her breath catching slightly at whatever she saw in his expression— Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court, a male who had spent centuries unearthing the darkest secrets in Prythian, was currently trying to process the fact that he had just heard a scene where a brooding, untouchable Duke got on his knees for the woman he loved.

He knew. He was in more trouble than he had ever realized.

@elriel-month

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