ACOTAR one shots, imagines and short stories

Part 4 - The Spymaster's Apprentice (Azriel x OC)

Word count: 4049

Characters: Azriel, Elara (OC) and Azriel's mother

Themes: Fluff fluff fluff

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As the days passed, Elara felt her strength slowly returning, each breath, each stretch of her muscles a small victory. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow across her skin, a warm contrast to the memories of darkness and pain that lingered. She was healing—physically, at least—but the weight of her ordeal still pressed heavily on her mind. And through it all, Azriel was there. Ever-watchful. Ever-present. A comforting shadow, and yet, his proximity unsettled her in ways she couldn't quite name.

One afternoon, feeling the walls of her room closing in, Elara pushed herself to sit up in bed. The space, despite its soft lighting and comforting ambiance, felt foreign. She longed for air, for movement, for a reminder that she was alive. Determined to shake the confinement of her recovery, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, steadying herself, ready to rise.

Just as she was about to push off, the door swung open, and Azriel stepped inside, his sharp gaze immediately falling on her. His eyes narrowed, concern flashing across his features.

"What do you think you're doing?" His voice was firm, edged with frustration, though he fought to keep it in check.

"I need to get out of this bed," Elara replied, her tone equally resolute. "I can't stay here anymore. I need to move, Azriel."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his usually composed face. His natural instinct to take control, to order her back to bed, flared in him, but he caught himself, reminding himself that this wasn't a mission. She wasn't some soldier under his command. She was Elara—stubborn, independent, and more than capable of making her own decisions.

"Elara, you're not ready for this," he said, suppressing the urge to outright forbid her from moving. His voice was softer now, but the dominance still lingered, a hard edge beneath the surface.

Elara crossed her arms defiantly, meeting his gaze with determination. "And you say I'm the stubborn one. I need to move, Azriel. I feel trapped in here. You can't understand."

Azriel crossed his arms defiantly. "Stubbornness is a virtue when it comes to your recovery."

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he stepped closer, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "And what if you hurt yourself? What if you overexert yourself and set your recovery back?"

"I need to try," she said, her eyes fierce, challenging him. "I can't just sit here anymore."

Azriel let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. This was not a battle he was going to win—at least not by force. "Fine," he conceded, though his voice was tight. "But I'm not letting you do this alone." He crouched beside her, his presence looming, protective. He extended his hand, helping her swing her legs fully over the side of the bed, his touch gentle but firm.

As Elara took her first tentative steps, she felt the warmth of his body close to hers. Azriel's hand rested lightly at her waist, steadying her, his arm a solid anchor as they moved slowly across the room. She couldn't help but notice the way his fingers curled slightly against her side, as though the simple act of helping her walk ignited something deeper in him. And in her.

His proximity was electric. Every brush of his clothing against her skin, every shift of his body beside hers sent her senses spiralling. She wasn't sure if it was the aftermath of her injury or something more, but her heart raced, and her breath hitched slightly as they moved together.