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munsonmuses · 3 months

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Hateful Recollection

Themes: angst, arguing, resentful minds and eventual comfort, labors of love.

Warnings: cursing, drug usage, there’s a slap here and there, Eddie is kind of an asshole but it’s a bit deserved?

Word Count: 4.3k

Part Two

Edward James Munson and yourself had always been a bit…combative, if that’s the right way to put it. Fighting over the space in the woods, the hallways, study spaces, hell even parking spots in the cramped Hawkins High School parking lot. You’d despised each other since freshman year, and with a few mishaps in life, you too were repeating senior year for a second time. It wasn’t often two massive tragedies hit, but that was the case for you. In ‘84 there was the fatal car accident that took your darling father. A staple in the sleepy community, and in ‘85, the strange death of your cousin Heather Holloway leaving your life in a whirlwind. School was the last thing on your mind in the wake of such terrible loss, so the district had understood you pulling out of school for the time being.

Sat at the cramped lunch table, you pushed around the lasagna on your acrylic tray, graying meat and rubbery noodles making your stomach turn as you let your fork drop. Deciding to rejoin the conversation amongst your friends as you tried to catch up to speed with all of the gossip and mindless conversation.

“I just…don’t understand who died and made her queen of fucking the school newspaper, I don’t. I have a great spread on the lunchroom epidemic, how they’re feeding us what is essentially tubed meat. My daddy’s tax dollars aren’t meant to be feeding us mush on a plate.” Libby bitched as you hummed in indifference, though the lasagna presented to you today did sway your internal argument a bit, and Nancy Wheeler did hold the school newspaper with the clutch of a feral dog. Rhiannon shaking her head at Libby’s incessant rage. “I think it’s fine, it’s nice to have something to eat, or at least snack on…” she reasoned as Libby scoffed. “Yeah but you eat like a goddamn hippie. You don’t have to eat the meat or anything…” “my veganism has nothing to do with this argument, you’re killing the rooms energy.” “Well your veganism is killing my appetite.” The two squabbled as you laughed. The two having been your dearest friends since meeting at Camp Love in 1978. Sticking by you through every strange mishap, with the typical teen argument here and there.

You went to add to the conversation before squealing in shocked upset as a carton of icy chocolate milk fell down your back. Soaking through the chartreuse wool of your sweater as you whipped around to face who it was, a very startled set of brown eyes staring back at you. Eddie Munson’s mouth hung agape in shock, knowing how this looked. Having been shoved by Jason Carver and his milk subsequently teetered off his tray, leading to your current predicament as you pushed to stand.

“Edward Munson you did that on purpose!” You accused with a finger to his chest, your nail dimpling his shirt and flesh as he stared down at you. Lips pulling back in a sneer as he smacked your hand away. “It was not, but, honestly? I’m kind of a bit glad it did hit you. Maybe the cold down your back will quell the hellfire inside you, you succubus.” He hissed back as you glared, shoving him harshly. “You’re a complete freak! I bet you hoped my shirt would be see through or something. Satanic and perverted,” you hissed as you gathered your bag, getting ready to leave while Libby and Rhiannon worked on doing the same. Before catching the distasteful muttering of Eddie Munson.

“Just because you’ve got a couple of dead relatives doesn’t mean you get to be a frigid cunt,”

You didn’t realize how fast you moved, whipping around as you slapped him. It wasn’t intentional, or even thought out. Completely unsure of what was going on till you heard the slam of cheek to palm, and watched his head reel back. A hush falling across the lunchroom. Hot embarrassment crept up your neck and cheeks, hot tears stinging your eyes as you took a watery breath. “That was fucking mean…even for you,” you whispered before shoving past him, Rhiannon chasing as Libby followed, stopping partway to look back at Eddie. “That was a low blow Munson…” she whispered, leaving him flapping his mouth open and shut. Nothing worth while actually coming out.

You made your way to your locker, throwing the door open as the door rattled, shoving in your books and grabbing your purse. Decidedly, you were near tears and it didn’t feel like you had the patience to sit through the logistics of adverbs and their proper insertion into the English language. Rhiannon gently placing her hand on you shoulder. “Honey he didn’t mean that…” she tried to comfort as you scoffed lightly. “Doesn’t matter if he meant it, it’s the fact that he said it…I’m going home, can you take Marilyn home today?” You questioned about your younger sister as she nodded gently, wishing you goodbye as you headed down the silent halls. Pushing through the doors and climbing into your little hatchback. Looking over at the banged up van parked beside you as you scoffed angrily. Peeling out of the parking lot and heading home for the day. Your grades were fine, and nobody would notice.

Your small home was a welcome sight, your driveway empty. Your mother working long nights as a nurse to keep you, your sister, and herself afloat. She was never home, delegating most of the housework to you as you keyed in and trotted upstairs. Tossing your bag aside and falling into your plush bed. Pulling your fading carebear into your chest as tears finally allowed themselves to fall, crying the day away as a nap took hold of you.

It was around four in the afternoon when you were roused from your self pitying nap. Opening your eyes to the sweet face of your younger sister. She’d shed so much of her baby fat in the face, blossoming into a beautiful young woman. Yawning lightly as you sat up, stretching out as you gently rubbed her cheek. “Hi Lynnie, was school okay?” You asked gently, voice croaking with exhaustion as she nodded slowly. Holding a little Lisa Frank folder out to you as she swallowed nervously. “I got your…your school work, and um…momma called. She’ll be home late again.” She whispered nervously, breaking your heart. She’d been so much more…involved, when everything was normal, but after your father passing when she was twelve, alongside the irregular life she led with an always working mom, struggling grades, having a childish air about her, and being the smallest and meekest girl in her grade, she seemed to be afraid to take up space.

“That’s okay, we can have a great night just the two of us…” you offered as you pulled her to lie down with you, rousing a gentle giggle from the girl as she turned her head to face you. “I’ll take us to family video and we can rent a movie, and we can get a pizza, and I’ll even let you put mushrooms on it~” you cooed as you poked her sides, earning a string of laughter from her as she chewed on her lower lip. “Can we get the last unicorn please…?” She asked nervously, and you slowly nodded. You couldn’t say no to her, remembering how she’d adored the movie with your father. How she’d named her pet hamsters Amalthea and Schmendrick, and mourned them when they’d passed. “Whatever you want Lynnie…lemme change okay?” You reasoned as she nodded eagerly, getting up to let you change. You were determined to make it a good night.

It was a quick ride to family video, making it in record time. Having donned a purple sweatshirt with embroidered lilies on the front, and made sure Marilyn was ready to go. Parking carefully as you walked in, holding the door as Marilyn raced to the children’s section. Leaving you to mingle with Steve Harrington at the counter as he grinned lightly at you. “Hey there, haven’t seen you here in a while…” he greeted as you rolled your eyes. “Moneys been a bit tight, so I’m sorry I haven’t been here to grace you with my presence…” you mocked as he laughed. “You know I won’t charge you…so what’s the real reason?” He pried as you laughed lightly. “You got me there…I just haven’t had the time.” You explained as he nodded in understanding. He’d been a longtime friend, and had been coming by with premade casseroles after both funerals, mostly urged by his mother, but that’s didn’t dampen the sentiment. You valued Steve, and understood that he knew what it was like to feel like you had no support system.

You’d realized it was taking a while for Marilyn to come back as you excused yourself, walking the aisles to find your sister. Seeing her mop of red curls, stopping at the sight of the metal head helping her reach the VHS on the top shelf. Furrowing your brows as you eaves dropped. “Great choice, Annie…” he quipped at her as she meekly thanked him, earning a light laugh from him. “I loved this movie when it came out, but between you and me I was scared of the harpy…” he said in a loud whisper as she laughed. “That’s dumb…” she mumbled as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it is huh?” The interaction strangely made your blood boil, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder as Eddie frowned lightly. His face still a bit red from the altercation earlier that day.

“What’re you here for Munson, some sort of freakish torture porn?” You gestured towards the case in his hand as he scoffed. “Actually it’s return of the living dead and American werewolf in London.” He retorted as you scoffed. “Not much of a difference,” you quipped before pushing past him, catching Marilyn waving him bye out of the corner of your eye as you went to the counter. Wishing Steve a great day and leaving without another word.

A few hours later you were back home, getting your pizzas on a plate as you heard Marilyn setting up in the living room. The intro song playing as she hummed along, earning an intentionally obnoxious rendition from you as she laughed loudly. Getting onto the couch as you gave her the plate with greasy slices, sitting through the movie with only a few questions and a full belly by the end. Sending your sister to shower and work on homework as you retired to your room. Getting changed for the night and sitting at your desk, working on your biology homework well into the night, soothed by the rain pattering against your window. Not realizing how much time had passed before hearing a soft knock on the doorframe. Turning to face your sister. “You heading to bed honey?” You asked as she nodded carefully, wringing out her fingers as you turned fully around. “What’s up sugar…?” You asked as she teetered on both feet. “Why are you so mean to Eddie?” She asked as you frowned lightly. “What do you mean Marilyn…?” You pried as she whimpered, as if whatever she said next might cause some terrible Rube Goldberg chain of devastation to occur. “I don’t…get why you’re so mean to him…you guys used to be best friends,” she whispered as you sighed. “Go to bed Marilyn…I love you.” You mumbled as she muttered it back and left. That was enough to draw any energy you had left. Climbing into bed as her words replayed in your head.

The next day seemed to be easier, getting to school early, and blazing through your first four periods. A few grades coming back to you as you tucked the papers into your folder, bold ‘A’s and B’s’ smattered across the upper corners as you grinned. Now heading to the woods behind the football field with Libby and Rhiannon, choosing to forego the meatloaf that the cafeteria was serving.

“You can’t even call that meatloaf, you can call it meatloaf? Like with a question mark at the end, because you can’t even confirm it’s real meat,” Libby complained as her Chuck Taylor’s trudged through the leaves, the soft earth gently squishing beneath your soles as you sighed. Her tangents about school lunch were strange, especially considering she didn’t eat school lunch. Rhiannon scoffing lightly as she followed, rooting through her messenger bag and pulling out her altoid tin as she snapped her gum carefully. “Well some people could say the same thing about you eating sushi Lib,” she argued, earning a defending argument from Libby as you got seated at the rickety picnic table. Rhiannon opening the tin to pull out a hastily rolled joint. Lighting it carefully and passing it around the table as you took a decent puff. Coughing and sputtering as you laughed nervously. “Sorry, I’m sorry!” You giggled out through coughs as Libby snatched the joint eagerly. It continued passing around till you heard the crunch of leaves and rapidly worked on disposing of the evidence, eyes wide before relaxing harshly at the sight of Eddie Munson with lunchpail and corroded coffin in hand as you scoffed loudly.

“You need to leave. This is my turf. So move.” He ordered harshly as his little band of misfits tried to protest with ‘Eddie lets just go to the van’ or ‘Eddie calms on man’ as you turned around quietly and hummed. “Hi Gareth, hi Grant, hi Jeff,” you greet gently as they waved back gently. Humming contentedly before your eyes shifted back to a fuming Eddie Munson. His fingers flexing and face screwed up in contempt. “Get the fuck out of here, I swear to god you do it just to irk me.” He snapped as you guffawed at his confidence. “Typical of you to think my life revolves around you.” You retorted, an argument beginning to kick up as your insults were hurled at one another.

“No! No you think you can get away with anything because of your tragedy! Poor me! Oh poor baby! Everyone let me off easy and pity me, because I feed off of your attention! Like the succubus that you are,” Eddie hissed as you felt your hands clenching the denim of your jeans. Shuddering angrily as you spat back venom.

“It’s not my fault people were there for me when my parent died, not you.” You hissed, the realization of what you’d said dawning on you as his face fell. “Fuck, Eddie I’m sorry-“ you started as he shoved you back, feeling the leaves crunch into your back as he seemed to tremble, near tears. “That was way fucking meaner than it needed to be.” His voice was watery as you frowned, knowing his cruel of you it was to mention the passing of his mother. “Fuck you.” He whispered as he turned heel and walked off, followed off by his friends. Your own staring at you nervously.

“You guys know I didn’t mean that…right?” You questioned as they looked between each other, silently deciding who should be the one to answer you, Rhiannon sighing as she went to help you stand. “Honey, just because you didn’t mean it doesn’t mean it hurts any less. You were so angry at Eddie yesterday for saying something he didn’t mean…and you slapped him. I think you’re both in the wrong to be truthful,” she insisted as you muttered excuses under your breath, earning a look from Libby as you frowned gently. “Fine, okay, I’m an asshole!” You insisted angrily as you puttered loudly. Carefully gathering up your things and heading back towards the school. You’d have to make the rest of the day go by as smoothly as possible.

English was fine, and biology was wonderfully easy, until you were delegated into pairs for whatever in class research you had for a pairs project. Drawing popsicle sticks with numbers on the end, as the class went one by one listing their numbers, soon enough getting to you as you sighed. “I have eight.” You spoke, being spoken over by Eddie Munson who glared. Going to argue to change partners as Mr. Birmingham tutted loudly. “I don’t care about whatever squabble you have outside of my class, I’m here? I’m the ruling force. You and Munson are going to have to get along.” He insisted as he sent the two of you to one of the tall lab tables in the back. Sitting with a huff as Eddie sat as far as he could from you. Flipping open his textbook haphazardly as he glared lightly. Earning a scoff from you as you reached over and pulled it to the middle of the table so he tried to yank it back. Hushed insults going back and forth before he finally relented.

“I don’t fucking understand why you’re acting like this-“ Eddie snapped as he glared at you bitterly. “Why you’re so angry and mean all the time.” He quipped as you scoffed at him. “You should know why.” Was all you responded as his brows furrowed, not knowing how to respond to you as he carefully got back to work. The two of you remaining…civil, throughout the rest of the period.

The bell rang, freeing you of your hell as you headed into the hallway, meeting with Libby who was flirting with school hippie, and Eddie’s rival dealer, Kingston Richard. Watching as he handed her a crinkled paper, inviting Libby and Co. to a party he was attending tonight. Libby giggling and offering a “yeah~” as he walked off. Humming over at you as you quirked a brow. “I can’t go to a party Libby, gotta take care of Marilyn…” you insisted as she whined loudly. “No you don’t, she’s going to a friends house for a sleepover. I ran into her in the hallway, told me to give you this.” She handed you a little note with a home number and address. Sighing lightly as you agreed carefully. “I’ll go, I’ll go and it’ll be boring and then I’ll have to drive your sloppy ass home~” you teased as Rhiannon joined you both. Hearing about the party as she agreed eagerly. Setting your unsure plans into stone.

You frowned deeply as you had your hair teased to the high heavens, setting the look with some pearly eyeshadow and letting your shirt be cropped choppily. Rolling your eyes as you tested out two sets of earrings for yourself to wear. Deciding on some thick acrylic hoops to match your bangles and rings. Snapping your gum carefully. “So we’re doing this whole party thing on the like tree line by lovers lake? What if someone calls the cops?” You mumbled, remembering that there were a multitude of residents that lived by the water. Earning a ‘pshaw’ from Libby as you frowned. Slipping on your keds and tucking your ID and cash into your bra. Heading out to your car as your friends followed. Taking the scenic route out to lovers lake as you hummed along to Pat Benatar on the radio, recollecting your joint past.

“Do you guys remember meeting at Camp Love? It was on the lake and we camped in the woods…and we got poison ivy?” You laughed out as Rhiannon laughed lightly to herself in agreement. “I remember sneaking out to go night swimming, then the guys convinced us that there were like…snakes.” She giggled out as you rolled your eyes. “I just remember having fun…and I remember being cold because I didn’t have enough blankets, feeling mad I hadn’t packed enough.” You whispered as Libby hummed. “I remember you cried, and you asked around for a blanket…Eddie Munson stayed with you and gave you his,” she said softly as you gulped harshly. “Yeah. That’s when he was twelve and still had a heart.” You retort as you pulled down the dirt road as your friends exchanged looks. Knowing it was a memory you tried to act like didn’t happen or matter. Parking your car and stepping out to a bonfire inside of an old oil drum, clearly having fun as you went to the keg. Filling yourself a solo cup with lukewarm beer and sipping at it, gagging lightly and going to take a seat on one of the many scattered blankets, lying back on the flannel as you hummed along to the music. Listening to the party ambiance as you let your friends wander a bit, having plenty of fun before feeling the blanket dip beside you as you turned beside you. Looking at Kingston who was smoking what was left of a cigarette. “Hey there…” he pushed his sunglasses down and gave you a lopsided grin as you hummed. “Hey yourself…” you crooned as he handed you another cup with lukewarm beer. Humming up at him as you carefully finished up the second cup of piss poor beer, that seemed to be making you sway a bit, the fact that you were a lightweight combining with the lack of lunch from earlier.

“So uh, you come to parties often?” Kingston asked as you drummed your fingers on the ground. “Not really, gotta take care of my sister, but I do love it when I have the opportunity to come.” You said softly as you felt him leaning closer, catching his drift as you put a hand up. “Um, I’m sorry but uh…if you’re trying to like, flirt or something? I’m not the right person to do it with.” You insisted as you looked over at Libby who was doing a terrible job of acting nonchalant whilst watching the two of you. “Libby really really likes you, and I don’t wanna…do that to her.” You explained as Kingston grinned in understanding. “Oh believe me, I’m aware…I’m just as into her, I just had a theory I had to test out.” He insisted as he looked past you. Turning your head to see a frustrated Eddie watching the two of you, blushing and looking away as you’d caught him gawking apparently. Laughing nervously to yourself as Kingston pulled a joint from behind his ear, handing it to you as he smiled. “For your trouble…” he got up shakily, walking off as you grinned. Lighting your joint as you caught yourself glancing back at Eddie who was rolling with laughter with his friends, the firelight casting shadows along his face as you grinned lightly to yourself. The beer softening your hate filled heart as you relaxed once more. Humming along to Seal before hearing the distant sound of sirens, eyes going wide as you sat up. Hearing distant tires treading on the dirt road as you shakily stood, making a run for it as you hissed a string of curses under your breath. The mixture of fear, the dark, the cool chill of the fall, and your inebriation getting you turned around before someone took your hand, sprinting to the center of the woods and pushing you to climb an old oak tree with well worn wooden steps up, nailed to the sides. Easing you up into the center as you gained your bearings. Hitting the blanketed center as you panted softly and looked around. Strangely familiar…and then it hit you. This was where Camp Love had been, where you’d spent nights with a young Eddie who had a boyish face and a sweet crush on you. Turning to look at who pushed you, Eddie’s big brown eyes reflecting the moonlight as you stared at him.

“What are you-“ he lurched forward to cover your mouth as he put a finger to his lips. The sound of the police pattering by underneath. His chest to yours as you heaved gently. Slowly reaching up to take hold of his wrist and remove his clammy hand once it quieted down. “I…thank you Eddie.” You insisted as he just nodded softly. “Whatever…don’t mention it.” He muttered as you gently bumped his shoulder and sighed.

“This is weird, familiar…” he insisted softly as he frowned to himself. “I remember bringing you up here…I remember your braces cutting my lip.” He said with a soft laugh as you hummed lightly. “I remember we were close…” he added, though this had no jog behind it. “Why uh…why is that?” He questioned softly. And in that moment you realized he never knew why you hated him, why you resented every bit of him.

“You were my best friend Eddie…but…when my dad died you weren’t there for me…too busy with fucking hellfire.” You muttered as you looked at your feet. “You only cared about yourself and your interests, you were suddenly too cool for girls, or anything.” You insisted as you wiped your bleary eyes. “I called and went by and I did everything and you didn’t care,” you mumbled as he frowned lightly.

“I did what I thought was right.” He answered softly. “When my ma died I wanted to be alone, I wanted to understand in my own time, I didn’t want answers…I just needed time. I just thought you’d want the same. Which was shitty. I shouldn’t assume, I should have asked,” he insisted lightly. His hand inching over to yours as he linked pinkies with you. “I still care about you…you’re my best girl,” he whispered as he nosed gently against your cheek, earning a sigh from you.

“I care about you too…and I miss you,” you felt tears threatening to spill. “It’s been hard…I miss you coming by, and my mom and Lynnie ask about you all the damn time-“ the tears flowed freely now. “Eddie I needed you…and you weren’t there-“ your voice broke, and the heartbreak washed over him all at once. Pulling you to his chest as you sobbed softly. Petting your hair back as he frowned.

“I’m here now…I promise I’m here now.” He whispered, and you only held tighter, because you could feel that he meant it,

Tags: @munson-blurbs

#stranger things #eddie munson #addie writes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic

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readychilledwine · 8 months

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Requiem for a Dream

Part 3: Change

(Two months into Rhysand's Return home)

Rhysand and Rhiannon are still walking around their sexual tension, but our high lord has finally decided enough is enough. After a month of lingering touching, glances, and true re-courtship, he wants his mate in his bed.

Warnings - Smut, NSFW, D/S dynamics (daddy/Princess and sex slave/master) ownership kink, praise kink, oral (F Recv), not edited. Minors- DNI

A/N - This is kind of that last step before the peak of Rhys, in reality, reclaiming his sexual being, which is a journey a lot of SA survivors go through. While everyone's journey is different and models different patterns, I felt Rhysand's NEEDED to show aspects of regaining domination and control, and I do not feel that was truly shown or touched on by SJM.

Rhiannon's character, at this point, may not be for everyone. She is very submissive due to her own trauma and back story I crafted for her. Let me know your thoughts, feelings, if you want more, have gripes. Also, the song in mind is "Change (In the House of Flies)" by Deftones. The theme to one of my absolute favorite movie sex scenes in history.

Author ps - as an active member of the kink scene, I see festish written on here, but it never comes with this warning and when we do not know who is reading our stories, I feel like it needs to be said.

Please DO NOT ENGAGE IN BDSM with a partner you do not fully trust. BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, all varieties, and sex in general need to be based on trust and the care for each other's emotional well-being. You all deserve the best, give yourselves the ability to have that 💜 love yourself enough to WANT and NEED to have that.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Part One Part Two Part Four

Rhys had convinced Rhiannon to join him for dinner alone in the River House. They ate in silence, hands held over the table. They were dressed casually. She was wearing a dark plum sweater that went down to her mid thigh, tight black leggings and fuzzy socks. Rhysand had on a cream sweater with casual pants.

He had asked the twins to make her favorite meal. Elk steaks, potatoes with gravy, greens, and homemade bread and butter. He had personally flown into Velaris, arriving at a sweet shop his mate absolutely loves, asking if they had her favorite cupcakes available that day. They had made them for him, without hesitation as he did some other shopping for her. She was eyeing them with a sparkle he had not seen from her since his arrival home. But after all, what female could possibly resist the imported vanilla and sea salt caramel this bakery used.

"When were you going to call on the bargain with Feyre? I'm worried about her powers eating her alive." Rhys looked at Rhiannon. "He won't train her. She needs to be with someone who will."

Rhys nodded. "I assume the realm gave you that information?" She nodded. "I would like to ensure my own home and court are on a stable foundation before bringing her here."

Rhiannon was no fool. She knew immediately what he meant. She gently put her silverware down, turning to look at her husband. "I did not realize there were issues in the foundation. Is something wrong in the court?"

Rhysand sighed. He wouldn't be able to woo her now. This conversation was happening, and it was happening much sooner than he anticipated for the night. "Not necessarily with the court itself. I worry more about my family and Inner Circle." Rhys paused to turn to her, "My wife hasn't kissed me since I arrived home, despite many chances and opportunities to do so. I keep attempting to recourt her with countless gifts, praise, and flirtation, but I just cannot seem to bring her into my bed." Rhys paused to watch her look down. "You are my most trusted advisor when it comes to Illyrian Females, Rhiannon. Do you have any suggestions on how I can get my wife to be close to me again?"

Rhiannon put her silverware down, clearing her throat before responding. "Is she possibly afraid that reciprocating your affections may hurt you or the progress you've made?"

Rhysand smirked, finally getting the answers he needed. "I would not know," he laced their fingers together. "Aside from asking me how my day was, doing her duties to fill me in on her assignments, and small conversations, she has all but closed me out. I know she loves me. I just worry that maybe I am not doing enough to show her I would like to begin the process of us going back to who we are."

Rhiannon felt tears lining her eyes. "I know you still have nightmares about her, Rhys. I just feel like sleeping with you, touching you, or even kissing you is retraumatizing you. I love you too much to risk hurting you emotionally and mentally."

He nodded, taking a sip of his wine before beginning to speak to her. "I appreciate how much you care. I have always loved your empathy and kindness, darling. I want to sleep with you at my side, though. I want to hold you. To kiss you. To fuck you until I cannot tell where you stop and I begin." He took another deep drink. "I am ready to try, my nightingale. I need to try. Madja believes I am ready. I believe I am ready. Please, Rhiannon, come to bed with me tonight."

She nodded. "And we will stop if it is too much?" He sent her confirmation down the bond. "Mor made me wear something pretty under this for you. Just in case." His ears perked up at that. He took her hand, dinner long forgotten, and pulled her to their large bedroom.

Rhysand took the chair that sat across from their bed, leaning forward on his elbows as Rhiannon stood close to him. "Take your clothing off." Her scent hit him immediately. The sweet scent of her arousal mixed with the normal soft smell of moonflowers and honey. He watched, eyes fixated on every inch of slowly exposed skin as her sweater was removed and set on the desk near them.

She went to remove her leggings next after he gave her a nod, exposing her muscled thighs to him first. He groaned loudly at the sight of her mating mark. The delicate pattern of swirls and stars that ran the expanse of her leg, mapping out the night sky at the exact time they accepted the bond.

Mor had picked a wonderful little set for her to wear. A black haltered bra made of strictly lace and mesh that left nothing to his imagination, a matching high waist thong, and stockings that stopped at her midthigh. He patted his lap, leaning back as she crawled to straddle him.

They studied each other for a few seconds. His fingers ghosting the new muscles she had earned while training with Cassian, then her pretty throat, then her breasts and stomach, before reaching her panty line. "Mate, please." The bond was banging like a war drum in both of their ribcages, right where it connected their hearts. "Rhysand, please."

He pulled her to him, locking their lips for the first time in 50 years and moaning at the taste of her. It was exactly how he remembered, yet so different. Her lips were soft on his, tasting faintly of the sweet red wine she had been drinking. The bond began to almost hum, begging for more.

She fully submitted to him, allowing him to control the pace and pressure. One of his arms quickly wrapped around her hourglass waist while the other went up her back, allowing his hand to tangle into her hair.

It was a familiar position to them. One they had been caught in countless times by Azriel, by Cassian, by his mother. He almost smiled, remembering the first time Azriel had walked in on Rhysand pounding into his sister while she moaned and cried for him. Every single punch of the absolute beating her older brother had given him that day was worth it. Every single punch Azriel still gave him was worth it.

Their first time seemed so distant now as he pulled away from her, lifting her and carrying her to their marriage bed, kissing her throat, and whispered praise into her soft skin. He laid her gently down and sat on his knees between her legs.

Her dark hair was spread out in every direction, her pupils slightly dilated as she began to enter the part of her mind and behavior only he had the pleasure of seeing. Her lips were swollen, bringing out the soft blush they naturally had even more. He ran his thumb down them, smiling as she immediately opened her mouth and began to suck the digit, looking at him with her wide eyes.

"Such a beautiful little treat, aren't you, darling?" He pulled his thumb from her lips, "You're dripping already. Daddy wants to have his favorite dessert. Is that okay with his princess?" She whined, her back arching slightly off the bed. "Words, my darling. Daddy asked you a question."

She looked up at him, wide eyed. "Please Daddy. Need you. I'll be a good girl." Her submission had him ripping his own shirt off and removing his pants with speed he hardly knew he still had in him as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees to be closer to her dripping cunt.

"I wanted to take my time with you, worship you and this body of yours, but I fear I just do not have the patience for all of that today." He misted the now offensive lace from her body, leaving only the thigh highs and growled at the sight before him. "Such a pretty cunt, Rhiannon. Who does she belong to?"

Rhiannon was already breathing heavily. "You. I am yours."

He growled, throwing her legs over his shoulder. "Good girl." Without warning Rhys began his assault. Licking long stripes from her leaking hole the the apex of her thighs. He drank from her like a man receiving water after being trapped in a desert for too long. He was starving for her. Aching for her. He groaned as her hands found his hair and gently tugged to bring him closer to her clit.

He had missed this. He had missed waking her up with his head between her legs. He had missed the feeling of her tight entrance twitching on his tongue. He had missed the sweet taste of her. He pushed his tongue into her, nose nudging that sweet bundle of nerves, "Fuck daddy, yes!" Her back arched of the bed, and he instantly locked her down with his forearm, growling at her in warning.

Keep still like a good little toy, or I will leave you dripping and aching. He continued his feast, knowing fully well he couldn't, and wouldn't, do that to her. He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking lightly, and moaning as it earned him a harsher tug on his hair.

His free hand moved up, taking some of her wetness on one finger before slowly pushing it into her. She was tight. So tight. His pretty girl only had her own fingers to play with, and he realized he'd need to slowly stretch her back open all over again for him to slip inside of her like the little sleeve he had made her to be again.

He smirked at the thought of retraining her to be constantly wet and ready to take him at a moment's notice. He curled the one finger, chuckling against her as she swore and prayed to the Gods. Just Rhys or daddy is fine, darling. There are no Gods here to save you from me.

"Rhys!" She gasped loudly as he slowly put another finger inside of her, moving them in and out and curling them into the soft spongy spot that he knew made her see stars. "Fuck please don't stop." He doubled his efforts, moving his fingers faster, sucking and licking at her clit a little harder as she began to flutter around him. That tight coil in her stomach was winding itself up faster and faster with each well planned lick, suck, and curl.

Is my little princess going to cum? A loud whimper of his name came as her breathing picked up. Does my princess have permission to cum?

"Daddy please. I need it. I need to cum. Please." Rhys removed his mouth from her nerves, keeping himself within licking distance.

"Who makes you feel this good? Who is the only male who gets to make you feel like this, huh?" He went back to licking circles and figure 8s on her as his fingers began to move even faster.

The room was filled with her cries, her pleads, and the sound of her wetness. Rhys released his hold on her hips, only for tendrils of darkness to take his forearms place to begin the quick mission of stroking his cock. I asked you a fucking question, Rhiannon. Scream. Scream for all of Velaris who is making you feel this good.

And she did. Her walls locked and began squeezing his fingers as she screamed his name over and over. The tight coil in her stomach releasing and causing more wetness to flood her mate. He moaned against her core, refusing to slow down until he also found his peak. That refusal instantly sent Rhiannon back over the edge with little effort. One graze of his teeth gently against her clit had her crying out of him again, and then him roaring as he came seconds later.

His head fell into her thigh, peppering small kisses there as his hips rutted, and they rode out their bliss together. She tugged the bond, silently begging him to come hold her, and he obeyed. He laid on his back, pulling her into his side, and began playing with her hair. He placed a soft kiss on her lips before trapping her in a more heated one.

One month, he said to her mentally. In one more month, I'm fucking you on every surface of this house. She smiled against his chest, nodding.

"Is that a promise, my love?" She held her pinky to him, making him chuckle and smile as he enloped it into his larger one and pulled her into another deep kiss. A feeling of the familiar zip of a promise being made hit them both. New tattoos, three small stars, adorned their left ring fingers, right above their wedding rings.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Requiem for a Dream Tag List:

@horneybeach1

@we-were-beautiful

@cat-or-kitten

@twsssmlmaa

@dream-alittlebiggerdarling

@tothestarsandwhateverend

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys fic #rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar

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fourthwingfanclub · 3 months

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Spin-offs I want after the Empyrean Series is finished.

I know this is getting ahead of myself, but these are books I would like Rebecca to write after we finish the Empyrean Series.

All 5 books in Xaden's POV.

I also want Xaden's first two years at Basgiath. Starting with the execution of his father and deal he made with Lilith. I would love to see more with his relationship with Cat and how toxic a dynamic that must have been, also the intricacies of that arrangement. Starting from the beginning we could see him navigate Basgiath before threshing, including when he kills the prince. Then we can see him get his powers and how he handled hiding his signet(s). There is just so much. I know we can't get this though until the series is finished because he's full of secrets!

The first rebellion - I want to know all the parents, and how the rebellion started. The feud between Fen and Lilith (because you know there has to be more history there). More about Liam and Sloanes mom and their family history, she had to be extremely powerful (I also have a theory which I will make another post about). Also, I think we will learn about Xaden's mom but if we don't get much I want backstory about her and Fen, same with Violets parents. I also want this in maybe Fen and Lilith's POV. Also, little Xaden, Liam, Bodhi, Garrick, and Imogen likee yess please.

The First Six - There is DRAMMA there, probably steamy romance and the Great War. Need I say more?

I want a whole book on Garrick and Imogen - starting from the beginning - slow burn, friends to lover trope, she falls first, Garricks to dense to notice. They're endgame, you can't change my mind.

Some Novellas I think would be fun/interesting to read

The Book of Brennen

The codex (edited and unedited version)

The rules of the Dragon Empyrean

Rhiannons POV love story with Tara and her one tryst with Sawyer.

Sawyer and Jesinia Dual POV

Ridoc - just everything, his conversations with Aotrom, his relationships with just about everyone.

Liams first year at Basgiath

Mira and Drake (because we all see that enemies to lover story from a mile away)

Lastly, because I personally LOVE Bodhi - just anything involving him.

#fourth wing #iron flame #rebecca yarros #violet and xaden #xaden riorson #xadenviolet #andarna #tairn and andarna #the empyrean #violet sorrengail

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angstywaifu · 1 month

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The Lost Sister - Part 16

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Hope you guys are excited, we are about to start diving into Ophelia's signet! Let me know your thoughts on what you think it could be!

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

As I dismount Mealladh after finishing flight training for the day, I hear Tairn growl. So loud to ground shakes slightly. I look up to see his eyes trained on someone. Dain. And he looks angry, more so than usual. Tairn clearly does not like the sight of him as he bares his teeth at him, saliva pooling on the ground beneath him.

Remind me to never annoy you. I say to Mealladh through the bond.

She chuckles. I will never get that angry at you unless you do something stupid. Which I highly doubt.

My bond with Mealladh was getting strong quickly. We could easily communicate with each other, shield each other out with ease. Even without having taken a single Signet Training class. So far the only one in our squad to show a signet had been Sawyer. He could control metal. Nearly took his opponents arm off in challenges when it manifested. Ridoc had told us the story over one of our meals. He thought it was the coolest thing he had ever seen. When would I get my signet? What would it be? They always said the signet represented the rider. Something about their personality or something to aid them. Something they needed. Every time I had tried to think about what it could be I came up short.

Rhiannon appears next to me as Dain slowly approaches Violet. “What do you think that’s about?”

I shake my head. “No idea. But Dain looks angry and Tairn does not look pleased about it.”

”No he does not.” We both laugh.

As it was our last class of the day we were waiting for Violet. All of us usually headed back to the dorms together before . As Tairn takes off Violet looks over to us and motions for us to leave. She had obviously agreed to talk to Dain.

”Have they talked since threshing?” I ask Rhiannon as we start to walk back down to the Quadrant, Ridoc and Sawyer not far ahead.

She shakes her head. “Don’t think so. She hasn’t mentioned if he has. And she would have.”

I nod. “That could be an interesting conversation they’re about to have then.”

”I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that one.” She adds with a smirk.

”Definitely. He says one wrong thing and she’s gonna rip into him.”

As if on queue I hear loud voices behind me. I turn my head to see they’ve barely made it a few steps and she is already angry at him. Poor boy. But he did this to himself. He’d been trying to baby her, send her to the scribes where he thought she belonged. But Violet had been thriving here despite her the limitations of her body. Hell she had bonded the strongest dragon in the Quadrant. Hell she had gotten two dragons. Something no one had ever seen before. And yet he still saw her as this poor frail girl that needed protection. I was thankful Garrick and Xaden had pretty much looked past that with me. I had made sure to prove I was not the girl they left behind in Aretia. I had grown, I had changed. I had adapted to survive. Not that I had much choice. Though I probably could have refused and ended up dead or locked in a cell. I chose the option that kept me alive. The option that got me back to my family, and as close to home that I could get.

The afternoon sun blinds me for a moment as we walk into the courtyard, busy with other riders now that classes are out for the day. I feel that familiar feeling and look over to see Xaden and Garrick leaning against the Academic Building, as if watching over their domain. Their eyes immediately meet mine.

”So what’s going on with you and Tavis?” Asks Ridoc as we stop just inside the courtyard, waiting for Violet to catch up. “Made it official yet now you’ve done the deed.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Rhiannon groans and rolls her eyes at him. “Really? You still call sex the deed? How old are you again?”

”Hey I was just trying to be more subtle about it in case anyone was listening.” He defends with his hands raised.

”Then don’t ask in a courtyard filled with almost the entire quadrant?” I bite back a laugh at her sassy remark.

”It’s fine Rhi. But if you must know, not yet.” I tell him bluntly.

”Was-”

”And I am not telling you details.” I say as I cut him off causing Sawyer and Rhiannon to laugh at his annoyed face.

Violet storms into the courtyard, clearly not pleased after her conversation with Dain. I laugh as she looks over at Xaden and gives him the middle finger as he arches an eyebrow at her. He can probably sense her mood through the bond. His gaze flickers to Dain who walks through the archway looking sorry for himself.

”Everything all right?” Rhiannon asks as she walks up to us.

”Dain is an ass -”

”MAKE IT STOP!” Someone screams as they run down the steps at an alarming speed, holding his head between his hands as if he was in pain. Not if. He was in pain.

I don’t know his name, but I know he’s one of the first years in third wing. He sits near us in battle brief.

“For gods, sake, make it stop!” He screams again, stumbling into the courtyard.

Every rider is on alert. Hands hovering over weapons ready to attack. Mine move to the daggers on my thighs. Next to Violet I see Xaden and Garrick move forward in a defensive stance, ready to jump in at a moments notice. The riders slowly creep forward, a circle forming around him. He was manifesting his signet. And something in my gut told me it wasn’t good.

”Jeremiah!” A cadet shouts as they rush forward.

”You!” He yells as he spins towards a third year, pointing his finger at him. “You think I’ve lost it!” The way his eyes flare and the tilt of his head, I don’t blame the third year. All of us are thinking it. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!”

That’s when it clicks. He’s inntinnsic. The one signet that means instant death. All of our thoughts are open to him. And the thought makes my blood turn cold.

”And you!” He spins around, this time to a second year. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?”

He spins towards Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!”

I have to give Jeremiah some credit. He mimicked Dain’s tone almost perfectly. I look over at Violet to see she looks just as terrified as the rest of us. Xaden and Garrick step forward, shoving Ridoc aside as they move up next to Violet and I who were at the front of our group. Everyone grasps their weapons as Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword.

”Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” He’s panicking.

”Xaden. You need to do something.” I say sternly, dagger now gripped in my right hand.

He nods before turning to Violet. “Start mentally reciting whatever bookish shit you’ve learned.”

She looks at him confused.

He looks at both of us. “If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now.”

Shit. I quickly slam up my shield as hard as I can. Try to recite what ever useless information I can as well.

”And you!” My heart drops as his eyes lock onto Garrick. “Damn it all to hell. He’ll know about Are-” He barely gets his sentence out before Xaden’s shadows wrap around his mouth, silencing him.

All I can do is stare at Jeremiah. To anyone else Are could have been anything. Could have been any word. But with Xaden’s reaction, I know its not nothing. Something in my heart knows what he was about to say. He was about to say Aretia. My home. Our home. That was destroyed years ago. But why would Garrick have been thinking about it.

Something tugs in my mind. And it isn’t Mealladh. It’s as if something else is there. I focus how Melgren had taught me. I’m in the courtyard back in Aretia. My home. To my left is the throne room door, where I can see Mealladh’s red and white presence glowing around the door I’ve shut off. But at the end of the courtyard is something else. Another presence wrapped in… black shadows? Just like Jeremiah was now. Something in me is calling to pull at it, investigate. I feel my left hand twitch as if wanting to tug on it. I’m so focused on it I don’t even see the professor rush towards Jeremiah. My left hand flexes as my mind tugs on the presence in my courtyard in my head. But as I do so the professor grips his head and a crack echoes off the walls. But I hear it louder in my head as the presence disappears as well as the shadows. Everyone’s so focused on the professor and Jeremiah to notice my recoil. Everyone except for two. As I snap out of it I look over to see Xaden and Garrick staring at me wide eyed. Their eyes darting between me and the floor. Underneath my foot is a deep but short crack. One that was definitely not there before. I can tell from the slight scorch mark and power radiating from it. They go to start towards me but I push through the crowd and use my size to get away before they can get to me. Yet again I am running away as Garrick calls my name from behind me. Part 17 Tag List: @riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the empyrean #the fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc

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miyaniacs · 4 months

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Corrupted by Darkness

- Chapter 1 -

Intro ; Wattpad

A/N: Hey :) Yes I’m forcing myself to write again… and if I wouldn’t update it immediately I’ll never update - so yes maybe there’ll be some some adjustments / reuploads. Still I hope you enjoy it. The next chapter will be a bit more story heavy - Thank you for reading it! <3

“YIELDDD” the blond haired guy yells. Getting up with a smirk, you take his dagger and leave the mat.

“Well that was … personal?” Rhi looks at me.

“I don’t even remember his name?” I look at her confused.

“I’m not talking about Leon.” She smirks and looks across the room, towards a shirtless Xaden… and Eve.

How is it possible that she’s always glued to him?

And why aren’t you glued to him?

‘Ohh shut up.’

Maybe he takes her because he can’t have you?

‘I look nothing like her? And before - I’m not jealous. I’m just forced to spend time with him and she’s always there.’

Uhuuu

‘NOCTIS!’

“Hellooooo? Earth at Nea?” Ridoc waves his hand infront of your face.

“Sorry sorrrryyy”

“Class is over - and we’re finally free!”

“For the day.” Liam sighs as he walks over towards your group.

“Aren’t you the most energetic out of all of us?” Rhi raises her eyebrows.

“OMG LIAM!” Ridoc fake gasps, “who’s the lucky one?”

“That you should ask Nea.”

And now all their eyes are fixed on me. I really should have remembered that his room is right next to his.

“Non of your business.” I smirk at them and start to make your way out of gym.

“No no nooo not so fast.” Rhi hurries next to you, quickly followed by Ridoc on your other side.

“There’s nothing to say.”

Sure there isn’t

‘Could you please stay out of this?

Hey you were the one involving me in it last night.

‘I already apologized for it didn’t I?’

I am still traumatized

‘Not my fault that you don’t get laid.’

Excuse me?! Maybe I just know how to keep you out of it?

‘And now I know for sure that you don’t get laid.’

“Sorry guys but it’s a secret.”

“Ok but was it good?” Rhi asks.

“Sounded like it was.” Liam laughs from behind us.

“… could we not discuss this right now.” I beg and rub my temples.

“And what should we discuss then?” Ridoc smirks and looks at me.

Rolling my eyes I glare at him: “ Well how about we discuss our next history test?” I smile innocently, while he groans.

“Why don’t we discuss the whole Eve thematic again?” Liam asks and pushes between me and Ridoc.

“There is nothing more to discuss. Her family is friends with people my family isn’t really … found of.”

“And she’s a bitch that thinks she’s better than us just because she’s a fae - no offense Nea.” Rhi adds.

“Non taken.” I laugh.

“And that’s why she doesn’t like you?” Ridoc asks.

“Yup this and the fact I’m friends with someone she desperately wants to fuck.” I laugh.

“What? Why haven’t any of you told me that she wants to fuck me? I know she’s a bitch but I wouldn’t say no…” Liam fake gasps.

“No Liam we’re talking about someone who’s actually attractive and doesn’t just have a big ass ego.” Rhiannon laughs.

“Ouch. That hurts Rhi.” Liam puts his hand over his heart and pouts.

“Nawww Liam… you know I wouldn’t say no to you - If you weren’t one of my friends.” I laugh.

“Thanks it helps hearing this from the hottest Fae around.” He smiles and puts his arm around my shoulder.

“Well… I loved this conversation, but my bed calls me.” Wiggling out of his “hug” I stop in front of my room.

“If you need any company - just call me, the walls are thin.” He winks and opens the door to his own room.

“See you at dinner?” Rhi asks while she and Ridoc walk towards their own rooms.

“Yes see you there!”

Closing the door I immediately take off my clothes and put on the big shirt Azriel left me last night.

As soon as my head hits my bed my mind wanders off to the events of last night.

Closing my eyes the image of Azriels face appears. It was always different between us.

While Rhys quickly became a father figure for me, Cassian and Mor immediately adopted me as a little sister. But Azriel… I was 15 when Rhys brought me with him and introduced me to his family.

Azriel was always cold and closed off, he avoided talking to me if not necessary, always had someone else with us when he trained me. Things changed on my 19th birthday. Mor was throwing a party for me, inviting everyone including my boyfriend at that time - to make it short he cheated on me that night … in my room… my bed.

While running away from him and the party I ran into Azriel… when I told him what happened something snapped inside of him and let’s just say I woke up next to him that morning… and the morning after… and after … and -

I get it. Please stop thinking about it.

‘Then stay out of my head.’

‘Hey Noctis?’

Yes little shadow?

‘Do you think it’s more than just sex for him?’

Is it for you?

‘…no.. I mean… he’s a close friend, so obviously I care for him…’

And you’re sure that’s all?

‘Noctis. I’m here and he’s in Velaris. Even if I wanted it to be more, it wouldn’t work out.’

And why not? He’s already visiting you.

‘I - He- yes..’

But?

‘Nothing… I should sleep now.’

Sure little shadow.

Wake up. Nea. Wake up. NEA!

I wake up to a voice in my head that isn’t Noctis and feel a hand placed over my mouth and start to panic, searching for the weapon under my pillow. How did this person get inside of my room? Isn’t my magic working? And why didn’t Noctis wake me up?

“Nea. It’s me.”

That voice… I blink and let my eyes adjust to the darkness in my room.

“Rhys?!” I muffle.

“Oh sorry.” He moves his hand off my face.

“Why are you here?”

“You wanted a care package didn’t you?” He smiles and gestures to my desk, where a big as basket full of food and presents, is placed.

“Thank you. And now why are you really here.”

“… Your letter.”

How could he already got … Azriel tool it with him. I mentally roll my eyes.

“Get dressed.”

“And why should I? It’s 3am?”

“Because I want to see your blood manipulation. So get out of Azriels shirt and come with me to the flight field.”

“How…. How do you?”

“Nea please.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles, “We all know.”

I just stare at him.

All of them?

Yes they all know. Now get dressed. I’ll meet you there.

‘Why are you coming?’

Because I asked him to come.

‘Yes it was planned for me to come before I got your letter’

‘WHY ARE YOU BOTH IN MY HEAD?!’

‘Because you forgot to have your wall up.’ Rhys scowls.

‘But why are you two talking?’

You’re underestimating my powers

‘I thought you’re only allowed to talk to me…’

Do I look like I stick to any rules?

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar headcanon #acotar oc #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #xaden x oc #xaden riorson #xaden x reader

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thetealhummingbird · 4 months

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Liam and Rhiannon watching Xaden and Violet have a psychic conversation and waiting for Violet to drop a context clues to what’s going on.

#fourth wing #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail

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skyfallscotland · 2 months

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So this has been in my head all day and I just had to get it out. I don't know if I'll just leave it here or uh...yeah. @justallihere I want you to know you're taking FULL responsibility for this nonsense. This is your fault 🫡

(consider this some AU world where Tyrrendor successfully seceded years ago, Xaden is king, and they have their own riders academy but Tairn still bonded Violet because he lives to make Xaden's life difficult, also...violet/cam/liam has a certain appeal to it...no, someone stop me)

“You know you can enjoy yourself while you’re here.” Violet Sorrengail says judgementally. “If you’re forced to follow me around, you may as well have some fun.”

“I’m not forced to follow you around.” He replies immediately, shifting on his feet as his eyes scan the dark tavern, noting each of the patrons lingering by the bar. It’s true he’s not. His brother had asked and he had accepted. It’s the least he can do while they try and figure out how to deal with this—the mess that Tairn has caused, bonding a rider from Navarre.

“Sure you’re not.” There’s that judgemental tone again.

“Perhaps I just enjoy your company.” He tosses back, a hint of flirtation in his voice. Violet eyes his boyish grin before snorting, shaking her head as she picks up her drink—some sweet-looking lavender concoction.

“And if I decide to enjoy someone else’s?” She challenges, a hint of conceit in her voice as she leans around him, nodding her head. “Like maybe Prince Cam’s? He’s been watching me since we got here.”

Liam’s head whips around and he instinctively moves to the side, shielding Violet’s body with his own as his eyes search out Navarre’s third prince. It takes a moment to find him, shrouded in darkness where he sits in the far corner of the tavern, boot on his knee as he nurses a glass of bourbon, his posture unnervingly relaxed.

He can’t quite make out the other man’s eyes across the room, but he knows from memory they’re a deep forest green, just like the rest of his family. “Yeah, totally fine with it.” Violet says sarcastically, drawing his attention back to her. She looks pointedly at his torso and the way it’s shifted automatically to shield her from the prince’s view.

“I’m not forced to do anything.” He insists, dragging his attention back to their conversation. “But I am here to keep you safe and that,” he shifts his eyes back to Cam, “is not safe for you—not anymore.”

It’s entirely out of her control—out of all theirs—but Violet Sorrengail is now the key to taking down Tyrrendor, so regardless of how she might feel about it, he’s going to protect her and that means not going anywhere near Navarrian royalty. “I’ll go and see what he wants.” Liam says sternly, his hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder. “Go back to your friends.”

Her jaw tightens and she opens her mouth like she might protest, but clearly thinks better of it. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, swiping up her drink and turning on her heel. She tosses one final glance over her shoulder towards the dark corner the subject of their conversation is in, but otherwise doesn’t falter, storming back over to her squad.

He watches, waiting for her to be safely ensconced between Rhiannon and Ridoc before striding slowly to the other side of the tavern, moving easily through the Saturday evening revelry until he’s standing over a man he’s only ever seen in passing.

“Liam Mairi.” The prince’s lips tick up. He drags his eyes up over Liam’s frame as the blond rider does the same. He’s sprawled out in the chair, relaxed as could be, his knees slightly spread as he takes a long draw of liquor. “Come to threaten me away from Sorrengail?”

“You know who I am.” It’s half statement, half question.

“I made it my business to know.” He taps his fingers on the table in front of him. “A Tyrrish citizen attending Basgiath War College? That sort of news travels fast.”

Liam crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

Cam’s lips tick up like that’s something amusing. “Many things.” He pauses for a moment, studying Liam’s face. “Where’s your king?”

Liam tenses. “In Aretia. Obviously.” He tries to appear as relaxed as the prince in front of him, but he’s certain he fails. “Xaden has a country to run, unlike…some.” His tone is mocking, challenging in a way he should probably refrain from, given his status as a diplomatic representative.

“Yes, it’s terrible being third in line. I really detest having all this free time to do whatever I like, truly.” He downs the rest of the bourbon in his glass, dropping it onto the table. “Tell me, does she know?” He climbs to his feet, circling around the table slowly, like a predator. “Do you plan on filling her in? After all, it’s only fair given the danger it puts her in—being bound to your king.”

“She doesn’t know.” Liam lowers his voice threateningly, “and you’re not going to tell her.” Blue meet forest green in a fierce glare. “Interesting that you do though,” he moves closer until there’s only an inch or two separating them. “I guess that means you’re just like the rest of your family—happy to sit back and watch the world burn.”

That gets a reaction out of him, the younger man stepping forward with a snarl on his lips. “You know nothing about me.” He looks up into Liam’s eyes. “You riders always think yourselves so superior to everyone else.” His voice drops to a low murmur, barely audible over the revelry of the tavern. “Just because I’m not flying around on the back of a dragon, doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing.”

He’s slightly shorter than Liam but just as well built and when he steps further into the blond’s space, Liam can’t help but look. His sandy brown hair is immaculately styled, his clothes are clean and pressed, and when he glances down even the man’s boots shine. It’s obvious he doesn’t belong here but…there’s something in the way the other man holds himself—with a spine of steel—that stirs something within him. That same steel is reflected in his eyes.

“So what are you doing?” He murmurs, the corner of his lips quirking up mockingly. “What’s your plan to help fight a war your family would stop at nothing to keep quiet?” Cam’s jaw is clenched, like he’s fighting to keep something in, rather than speak his mind. Almost against his will, Liam’s hand rises, his fingers sliding over the scruff on the other man’s jawline as he cups it gently. “All that power and what do you have to show for it?”

Cam’s lips part, his eyes roving over the blond’s face. “Nothing I can talk about here.” His green eyes are hard, unflinching as he tilts his head, pressing his cheek into Liam’s hand.

“Are you asking to get me alone?” The Tyrr’s lips curve up in a smirk.

“Would you like that?” The prince fires back.

He would actually. The shock of that revelation has him faltering, his usually unflappable composure dissipating as he stares down at the slow, arrogant smile spreading across full pink lips.

“Tell your king I want to speak to him, Mairi.” The younger man whispers, reaching up to lace his fingers through Liam’s before removing the blond’s hand from his face. It feels like it takes an eternity for their hands to separate, his fingers sliding purposefully over Liam’s own. “Whenever that dragon of his drags him back here.” The prince turns to leave, his torso brushing Liam’s as he slides past him, far too close for it to be considered accidental.

“And where will you be until then?” Liam enquires, his eyes dark.

Cam looks over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips. “I’ll be around.” He disappears into the crowd, going unnoticed by the rest of the taverns patrons and Liam watches him go, a dangerous, terrible curiosity stirring in his chest.

He remains frozen for a moment, unmoving until a flash of silver catches his eye and he shakes it off, striding across the floor to rejoin his new squad.

“That looked like it went well.” There’s laughter in Violet Sorrengail’s voice and a hint of arrogance as she ribs him. “I’m glad you took care of it.” A sarcastic grin slides over her face as she lifts her drink to her lips. “I’m fine here if you need to take care of anything else.”

He stares at her, unimpressed. “Very funny.”

“Mhmm.” She hums, her eyes dancing with mischief. “First time with a man?” This woman is entirely too smart for her own good and it’s only going to cause him more and more headaches as time goes on, he just knows it.

“I’m not into men.” He shuts her down.

“You’re a consummate flirt, Liam Mairi.” She laughs. “I refuse to believe that.”

But he’s not lying. Consummate flirt he may be, but he’s never been interested in anyone of the male gender…until now. Liam knows himself and his own mind well. He’s not into men, but Navarre’s third prince and his quiet arrogance, his ridiculously green eyes and the way his skin feels beneath Liam’s hands? That…that he may be into.

Shit.

#they are my new babies and i love them #why do i have a cute parapet scene circling around my brain now; send help #liam/cam #liam mairi #liam mairi/cam #fourth wing fanfic

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azrielhours · 11 months

Text

Waiting on a Ghost

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 9k. lmao

Synopsis: Reader moves to Windhaven before the Great War against slavery begins to help the cause. A fleeting romance blossoms unexpectedly between her and Azriel as attraction pulls them together, as they tiptoe around a bond that grows in their chests. They seek each other, and she waits to reunite with him through the war, through silence and sound, through hope and home. Inspired by the Odyssey.

Song inspo: Yebba’s Heartbreak by Drake

Warnings: Smut. Canon typical violence. This one hurt a fkn lot lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s nothing unique about the out-of-place feeling that comes with moving. You knew there would be a sense of uprooting upon changing homes. What you didn’t know was that your new home wouldn’t be a place. It would be him.

Rumours about a war breaking out had initially seemed like conspiracies. Enslaved mortals revolting, Human Queens leading an uprising. It quickly became a reality check when the King of Hybern massacred his slaves. The threat of war lurked like a storm on its way to claim fathers, neighbours, sons, to make widows out of wives, exchanging loneliness like a transaction for its violent means.

Your father knew he would be more useful to the cause closer to the fray, which is how you wound up packing your belongings and moving to a war camp called Windhaven. Home to the aerial cavalry of the Night Court, your father explained.

Settling in was as fast-paced as the war preparations. Warriors of legendary might walked the grounds, and you quickly acclimated to the sight of an Illyrian warrior shooting down from the sky in a landing. As your father worked tirelessly with weapon making, you’d found the nearest female and offered to do anything useful. “Please.”

She’d turned out to be a seamstress, noting your flustered state, unused to the casual prowl of the inked warriors that called this place home. She’d told you her name was Rhiannon as she directed you to meal preparations.

You did your best to ignore the stares you received during the communal dinners; the male hunger.

Rhiannon would laugh in passing at your flushed cheeks. “They’re not used to seeing refined ladies,” she’d tease. “I fear for the health of my sons when they see you.” You would rush back to work to the sound of her laughter.

One evening, there was a shift in the kitchen energy, whispers of some entourage. One of the girls informed you the High Lord had arrived. The soldiers he’d come with were seated nonchalantly amongst the usual faces you’d begun recognizing.

The High Lord was nowhere to be seen, and the warriors were no different than the rest. You gingerly stepped between the only empty seat, situated before a hulking warrior standing nearby who was turned away, occupied in conversation. You leaned forward to set your tray down, but before it contacted the table, something slammed into you from behind, knocking you forward. You braced for impact, losing your grip on the tray. Gasping in horror, you anticipated the clatter of dishes, but it never came. A hand to your left shot out instinctively, stabilizing the tray. Warrior reflexes. The table fell silent in the wake of your tumble, all eyes on you as you pushed yourself up off the table.

You turned, searching for the cause of your fall. Before you stood the warrior who’d been previously conversing; a giant, rugged mass of a male with hair down to his jaw. Red siphons gleamed in your peripherals. “I’m so sorry,” he said, hazel eyes wide. His hands were open and paused mid-reach, like he stopped himself from steadying you.

“It’s okay,” you breathed, still shaken.

“I didn’t see you. You’re so—” he brought a hand up, holding his index and thumb out to convey smallness. A laugh huffed out of you at his mild panic. He dropped the pinching gesture. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, smiling this time. You turned to assess the table. The tray… someone had grabbed it. Mid-air. You found it’d been set down by its saviour. The male seated to your left whose attention was now on you. Another set of hazel eyes.

These ones stole your breath away.

You stared and he stared right back. His golden-tanned skin seemed to glow in contrast to the darkness of his raven hair, his fighting leathers. “Oh,” you breathed. God, he was… beautiful. The most beautiful male I’ve ever seen. Pink blossomed on his high cheekbones, further accentuating the elegant planes of his face. “Thank you,” you breathed.

His head dipped in a silent nod. Shadows wafted around him as he continued to watch you. You ducked your head and turned abruptly to escape the weight of his gaze.

You ran right into a hard body. Stepping back, your eyes met with the first perpetrator. He smiled sheepishly, muttering another apology and stepping aside.

“Cassian, would you stop harassing the poor girl?” A female voice drew your attention. Lady Rhiannon. Thank God. She strode towards the table, a kind smile on her face. “I told you you’d sweep my boys off their feet. But it looks like they beat you to it.”

You stared, face hot.

“I was talking about the fall you took, darling,” she winked. “Isn’t that right, Cassian?”

“I’m very sorry about that,” he said again, brows raised in earnest honesty as he took the empty seat.

“These are your sons?” you exhaled.

She nodded, smiling fondly. “There’s one more. Rhysand, who’s just speaking to his father.”

You nodded, still off-kilter. She just chuckled, offering her arm, guiding you back. Cassian, Rhysand, and... The pretty one. They didn’t say his name.

“Azriel,” she said softly. You glanced over in question. She smiled knowingly. “His name is Azriel.”

You began blushing again. With a gentle pat on your cheek, she left you with your thoughts.

Before crossing the threshold back to the kitchen, you turned to glance at the table. Through the sea of people, you found him watching you. The shadows swirling around his head and wings were like the seeping essence of a dark angel; his eyes were clear and focused as they held your gaze.

Azriel.

The days passed and the males grew restless as talk of war circulated. You kept your head down, helping everywhere you could. At the end of your shift in the kitchen, Rhiannon came to personally invite you to her home for a gathering. “To keep the soldiers’ spirits up.”

“I don’t have anything nice to wear,” you patted down your apron. You’d given everything away with the abrupt move.

“You’re talking to a seamstress,” she teased. “I’m sure I have something for you.”

At her house, she had you try on dresses until you found one you liked. In your gratitude for her continuous show of kindness, you insisted on staying to help prepare for the gathering.

Guests began trickling in as the sun set. High-ranking officials populated the sitting area, and the house was soon full. You served refreshments, ushering guests in. Looking to the door for the hundredth time, you suppressed your disappointment at the absence occupying your awareness. You chastised yourself for caring, for wanting him to see you dressed up instead of frazzled in an apron, dumbfounded and speechless.

Motion on the windowsill pulled you out of your thoughts. Moving closer to get a better look, you realized what it was.

Shadows.

Immediately, you backed away, fussing with your skirts. The door opened, and in walked Cassian and another male bounding for Rhiannon. So this is Rhysand, then. At her friendly beckon, the males’ attention turned to you.

“Y/N, dear, you’ve met Cassian, and this is my son Rhysand.”

Cassian smiled down at you with wide-eyed sincerity. You returned his smile before surveying Rhysand.

His violet eyes matched his mother’s. “Please call me Rhys.” He offered a hand, tugging yours up to kiss your knuckles. “You’re the new lady, aren’t you? The one Cassian knocked down.”

Cassian muttered under his breath as you laughed. “I’m not a lady.”

“You certainly look like one,” he mused.

“Where’s Azriel?” Rhiannon asked, unfazed by her son’s shameless flirting.

“On the veranda,” Cassian answered.

Rhys’s gaze turned to you once more, something suddenly sparking in his eyes that made you brace yourself. “He could use some encouragement,” he purred.

“I’m sorry?”

Cassian smiled, catching the insinuation. “He’s a little shy. Maybe you could ask him to come inside.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Oh.

You took your tray and made your way to him.

Azriel was leaning against the wooden railing, observing the attendees occupying the grounds, wings folded tightly to his spine. A shadow curled at his ear, and he turned to face you, standing straight and tucking his hands behind his back.

His eyes tracked you as you approached him. Your stomach was doing flips beneath his stare, but you forced yourself to break the silence. “Lady Rhiannon—she told me your name is Azriel.”

A dip of the head. “It is. What’s yours?”

You suppressed a shiver at the baritone drag of his voice. “Y/N.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Were you just going to stay out here all night, Azriel?” You shamelessly indulged yourself, testing his name again. A small part of him you could borrow like sugar.

“I think I’m alright out here,” he spoke gently. He eyed the drinks in hand. “You’re always carrying a tray,” a small smile tugged his lips upward.

You matched his smile. “Except for when I drop it in front of all the soldiers.”

His smile deepened. “That’s on Cassian, not you.”

You took another step forward. “Well, thankfully you were there to help.”

Despite the command of his stature, he averted your gaze, flushing. “Don’t mention it.” He’s a blusher, then. He still smiled, tugging at your heartstrings. A beat of silence, then he said, “You’re here to help with the war efforts?”

“Yes. My father is a blacksmith.”

He nodded thoughtfully, eyes wise beyond his years. “Do you miss home?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know if… I have a home.”

He studied you. “No?” he asked softly. “No scenery or family to miss?”

You averted your gaze. “Not really. I don’t have any family besides my father.” You offered a small smile to ease the tension. “I brought my favourite books with me, that’s enough for now.”

“I’m not unfamiliar with that feeling,” he voiced, eyes scanning the crowd of warriors.

“No family?” you repeated his question.

“I have my brothers. That’s enough for now.”

A beat of silence as you both sat in your confessions.

“You’re going to fight in the war?” You asked foolishly.

His attention returned to you. “Of course. It’s an honour.”

You nodded, pain suddenly stabbing in your chest at the thought. Azriel’s shy nature was blasphemy in war. Maybe he feels as out of place as I do.

Looking around at the males, you sought to distract yourself from the sorrow you felt. Azriel noted your distressed gaze sweeping the yard, misunderstanding its cause.

“Let me,” he said, taking the tray off your hands.

You huffed a laugh. “You’re always taking trays from me,” you teased.

Azriel just smiled. “I’m at your disposal.”

As he turned to step off the veranda, you couldn’t stop yourself— “Azriel.” He halted, turning back to face you. “When you’re finished… come inside.”

Caught off guard, he stared, brows high.

You cleared your throat. “They, um… they told me to ask you to come in.”

He cocked his head to the side, a crooked smile this time. “Did they?”

You bit your lip shyly. “Mhm. I mean, only if you’d like to,” you tried.

He didn’t indulge you, holding his ground silently; a cheekier side of him that he hadn’t shown before. His crooked smile remained, eyes narrowing playfully at your slip of the tongue.

You scoffed, blushing harder. “Will you come inside please, Azriel?”

He laughed, letting you off the hook. “Alright. I’ll meet you inside, then.”

“Okay,” you said, turning on your heel before you made any more of a fool of yourself.

Inside, Cassian and Rhys immediately bounded over, displaying a familiarity with you that warmed you to the bone. “Where is he?” Cassian asked.

“He’s handing out drinks to the other warriors.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a bewildered look. “What?” you asked at the sudden shock.

“You got Az serving refreshments to the Illyrians?” Cassian gaped.

Rhiannon joined your group, smiling as her boys howled with laughter. She smiled at you. “Like I said. You’re bad news for the health of my sons.”

A week passed since the gathering. Azriel never left your thoughts. Even your father noted how you’d often zone out, gazing at shadows as evenings fell, watching them dance. Your daydreams would frequent the memories of the gathering, the shy glances on the veranda, how happy you felt when Azriel indeed came back to you.

Cassian and Rhys kept you company. When Azriel arrived, it felt like something settled into place. Like the sense of uprooting had resolved. He smiled and walked over, and you listened as his brothers told you animated story after story of all the trouble the three of them had gotten into through the years.

Your joy was cut short when Azriel got called away for something with the High Lord. You didn’t get a chance to see if he’d ask you to dance with him.

A knock on the door yanked you back to reality. You crossed your house to answer the door, but your father was already there. You peered from behind him as he opened the door, freezing at the sight of the hazel-eyed Illyrian standing on your veranda with his hands tucked behind his back. Your father asked him, “What can I do for you, son?”

Azriel dipped his head in greeting, eyes flitting to yours before addressing your father. “Sir, I have some books that belonged to my mother. They’re of no use to me. I thought since your daughter was learned, she might… appreciate them.”

“That’s very generous,” your father said, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” you breathed, reaching to take the books Azriel pulled from behind his back. Two novels. His fingers brushed against yours, and you hoped your father wouldn’t notice the blush staining your cheeks.

“You must come in,” your father said, turning to lead the way inside. But Azriel opened his mouth to object, his cheeks blushing red.

“Oh, no, I should probably get back,” Azriel objected, his eyes darting to the floor.

“He seems more comfortable outside, father,” you cut in. “Perhaps you could go on a walk with him.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and you bit back a smile. “Well the weather is nice,” your father said, gesturing for Azriel to lead the way. Azriel looked back at you as your father exited the threshold, throwing a playful glare at you for having cornered him. You grinned brazenly, closing the door.

You spent the next while sitting by the window in your room, watching fondly as Azriel walked with your father around the grounds. You only felt slightly guilty for orchestrating it. The books he brought you were clutched to your chest like treasures. You finally broke your attention off the pair outside and opened the first novel.

The smile was wiped off your face. There was a note written in precise handwriting that fell onto your lap, and a portrait of Azriel. You couldn’t help but trace over the portrait of his handsome face like a widow, like he was yours and the longing you felt was justified. You let yourself read his note.

You said your books are enough home for you. These are my favourites, so you have a piece of my home as well.

Rhys made me add the portrait. So you don’t forget me, Y/N.

You’d gotten used to the routine of things, finding fulfilment in the work and bustle of the camp. Most of all, you anticipated the glances during dinners. His books sat on your nightstand. His portrait inside, his handwriting. You’d pass by tables of warriors and beam with glee, thinking they don’t know I have Azriel’s books in my room. In the kitchen, singing as you worked. They don’t know he wants me to remember him. It made you hope and dream, made the future feel less bleak.

Until one dinner, when a young boy came running through the halls. The Windhaven Messenger, bringing a letter from another Illyrian camp. “The High Lord commands deployment!”

The communal hall fell silent as the boy continued his declaration. “The King of Hybern has sent out his commanders. We set out westward tonight!”

The Illyrians immediately rose, the silence turning over as quickly as it fell. The warriors left their tables and began exiting to prepare to march to their high lord. Some were whooping in excitement, some looking for their friends, a few sending prayers above. Your stomach sank, the dishes in your hand clattering to the floor. You didn’t care, stepping over them and searching for him, for his brothers.

You found Azriel at his table, a calm force standing still while everyone around him rushed about. His face was solemn but settled. Once again, his very nature seemed sacrilege in the face of battle. A contradiction that seemed unnatural and cruel.

You held each others’ gaze, the entire camp bustled around you while the two of you stood vigil at either end of the hall, two upright pillars surrounded by a raging storm.

Finally, someone clasped Azriel’s shoulder, drawing his attention aside as he listened, likely a command from a superior. Azriel looked back once more before he followed the male outside with the rest of the Illyrians, leaving you to pick up the pieces off the floor, broken glass and broken heart alike.

When the cleaning finished, you headed back to your house. At home, you took what you needed, steeled your nerves, and headed in the direction your heart commanded before cowardice overpowered you.

Lady Rhiannon’s house. Three knocks on the door as loud as your heart hammered. You told yourself you wouldn’t mind if Cassian or Rhys answered the door. They deserved goodbyes as well, deserved your prayers and parting words.

But when Azriel opened the door, you sighed in relief. Then got overtaken with nerves all over again. “Azriel,” you breathed.

He stepped out onto the porch, jaw tense and eyes piercing. “Y/N.”

He could surely hear how your heart raced, see how you fumbled with your hands. “I—I brought you this book. To take with you.” You extended it forward.

His eyes softened. “A piece of your home.”

Holding his gaze steadily, you said, “Yes. A piece of my home.” Spoken with the certainty that only he brought out of you in this place as you drank him in like the elixir of life.

His head dipped imperceptibly. “Thank you,” he held the book with reverence, opening it. You held your breath as you bore the vulnerability. Inside the book was your own portrait for Azriel’s remembrance, and a note. You watched as his typically stoic face opened, how his eyes widened, his mouth parted.

You’d required Cassian’s aid in tracking down an alchemist to render your portrait using Dawn Court magic. Your note to Azriel was as an invitation to write to you. Permission. You stepped back on the porch, watching the men walk the ground as he read your note.

Perhaps my books aren’t enough anymore. Perhaps I’ve finally found the home I’ve been searching for.

I could never forget you, Azriel Shadowsinger.

You turned back to him, and Azriel’s piercing hazel stare flashed to yours. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Neither of you knew how to maneuver around the sentiments. You shook your head, turning to leave in the wake of bashfulness. “Y/N,” he breathed, reaching forward.

He wrapped a strong forearm around your waist, pulling you back to him. You gasped, body flush with his chest, hands flying to his shoulders. Azriel kissed you, pulling you impossibly tighter to his broad chest, so firmly to him that your feet left the ground. His other arm wrapped around you, and you melted. His lips were soft but his kisses were demanding. He pressed deeper into your mouth, leaning forward until you were set back on your feet, but you still clung to him. Your eyes remained blissfully closed as you gasped inhales, exhaling sighs into his mouth when he didn’t let up, claiming your bottom lip between his own. His hard body around yours made your head cloud over, made you breathe harder as you tried and failed to regain your bearings.

Until the front door opened again, and Azriel released your mouth. Cassian and Rhysand stepped out and walked around where the two of you remained firmly embraced. Rhysand laughed, his stride unfaltering as Cassian followed, yelling over his shoulder, “he’ll be back!”

Azriel rested his mouth on your shoulder as they strode off, as you caught your breath, still clinging to him. His arms released your waist, hands moving to your shoulder blades as he too panted raggedly. He still pressed you to his chest, his shadows dancing around your pairing. Finally, he broke off entirely, leaving you standing in a complete daze on the porch. He re-entered the house with the door open between the two of you. You watched as he slung a bag over his shoulder, securing the last of his weapons onto his person, then stepped back onto the porch. He stared into your eyes, the intensity piercing, nearly making your knees buckle.

“I’ll wait for you,” you breathed.

Azriel was still breathing hard. He didn’t say anything, just clutched onto the book. He slowly walked around you, holding your gaze, collecting his composure. Until he turned, joining his brothers at the end of the yard.

You ran down the path to where women gathered to send their men off and waited for Azriel’s unit to march on. A chorus of goodbyes and well-wishes echoed in the air, colonels organizing their men, but you could’ve sworn a soft lullaby drifted above it all as you found Azriel in the ranks. As he took you in with the same longing in his eyes that you just tasted on his lips. You heard the melody play and tried to lean into it, to let it be the last thing you felt as he marched away instead of the sorrow rapidly displacing it. I’ll be here, you vowed. And you’ll come back to me.

There was a sense of fracturing between your ribs. Perhaps your heart breaking so soon after he’d just made it dance with unity, with joy and yearning and rightness.

His gaze snapped to yours one last time. Determination in them this time. You felt it as much as you saw it. Yes.

Azriel, you will come home to me.

Only after the Illyrians shot to the skies did you break your gaze. Pointing it further skyward, you commanded, bring my home back to me.

The beginning was the hardest; the jarring sense of deprivation after weeks of liveliness, of full tables and packed schedules. There were days when you’d wander the grounds, memorizing his home while he was away, searching for glimpses of the honing of his life.

You never knew silence could be so sinister.

Painful days stretched to painful weeks. Months.

News came in scattered clusters through letters received by the women. Hybern sent out his greatest commanders, Amarantha and Clythia to partake in the war. That’s what prompted the hasty deployment.

You wrote to Azriel, asking about his wellbeing, if he had any idea when it would be before he returned. If he was safe.

Azriel did not write back.

Every morning, you’d head to the communal hall where the messengers brought letters from the living and reports on the dead. You’d search for Azriel’s name in both and find it present on neither.

According to a woman whose husband marched in Azriel’s legion, the High Lord coveted Azriel for his Shadowsinging powers, that he now personally commanded Azriel. That explained the radio silence, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. The High Lord fears that his son will rival him in power, she told you, rubbing your arm. He’s separated the three boys in fear of usurping.

Lady Rhiannon would visit, would wipe your tears and shed her own. My Rhys is only 28, she once cried. She told you how Azriel had been imprisoned by his father for 11 years, how he ached to fly, what scarred his hands. She stopped when your tears made it hard to see, instead telling you about how Cassian used to hide in his wings as a child when he was embarrassed, how he played pranks on the High Lord’s council, how the boys once convinced him to swim in the nearby river and took off with his clothes.

That was in the first year. In the second year, it became less bearable to speak about Azriel. There were a few Illyrians who stayed behind, who had the gall to try to court you in his absence. One in particular, Eurymachus, was relentless. He’d find you in the communal hall and tell you, “He’s not coming back. You’re waiting on a ghost.”

The ghost of him was better than any living man.

By the third year, some women moved to a camp closer to the war, including Lady Rhiannon, whose departure was salt on your bleeding wound.

News was still scattered. The last you’d heard, there was a realm where the slaves were freed by two warriors named Miryam and Morrigan.

You prayed that brought the fighting closer to an end. Hope became a ration of war.

When days slipped by and the nights lingered, you’d close your eyes and replay the last time you touched him—the first time, the only time—his hard chest against yours. How his hands pressed you close, how he breathed directly into your mouth. So you’d slip out of bed and write to him again.

Azriel Shadowsinger,

I did not get the chance to dance with you. I never got to hold your hand, never got to walk with you. But still, I dream of the day I live out those wishes. I’ve been evicted from my home all over again. I may be inside a structure but it’s just a matter of rooms. My true home is wherever you are. I pray my home is safe, I pray it’s on its way back to me.

I feel something deep in my chest that sings to me, that feels an awful lot like an instrument. It stirs inside me like a canary in a coal mine. Maybe I’m losing my grip on sanity, but I tell myself that it’s you, that you may not write to me, but your heart sings to mine.

I did not get to say vows to you, Azriel, and maybe I never will, so let this be my first. I take you, Azriel Shadowsinger, for everything you are, in your sound and silence. I will continue to wait for you, and I will only stop when I stop breathing. Come back to me.

Seven years.

The war went on for seven excruciating, unimaginably long years.

Your father died in the fourth year, making the passage of time longer and shorter at the same time, making it run weird, stretching in some places, thinning in others. You’d been bedridden for months. Other women at the camp came to care for you but remembrance was a blur.

“I’m waiting on a ghost,” you’d told them once.

“Doesn’t it make sense to live for him, then? What’s the point if you’re both ghosts.” That was the day you left the bed.

Live for the ghost. Live for Azriel.

You’d learned archery. The deserters trying to court you persisted shamelessly, only growing bolder with your father’s passing. His passing also meant the money gradually ran out. The women trained you, giving you something to do with all the waiting. Gave you the means to provide dinner for the small group of you that ate together.

They all knew who you waited for. You stopped going to the hall to seek his name, only listening for the strum that sometimes arose inside your ribs, willing one back. A shout across the void. A reminder of unsaid vows.

Until one day a woman came running with a letter in hand.

It was from Cassian.

You opened it with shaky fingers. It contained three words, but three were enough.

He’ll be back.

It was another day of biting cold as you drew your bowstring, hunting wild turkeys for tonight’s meal. You fired with practiced aim, walking to collect your game. You were barely outside Windhaven, beginning to turn around when you spotted a male in the distance. Eurymachus, no doubt on his way to try his luck again. You scoffed, notching an arrow in your bow, steadying your aim.

You spared no mercy. “Stop where you are,” you commanded, a voice of practiced authority after years of sly men with sly tactics. “Turn around and leave this camp!”

The male slowed, raising both his arms in surrender, but he still stalked forward. “Y/N?”

“Stop where you are, or I’ll shoot!” You fired a warning arrow above his silhouette, notching another.

The male halted at last, lowering his arms. Smoke drifted off them as they lowered.

No, not smoke.

Shadows.

Your bow lowered, every thought eddying from your mind.

Your heartbeat began pulsing in your ear, almost loud enough to block out the faint lilt in the air, a song that played on the wind.

Then that strum in your sternum pulled taut and released.

Your arms went slack.

Azriel Shadowsinger stood before you. His shadows slithered tentatively towards you on the snow, halting before making contact. He looked at your bow, then scanned your face, the bewilderment in it.

“Azriel,” you choked. Azriel. Dropping your weapon, you cried louder, “Azriel!” Azriel. Azriel. Azriel. You began running to him.

Running home.

His eyes fell shut in utter relief, at the sound and sight. They opened again, surveying you with holy reverence.

You halted your running. This time, his name fell in wet whispers. “Azriel.” Azriel. His presence was like a phantom pain.

He walked towards you, that music on the wind a divine witness.

Your knees threatening to buckle. It was really him. Azriel was here. You nearly shook your head in disbelief, watching as he walked closer while your tears silently fell.

Azriel stood in front of you, letting out a deep shuddering exhale in relief. He looked utterly exhausted, but his eyes were bright and entirely fixed on you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you spoke softly, voice shaking. “Come with me. Let’s go home.”

Home.

Azriel fell asleep as soon as you brought him home. You didn’t touch him yet, just walked before him and tried to calm your racing heart. You took him to your room, watched as he took off his bag, his weapons, his coat. You ran to fetch him some water and came back to find him asleep on the bed over the covers. Bringing one of your blankets over him, you watched as he slept.

He was older, the contours of his face deeper. His cheekbones stuck out more prominently, his jaw even sharper. You wondered how far the lines of change also cut within, if that softness was carved out of him in the carnage and killing fields.

You wept silently by his side as he slept, wept for your youth that slipped away in the prison sentence waiting for your Shadowsinger, wept for his youth that barely made a dent in his life. For the years that estranged you, the weight of them crashing down all at once. Wept in relief for the end of it finally arriving, like the lull of sleep claiming people at nightfall.

Finally, you picked yourself up and got to work, preparing a meal for him.

You sat in the living room, doing what you’ve become an expert in over the last near-decade—you waited. The stars came out, and the Shadowsinger came down.

A kernel of youth returned to his face after resting and washing up. He’d changed into a linen shirt and slacks. He still hesitated around you, clearing his throat, standing in your space but not sitting. You rose to meet him halfway. “Did you receive my letters, Azriel?”

He nodded. “I have five. I kept them in the book you gave me. Cassian brought them to me when we were in the same camps, which was not often.”

A beat of silence. “I sent out hundreds.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. He broke your gaze then met it again. “I suspected the High Lord was keeping them from me.” He absentmindedly rubbed against his sternum. The same place you felt that stirring within. His eyes sobered. “Even without… communication, Y/N, you are what kept me sane out there. Kept me from the darkness.”

You thought of the strength you drew from him after your father’s passing. “Me too, Azriel.”

He continued. “I didn’t need written word to know the sound of your laugh. The colour of your eyes.”

The familiar yearning, the shy glances you both exchanged made you feel like your youth was creeping back into you. It was your turn. “You hiding out on the veranda,” you smiled.

A playfulness lit his hazel eyes. “You carrying a tray.” He matched your smile.

“Well, I needed an excuse to see you, didn’t I?” Tears warmed your eyes again. “I waited every day, Azriel. I waited every day for seven years for you. Longing to see your face.” His eyes fell shut, pain etching his handsome features. A longing he knew all too well.

His brows furrowed. “I fear that the time apart isn't the only thing that came between us, Y/N. I fear that the war’s changed me more than I bargained for.” An inhale. “I want only to offer you goodness, but if I had any, I fear that it’s all gone now.”

Your heart stuttered. “Azriel, I wrote to you once that I take you as you are. In sound and silence, and I’ll tell you that again right now. I take you as you are. And I know the goodness isn’t gone because I can feel it.” You traced down your breastbone.

He looked at you in astonishment. “You feel it?”

“Yes. I can feel you, Azriel.”

The edges of his lips tugged up in a smile, his eyes still wide with awe. The muteness for once felt like a sanctuary and not solitude.

After years of unspoken communication, you both acquired fluency in silence. You walked to him, standing before the hearth. The canary inside pulsed, and you sent a pulse back.

“The day we left, I thought my ribs broke from the… ache of leaving you. I felt it in my bones, a cleavage. But the soldiers, when nights were quiet, they whispered of a bond that ran so deep, it overpowered marriage.”

Yes. “I felt it too that day, Azriel.”

He nodded, gaze focused. “They say it’s like a…”

“A snap.”

He took one step closer. “So that makes us—”

“Mates,” you breathed.

Another nod. “Mates.”

Yes. That admiration stayed in his eyes.

Then, his voice softened. “I know we’ve been waiting all this time, Y/N, but… if it’s too much—I don’t want to rush you. The—mating—if you want it, or—” crimson tinted his cheekbones, reminding you of a younger Az— “If you’d want me—as your husband. Whatever you want.”

You mirrored his wide-eyed wonder as his words stripped you to the barest, most base self. To your soul. “I want you like I’ve never wanted anything, Azriel. Husband, mate, both, anything. Any capacity I get to have you, I want it.”

He nodded, the embodiment of certainty and truth. “Y/N, I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife as well as my mate.”

You nearly scoffed, but your heart was bursting with joy. “I’ve already vowed myself to you on paper.” Lost in whatever archive or fireplace the High Lord stored your letters. You felt light, felt certain like you’ve never known certainty. You beamed comfortably at him. At your mate. “The war, it’s made certain things feel… trivial. Like a wedding.” You looked away, thinking about it for a moment. The stars were your only witnesses. There were no priestesses to call on, no contracts that could bind you more strongly to each other than the binding you carried in your bones—in your soul.

Returning your gaze to his, you found bountiful patience in his eyes. “You know,” you spoke softly, “where I’m from, there was a culture nearby where all you had to do was say ‘I do’ three times, and it was enough to marry a couple.”

Azriel did not smile. He looked at you with the intensity you missed for seven years. An intensity that meant promise. You were his entire focus, and he did not yield. In a clear voice, he declared, “I do. I do. I do.”

You laughed to keep the tears abated. But you maintained that intense gaze, and breathed, “Azriel. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do I do, I—”

His lips cut you off. He took one stride towards you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

Married.

Just like that, you were married. In your heart—married. He held you to him, and the years apart were nothing. The feel of his hard body—harder than you recalled—was everything right in the world. Safety personified as he held you to him, taking care to be gentle with you. All the unspoken words were heard and felt on your lips. You broke off from his mouth, not seeking to waste a minute longer. “I have… my corset, it’s got so much lacing.”

The bond inside you sang louder than ever. You felt his desire grow, matching yours, strumming on the instrument strung across your chest bones. You turned around, moving your hair out of the way. He rested his warm hands on either side of your waist. He traced them up your back, beginning to gently pull the laces loose, helping you out the corset. Then he pulled apart the ties of your skirts, watching as they pooled at your feet.

You slumped into his body, relishing the reliability, the knowledge that he came back, that he was real. His hands gripped you into him as he began kissing your shoulder. Only your shift separated your body. Turning in his hold, you fisted the hem of his shirt, freeing it from his pants. He yanked it off at the neckline.

His powerful body had packed on even more muscle. He was littered with scars that you ached to trace. Placing your hands on his abdomen, you dragged them upward, trying to permanently etch him into your memory. His chest rapidly rose and fell beneath your fingers. You gazed at him innocently, wanting to remember how his face contorted with pleasure from your touch, from his restraint. His jaw feathered, lips parted, pupils dilated. He bent forward and kissed you again, seizing the opportunity with your craned neck. He was less careful now, pulling you firmer to him. You gasped when a hardness pressed into your stomach. He kissed down your jaw, paying attention to your neck. His kisses were hot, making you gasp and press your legs tighter together.

He reached the juncture of your shoulder, cradling your head to him as he continued his path. Then he pulled the straps of your shift to either side of your shoulders, and let it pool at your feet with the rest of your clothes.

He stepped back, looking down your form with a fervour that made you begin shaking. “You’re beautiful,” he rasped. He pulled you to him by the waist, bending to kiss your throat. Then down your chest, kissing over the bond. He slowly sank to his knees, your hands braced on his shoulders, watching as he continued his path downward. His hands slid down your form, cradling your hips, your thighs.

“I used to think of your little hands,” he said, voice guttural. “Your waist. The way you felt under my hands.”

You ran your hands through his hair, carding your fingernails over his scalp. He groaned, resting his head against your hip as you did.

“Your hands, Azriel. The way you held me. No one’s ever touched me like that before,” you exhaled, sinking to your knees, seeking to kiss him again. At his level, he kissed you so deeply that you began tilting backward. He guided you to the floor, admiring how you looked in the glow of the hearth.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he ground out. He didn’t break your gaze, even as he reached for one of your breasts. Your back arched, writhing when he thumbed your peaked nipple. When your writhing caused your legs to part, he snaked a hand between your thighs, feeling up the creamy skin til he found what he was seeking.

You inhaled sharply as his fingers spread through your wetness, easing some of the aching pressure. You couldn’t help but moan, helpless under his skilled hands as he continued to massage your apex. Then he eased a finger into your entrance, stroking in and out of you. Your head spun, brows pinching together at the euphoria. He studied you closely, your contorting features, how you moved against his hands. He bent down, kissing you, swallowing your moans as you were pulled closer to a precipice. He eased another finger inside, stretching you open as you squirmed. “That’s it,” he spoke breathlessly into your mouth. Then he curled his fingers inside you and you shattered. The climax tore through you, back arching and limbs trembling. He pulled back to watch you fall apart.

When your heaving lessened and you could open your eyes again, he kissed you. You pulled him down by the neck, wanting more of him. He moved from your side to situate himself between your open thighs, bending to rest his weight on his forearms on either side of your head. His body rested over yours. You gasped at the hardness of him pressing at the apex of your thighs. As he kissed you, you reached for the hem of his pants, fussing with them until he helped you remove them.

Utterly bare. He cushioned his length against your wetness, grinding into you while he kissed you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, giving him wider access, urging him on. He finally reached down and guided himself into you.

Your breathless writhing halted. You stared wide-eyed as he pushed the first inch into you, an uncomfortable stretch. He shuddered, jaw clenched as he restrained himself from entering further. His eyes were locked on yours, noting the rigidness, how you held your breath. “Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he spoke tenderly despite the tension in his body.

You inhaled, trying to relax. He kissed you, softly this time. His tongue teased into your mouth, working against yours. When he groaned into your mouth, you relaxed, sighing contently. He continued to kiss you, and when he tried to pull away, you chased him, wanting more. He carefully pushed his length further into you, pausing again. He zeroed in on every reaction you made to his ministrations. He continued to breathe hard, controlling himself despite the pleasure flooding him, despite the urge to sheathe himself. He bit your bottom lip, and the friction of his hard chest against yours made you involuntarily roll your hips further onto his length.

His breath hitched as you tested his endurance. His thorough carefulness heightened your need for him. With the heels of your feet, you began pressing him further into you. He exhaled in relief but tried resisting. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I want it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

“You aren’t,” you lied.

He shook his head, words failing him in the wake of your tightness.

“Please,” you exhaled.

He studied you before moving his fingers to your clitoris, thumbing at it slowly. You gasped, instinctively rolling further onto him. He continued to sheath himself while his thumb rubbed against you until he bottomed out. He kissed you, holding himself in place. With him fully inside you, there was no space between your bodies. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you pulled him impossibly tighter to you, moaning into his mouth.

When you rolled your hips beneath his, he started to move, pulling back an inch and thrusting back in, working you through the movements. Pleasure overpowered any stinging discomfort as he moved inside you, stroking against spots that made your toes curl. Your back began arching on its own accord as you chased the feeling, holding him like he was going to leave again. His head fell into the crook of your neck, breathing hard against the tight pull of your entrance, how he glided with ease.

That build-up began churning in you again as he sped up his motions. You could hardly breathe, couldn’t think. Beginning, middle, and end—all things were Azriel, Azriel, Azriel. As he moved in you, you could’ve sworn your souls were dancing together, the bond between you one entity that thrummed with life. Your thighs shook from the unbearable pleasure, your head thrown back on the floor. He kissed your neck, pumping into you while your legs tightened around his waist. His audible panting was an erotic rhythm, and when he angled his hips forward on his thrusts, he hit a spot within you that sent you into another spiraling release. You clawed at his back as he continued to move inside you through your climax until you felt a warm wetness release into you, and his hips finally ebbed.

He remained tucked inside, resting his body on yours as you rubbed soothing strokes down his back. Your breathing calmed, heartrates slowing. He released himself from you, making you gasp at the sudden loss. He pulled the throw blanket on the couch, draped it over you, and lay back beside you over the animal skin on the ground. You immediately wrapped yourself into his open arms, laying your head on his chest and bringing the blanket over him as well. He held you to him, kissing your head. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He continued to stroke your hair, the side of your neck, your back, murmuring softly into your hair as you fought off the lull of sleep. It wasn’t until you felt a distinct sensation of contentment in your chest that you drifted off, to the sound of his voice caressing you. “I’ll be your family. You’ll be my family. And this can be our home.”

You wanted to tell him that he was your home, but the peace he brought you overpowered you, dragging you to sleep.

When you awoke the next morning, you waited for the subdued dread to wash over you as it always did, but all you felt was a warmth in your chest cavity. You arose, taking in the space around you that’s never felt like home as it did now. You spotted your husband in the kitchen, quietly pacing as he heated the food you made the night before.

When his shadows wafted around you, he came to see you. A smile graced his beautiful face as he crouched before you to kiss your temple, muttering a greeting. You reached for your shift, dressing yourself and joining him in the kitchen.

“We forgot to eat last night,” you said.

“We’ll have it right now,” he smiled easily, taking his seat at the table where he’d warmed everything again. Turkey stew. He’s also managed to find some pastries and coffee. You began eating your fill, famished after the strenuous activities the night before. Azriel did not eat, prompting you to pause.

At your questioning gaze, he spoke. “If I eat this meal, that officiates our mating bond.”

Though your heart raced at the notion, you just smiled. “What are you waiting for, then?”

Azriel relaxed, returning your smile, the crinkles by his eyes deepening. You watched as he took a bite of your stew, watched as he ate his entire share. When he set his plate down, exhaling, the glint in his eyes made your flutter. The strum in your chest now felt like an open channel. You pushed an experimental feeling through it. Adoration. He sent it back, and you felt it course through your skin. He beckoned you over, sliding his chair back to make space for you. You padded over, sitting on the table before him. He kissed you, the restrain he’d shown last night a foreign concept. As you pulled him to you by the neck, fisting his hair in your fingers—

There was a knock on the door, halting your actions. You reluctantly pulled away, laughing at the glassy look in his eyes as he forced himself to let you go.

You opened the door, gasping and swinging it wide open at the sight of Lady Rhiannon. You threw yourself into her arms; she laughed, catching you and embracing you. You felt a warm, solid body press into your back as Azriel joined your embrace, wrapping his massive arms around the both of you. “Azriel,” she breathed, and you felt her tears wet the side of your neck as she beheld her adoptive son.

When you pulled away, you wiped her tears like she’d wiped yours countless times. “The boys are at my house. They’re home. That’s all I wanted to say,” she spoke joyfully. The two of you had made it to the end of your own battle. You nodded, promising to be right over as she turned on her heel and made her way back to her awaiting sons.

When you closed the door behind you, Azriel stepped back out of your reach. “We just confirmed our mating bond. If you want to go see the boys, we’ll have to be quick, before the frenzy.” He took another step back, his nostrils flaring, eyes screwing shut like your scent was an aphrodisiac beyond his endurance.

You laughed. Walking over to your pile of clothes leftover from the night before. “I’ll be quick,” you said, yanking on your skirt, pulling your corset over your head, lacing it tight. When you glanced at Azriel, the look of utter and complete desire in his eyes made you laugh again. His hands were fisted at his sides, and he was breathing deeply as he tried to school himself.

“I’ll walk over first, then you can make your way over. If that helps,” you offered.

“Okay,” he said, huffing a laugh at the nature of the situation.

You strapped on your bow and arrow, then blew him a teasing kiss goodbye at the door, laughing as he groaned dramatically. You walked as fast as you could to Rhiannon’s house.

Turning a corner, your bubble of contentment burst when you spotted Lady Rhiannon stopped near her house by a male on a horse. It was Eurymachus.

You walked over, notching an arrow on your bow. “How many times have I told you to leave this camp, Eurymachus?” you said.

His attention slid to you. “Looks like all your waiting was for nothing, Y/N. I see your little lover never made it back from the war. I told you you were waiting on a ghost,” he sneered.

You saw the door to Rhiannon’s house open, but you kept your eyes trained on Eurymachus. Cassian stepped out, sword in hand. “I suggest you heed the Lady’s warning before the High Lord returns.”

Eurymachus jumped, turning abruptly to face Cass, then turned to face you again, disgust on his face. “Are you his female as well? You rejected me for a band of bastard scum?”

“Watch your mouth,” you warned.

“I don’t take orders from whores.”

Cassian threw a dagger and it found its mark in his thigh. He yelped, swinging his sword, dismounting off his horse as it reared. Eurymachus reached for a dagger and threw it clumsily at Cassian. It missed its mark, nicking Rhiannon’s arm. Cassian advanced and they clashed weapons; you gasped, dropping your bow and arrow and ran to the Lady to check on her. Cassian knocked Eurymachus out with a sword to the back of his head, turning to join you at the Lady’s side.

Cassian helped her up with you, but before you could take her into the house, a pit of dread uncoiled itself deep in your gut. You halted, the breath leaving you suddenly. Cassian spotted your wide-eyed stare. “What?” he demanded, searching the surroundings for a threat.

He moved stealthily, so it wasn’t his footfalls that gave him away. But when you instinctively looked back, you spotted Azriel walking toward the scene, a look of calm rage on his face as he took it in. Before you could utter a word, Eurymachus rose from his spot, scrambled for your bow, and shot Azriel.

A ringing noise rose above everything else in the world. Rhiannon’s mouth parted as she screamed, but no sound reached you. Cassian scrambled to reach his brother, but you didn’t hear that either. You also didn’t feel the ground as it suddenly found your body, as the snow wetted your hands.

And worst of all, you couldn’t feel him anymore.

A mockery of the words that were said just hours before. Hours.

The bond in your chest flickering like a dying light.

The arrow jutted out of Azriel’s chest. He sank slowly to his knees, staring wide-eyed. Large, warm hands were the first thing you felt, and you turned in confusion as you felt a body behind yours. Purple eyes swimming with anguish met your own. Rhysand winnowed you closer to him. To your fallen Shadowsinger.

When the world rematerialized, so did your sensations. Rhiannon sobbed, Cassian demanding that Azriel stay awake, Rhysand’s laboured breathing. Cassian turned slay Eurymachus. Rhysand let go of your arms and instead grasped his mother’s gently pulling her away from Azriel who lay on his back.

You knelt beside him, your hands trembling. “No,” you breathed. This couldn’t be real. “No, Az. Please no.” You shuddered as you tried to breathe, to think— “Please don’t go. You just came back.”

You brought your shaking hands to cup his face. Blood was trickling out of his mouth with every breath, quiet agony in his eyes as he tried to wheeze around the arrow in his heart.

“You can’t leave again,” you sobbed. “You’re my home,” you whispered. You leaned over him, resting your mouth on his, crying onto his lips.

Your chest flickered once as Azriel heaved in a final breath. “I love you, Y/N.”

You pressed your lips to his, willing every ounce of love, devotion, yearning, and want down the bond as it slipped through your bones. Azriel’s eyes shut, peace overtaking his features at that last sensation, as your heart utterly shattered. You willed the bond back with all your might, but there was nothing.

You remained there, broken in half, crying over him until warm hands soothed down your back until Rhys picked you up gently off his brother and took you inside the house.

There was no more music in the world. Only vague noises, mutterings of We’ll take care of you, Y/N, don’t worry, and it’s gonna be okay darling, I’m here. All you could process was the stillness inside.

After all that time with your heart stretched across space and time, you found yourself once again, waiting on a ghost.

Two years later

Your friends gathered on a balcony. Soon after Azriel’s funeral, you’d all needed to leave Windhaven, needed to get away from the reminders of his life, of the catastrophe of his loss.

Once again, you’d given away your belongings and found yourself moving, enduring the uprooting that had nothing to do with a physical structure.

It’d taken months for you to speak again. This time there’d been no strum in your chest to help. No hope to be found, because it was too small to make a dent inside you. Until it eventually grew strong enough to be felt.

Your new family helped you. When you finally broke your silent vigil, you’d told them what he was to you. How your bond had snapped into place, how it’d taken seven long years to see through to your mating.

How you’d decreed your wedding in a cottage living room with only the Mother to see.

They’d cried tears of joy and tears of pain at the revelation, at the knowledge that Azriel had found his other half before shattering your heart and leaving you again.

Time went back to being measured through the passage of pain. That first year, you’d missed solstice, missed all celebrations, only enduring what you needed to survive. Not for yourself, but for him.

The hope that he left behind, because even in his absence, Azriel always left an inkling of life inside you, whether it was the strum of an early bond, or a kick against the inside of a womb.

It was Starfall, and the boy that clung to you was now just over a year old.

Your son.

Arion.

He inherited his father’s hazel eyes, his raven hair. He even looked at you with a certain focus that made you want to weep. His name came from an older Illyrian dialect that meant melodious song. Named after the music your bond carried on the wind.

Music that spoke when your lover was rendered silent. Music you only heard in dreams now.

Your son fussed on your hip, anxious to see the brilliance his uncles promised would light the sky. Your family gathered around you in support, in grief and love. When the stars began falling, you held your breath, feeling hints of hope creeping up on you, the feeling both foreign and familiar. “See, Ari?” you asked. “Like Uncle Cass said. Falling stars.”

The boy’s eyes were wide with wonder. He was your medicine, your healing salve. His uncles shuffled closer, supportive hands around your frame as you all hoped for a visit.

Spirits of the fallen Illyrians, their comrades shooting across the sky in death like they did in life.

A celestial body arched close by, stealing your breath away. Like a phantom pain, you felt a rattling in your chest cavity; the ghost of a strum. Rattled by a star while your baby reached forward trying to catch it.

Sapphire starlight freckled Ari’s face, and with the tears distorting your vision, you looked at your son and he looked just like him. The blue glow reflecting in his hazel eyes like the glow of siphons on a Shadowsinger. You released a strained laugh, or perhaps it was a sob, and Ari beamed.

“That was your daddy,” you whispered to your son, smiling through your tears. Ari’s eyes widened further, turning back to watch the stars.

You quietly wept, clutching Ari tighter to you, sending your last farewell to your husband, your mate, your friend down where the bond used to be. I’ll wait for you, you vowed. Waiting on your ghost, in this life until you got to see him again in the next.

Live for the ghost. Live for Az. For Ari.

“Happy Starfall, Ari,” you breathed, smiling at your little musician, the living embodiment of your bond. Then, to your beloved, you sent out to the stars—

Happy Starfall, Azriel. I love you. I do, I do, I do.

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