superpowereddonut

[superpowereddonut]

Let me take care of my girl (Bodhi Durran x Reader)

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Bodhi just wants to take care of his girl after she was injured during a wyvern attack.

NB: No Onyx Storm spoilers, but definite Iron Flame spoilers. This is set after half the cadets join the revolution, but before the Battle of Basgiath.

This can be read as a stand alone one-shot, or as a continuation from Reassurance

Warnings: Mentions of injuries sustained in battle and civilian casualties, they get naked and have a shower but it isn't sexual lol

Word count: 3.36k

*****

Everything hurt.

From the incessant pounding in your head, to the sharp pain that radiated from your ribs with every breath, to the ache that heated your very bones. 

You were spent.

Beneath you, your dragon Dìoghaltas was still flying relentlessly, though you could feel a trickle of her exhaustion through the bond. Each wingbeat seemed to take more effort than the last.

I am perfectly fine, she said firmly.

Don’t lie, Dìogh. We both know you are as injured and tired as I am. 

You could still remember your scream of panic when a particularly savage wyvern had torn a deep gash in her thigh. Thankfully, it had stopped bleeding a few hours ago.

She huffed indignantly, though there was still a weariness to her next words. Dragons are not as fragile as humans.

But just as stubborn, you sighed.

Dìogh didn’t respond, though you could feel her mental eye roll.

You adjusted carefully in your seat, trying to find a more comfortable position among her green scales that didn’t jostle your body so much. You were pretty sure your ribs were at least fractured. Possibly broken. Not to mention the unnatural angle of your wrist where you cradled it against your chest. Definitely broken.

The attack had been swift and brutal. As a second lieutenant, you had been stationed at Anca, a Poromish city that was on the frontlines against venin and wyvern, for almost a month now. Ever since the rebellion had become a revolution. Ever since Xaden and Violet had revealed the truth in Basgiath — secrecy be damned — and half of the war college had flown for Aretia. 

You knew that the Assembly was pissed. There were now over a hundred cadets and almost fifty rotating lieutenants stuffed into Riorson House, with barely enough resources to accommodate them and their dragons. And according to Bodhi’s letters, while they now at least had a luminary to forge weapons in Aretia, there were also a hundred fliers and their gryphons to contend with. Even though you’d been working with fliers since your first year, assisting with weapons drops with Garrick and Xaden, you knew how deep the tensions ran. Fliers had killed dozens of riders, and riders had killed hundreds of fliers. Things weren’t going to be pretty.

Still, you couldn’t help but be thankful that Xaden had decided to finally expose the revolution. Everyone knew you were traitors now. There was no need for covert missions under the cover of darkness. No need to go along with the lie and pretend to respect the cowards in Navarrian leadership. The relic winding up your arm no longer had to be hidden shamefully, but could now be shown off proudly. You had known the truth. You had fought on the right side of history. Your parents' deaths were not in vain. They had been vindicated.

You fought to swallow the lump of emotion clogging your throat. Equal parts rage and sorrow, it surged every time you remembered your mother and father, standing proud and defiant as General Sorrengail executed them. You’d found yourself thinking about them more often recently, as you fought beyond the wards in Poromiel, fighting for the people they had died for. Would they be proud?

Not right now, surely. You’d lost. Anca had fallen to a sudden large-scale attack in the early hours of this morning. It had only been a matter of time, you knew, since neighbouring Zolya had been overrun two months ago. But still, the failure stung. You’d jerked out of bed at the panicked warning of your dragon and been airborne within five minutes, along with the rest of the riot that were stationed at the Poromish midland post. But it hadn’t been enough. Within the hour, four riders and two dragons were dead. As were an unknown number of gryphons and their fliers. You’d been forced to drop back when a group of green-fire wyvern had broken through your defenses and set the entire city of Anca alight. Fury and grief rushed over you in a tidal wave as you thought of all the citizens who had been killed. Many of them had been evacuated over the last few weeks, and a few had managed to flee before their homes were set ablaze. But not enough. There had been a fire-wielding venin there. The balance to you. 

You did what you could, came Dìogh’s steady voice.

And it wasn’t enough, you replied.

You fought bravely, and killed many. There was no room for argument in her tone. I am proud to have you as my rider.

You sighed. While her words didn’t erase the guilt weighing on your chest, it did soften its edge slightly. Dìogh was rarely so… soothing. I am proud to have you as my dragon.

You could see her puff of steam from where you sat. Obviously.

Glancing back, squinting against the setting sun, you caught sight of the brown swordtail behind you and the two gryphons flanking it, their respective riders and fliers drooping with exhaustion. Everyone was flying undoubtedly slower than usual, but you would all make it. 

While most of the surviving riot and drift had flown west to take up positions at Newhall, another Poromish post, your small group consisted of those most injured from the battle, and had been commanded to fly for Aretia. To Brennan, the only mender in the revolution. 

Gods, Bodhi was going to freak out.

Bodhi.

He was the other reason you were so happy that the revolution was finally out in the open. For now, he was continuing his third year there with the rest of the Basgiath cadets. He was home. And while you knew he itched to be on the frontlines with you, you were selfishly glad that he wasn’t. Violet was working on getting the wards up, and he was safe. The two of you had subsisted on letters back and forth since you had been sent to the front, but nothing compared to seeing him, touching him, feeling him.

We’re approaching the valley, Dìogh informed you a mere second before banking sharply to the left. You grunted, tensing your overworked muscles to brace against the change in direction, but didn’t dare complain. It was more warning than your dragon usually gave you. You heard the sound of wingbeats behind you as the others banked as well, following your green scorpiontail down to the valley above Riorson House.

Dìogh touched down gently in the grass a few minutes later, and you patted her front foot appreciatively as you climbed down, telling her sternly to rest before limping towards the rocky path at the valley’s end. 

Despite the protest of your throbbing injuries, you asked the first cadet you saw to take you to Xaden instead of Brennan, repeating your mantra in your head: Debrief first, heal second, shower and collapse last. The cadet was unfamiliar, likely a first-year, but he took one look at the blood staining your flight jacket and complied without a word, leading you down the hall to the Assembly chamber before scurrying away as you opened the door with your good arm. 

You huffed a quiet laugh. Good to see Xaden still had everyone terrified.

“Fucking hell.” Xaden had been standing alone at the far end of the hall, studying the huge map on the wall, but as you limped in, he turned and strode towards you.

He looked tired and tense, but there was a certain lightness to him whenever he was in Aretia. You saw the same in Bodhi, Garrick, and Imogen. Felt it in yourself. In all of the marked ones that grew up here. Even though your family’s house had been burnt following the executions, this would always be home.

You gave him a tight smile that was probably more of a grimace. “Missed me?” 

He ignored your attempt at teasing, his dark eyes scanning you from head to toe, cataloguing injuries. “Explain,” he snapped, once he had assured himself you weren’t actively dying.

You told him of the attack, outlining the loss of life and the tactical retreat as efficiently and emotionlessly as you could, just as you had been trained. He listened silently, his face unreadable.

“Are you okay?” He asked when you finished your report. 

Anyone else might have thought his tone was cold. Disinterested even. But you knew Xaden — had known him since he was just a kid; When he would run down the corridors of this very house and laugh as you pranked Bodhi together. You could see his concern in the crease of his brow and the tightness of his mouth. The guilt in the clench of his jaw and the curl of his fingers.

“I’ll be fine. Just need a quick trip to see Brennan and a nice long sleep,” you assured him, “I can be back at the front within the week.”

He lifted a scarred brow, and you knew he hadn’t been asking about your physical injuries. But he let it go and smirked down at you instead. “And perhaps a visit from a certain cousin of mine?” he suggested. “Sgaeyl saw Dìogh land. I’d bet Cuir did too.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone, even as warmth filled your chest at the thought of seeing Bodhi. “Shut up, Riorson.”

He just chuckled and patted you gently on the shoulder. “Go on, go get fixed up,” he said.

As you reached the door, he called out again. “Stay for ten days before going back to the front. That’s an order.”

You flashed him a grateful smile and headed to look for Brennan.

*****

Thirty minutes later, you were finally, finally, on your way to your room. Your feet were dragging with every step, and though your injuries were now healed, the exhaustion was bone-deep and aching.

Two flights of stairs… one flight of stairs…half— Pink hair and pale green eyes suddenly filled your vision. Imogen.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Her voice was loud enough to make you flinch, but you accepted her quick, rough hug with a tired smile. Imogen was terrible with emotions, and even worse with physical affection, but every now and then, she surprised you.

“You should see the other guy,” you responded with a half-shrug, and to your relief she fell into step as you continued up the stairs, knowing if you lost your momentum you might just curl up to sleep right there.

“How bad?” she asked tightly.

You sighed. “Four riders and two dragons dead. More gryphons. Four of us were injured enough to come here, but the rest retreated further west.”

Imogen sucked in a sharp breath and fidgeted with her bright hair, sweeping it away from her face. “Is— I mean, did—”

Usually, you would force her to ask what was clearly at the tip of her tongue, push her to voice her concerns. But you had no energy for it tonight. “Garrick’s fine. He nearly burnt himself out trying to change the wind direction, and Chradh took a minor hit to his wing, but they were both okay enough to fly with the rest of the riot to Newhall.”

Imogen relaxed slightly, but narrowed her eyes at you. “That’s not what I was going to ask.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” you snorted. You reached the landing and turned to the corridor on the left, leaving her standing on the top step. “Goodnight, lover girl.”

“Goodnight, nosy.”

You were so close you could almost feel the silk of your bedsheets as you slowly made your way down the dark hallway, lit only by the occasional mage light. A glance to the right showed that night had fully set in outside, the moonlight barely bright enough to make out the mountains in the distance. Dinner was probably almost over, and while this area was restricted to family and close friends, the corridors would be full of cadets pushing and shoving their way to their own rooms any minute.

Pushing your sore legs to move a little faster, your bedroom door finally came into view, but there was a large shadow leaning against it. Bodhi.

He turned his head at the soft shuffle of your boots against the carpet, and even though his face paled at the sight of your bloody clothes, he smiled softly as you came to a stop in front of him.

You couldn’t have stopped your own grin if you tried.

“Hi,” he whispered, stepping closer to wrap you in his arms. You breathed deeply, taking in the comforting smell of leather and spice, and a small knot in your chest finally unraveled for the first time in almost a month. His arms were loose, careful around your back, as though he was afraid he might hurt you. But you burrowed further into his embrace, grumbling that you weren’t made of glass, and he pulled you tighter against his chest with a rumbling laugh. Gods, how you loved that laugh.

You could have stayed like that forever, content to fall asleep in the hallway while his strong arms held you up, but he leaned back slightly, brushing strands of hair away from your forehead with tender fingers.

“I was so worried about you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Cuir said that Dìogh had some pretty bad injuries and that you weren’t much better.”

You moved closer to kiss him softly, sliding your hands down to rest on his broad chest. “I’m okay. Dìogh’s okay,” you said as you pulled back.

His eyes fluttered shut, and his hands moved to grip your waist, as though reminding himself you were there.

You were real and alive and okay.

“We…” your voice shook and his eyes immediately opened again. “We lost four riders. And a lot of innocent civilians.”

“Oh, my love,” he murmured. “Come ‘ere.”

He swept you up again, but this time lifted you off the ground, tapping you on the hip to encourage you to wrap your legs around him. You buried your head into the crook of his neck as he turned and opened your door, walking you both inside. He continued all the way to the small attached bathroom, and placed you smoothly on the granite counter. 

Another tender kiss to your lips, before he knelt down on the cold tiles before you. You watched with quiet adoration as he deftly untied your laces and slipped off your boots, before removing your socks and then standing. You shrugged off your flight jacket, and he expertly unbuckled the straps holding your sword to your back, and the sheaths that held your daggers. He helped you move your still-tender limbs to carefully strip you of your uniform. Between each weapon or piece of clothing that he removed, he leant forwards to press a loving kiss — first to your forehead, then your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Finally, when you sat there in just your bra and underwear, he turned the shower on, and began to shuck off his own clothes.

Reluctance and regret filled you as you watched his uniform join yours in a pile on the ground, and the gorgeous, tawny-brown skin of his torso ripple with movement. “I— I’m sorry, Bodhi,” you stammered, “Not tonight— I’m just so tired—” 

His gaze snapped to yours and his brow furrowed at the hesitance he must've seen there. “Hey, hey,” he said, taking a step forward, now clad in just his boxers. “I don’t want anything from you, I promise, I just want to help.” He cupped your cheek with his warm palm and you leant into it instinctively. “I’ll leave right now if you ask me to, but you look like you’ll fall asleep standing up, and I don’t think you want to escape a warrior’s death just to drown in your own shower.”

The corner of your mouth twitched and he swiped his thumb comfortingly over your cheek. 

“Let me take care of you, my love,” he whispered. 

You nodded, already feeling guilty for misunderstanding his intentions. Bodhi had always been thoughtful and devoted, had never misread your desire— or lack thereof. Of course he just wanted to help.

He helped ease you off the counter, then stripped his boxers off with one hand and unstrapped your bra with the other.

Damn, even when you weren’t in the mood, that was hot.

The water temperature was perfect and you let out a groan as it pounded over your aching muscles. Wordlessly, Bodhi lathered up your washcloth with soap, but didn’t touch you. Instead, he waited for you to meet his gaze before asking, “Is this okay? Or do you want to do it yourself?” 

Your heart strained at the sincerity in his voice. He’d touched you a thousand times before, in every intimate place, but he was still asking. Tentatively. Letting you lead in case your boundaries had shifted. “Can you do it? Please?”

His answering smile was beautiful. Slowly, he turned you around and began ever-so-gently washing the blood and sweat from your skin. He was sweet and attentive and methodical, letting you lean on him more and more as your sleepiness grew with each relaxing movement.

You half-heartedly offered to return the favour and reached for the washcloth yourself, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Eventually, he finished washing and carefully brushing your hair, and turned off the water, before bundling you in a soft towel and pushing you gently towards the bedroom, his own towel slung low about his hips. You were half-asleep by the time he helped you into soft pants and an oversized t-shirt — an old one of his, he was amused to find. He looked for a minute like he might tuck you into bed and leave, but you shot out a hand to grasp his, and pulled lightly on it. “Stay,” you begged.

He wasted no time, dressing quickly in a pair of sleep pants that he always kept in your dresser and climbing under the covers with you. He opened his arms and you happily settled onto his warm chest, one leg thrown over his as he stroked lightly along your arm.

You lay there in silence, soothed by his steady heartbeat and the distant sound of doors closing and cadets talking in the hallways beyond.

But you could feel the tension still lingering in Bodhi’s frame. “Did you really think I was trying to get into your pants before?” he breathed into the darkness. There was no mistaking the concern in his voice.

Guilt washed over you as you realised how much your small misunderstanding had troubled him. And truthfully, you did know he would never try to initiate sex when you were so obviously hurt and tired. But somewhere in your befuddled state, you’d simply assumed that was where he was leading when he’d taken off his clothes.

“Sort of,” you admitted, “but I think it was only because I’ve been thinking of jumping your bones pretty much every day since I last saw you.”

He didn’t answer, just hummed noncommittally and continued rubbing absentminded circles on your shoulder.

“I’m serious. I imagined our reunion about a hundred ways, and all of them involved immediate, passionate love-making.” His chest vibrated with a laugh. “So when I saw your delicious muscles on display—” you tapped his toned abdomen for emphasis— “I just thought it was my dreams coming true.”

Bodhi lifted his head and looked down at you, his caramel-brown eyes immediately seeking yours. “I would never want to do anything that you’re not in the mood for, and I never, ever, want you to feel pressured,” he said firmly. “I’d be happy just holding your hand for the rest of our lives, if that’s what you wanted.”

You smiled up at him. “I do know that, and I’ve never felt anything but safe around you.”

There was a pause as you lay yourself back against his chest and he rested his head again on his pillow. 

“But I think I’d die if I had to go without sex with you for the rest of my life,” you continued. “Trust me, tomorrow we aren’t leaving this bed.”

He laughed again and pressed a kiss to your hair. “Deal.”

[superpowereddonut]

No Feelings

Garrick Tavis x f!Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Garrick is tasked with getting closer to her. He didn't expect everything else that came with it.

A/N: Violence, Swearing, Angst, no real spoilers in this one!

Word Count: 10.6k

Happy @empyreanevents Garrick Week!

“Are you always this charming? Or did someone put you up to this?” Her eyes bore back at him, both question and accusation. 

Garrick is unfazed, its not the first time a woman has questioned his interest, it just proves that she isn’t just a capable fighter, but also perceptive. 

“No one put me up to it, I’ve watched you fight and seen you converse with Emetterio, just thought you could show me some of those skills.” The lie rolls off his tongue, both truth and challenge. There’s a slight bite on his tongue at the sharpness of it, but he shakes it off. It isn’t the first time he’s started here and he’s certain it won’t be the last if Xaden has any say. 

If he wasn’t someone who enjoyed casual hookups, he would question why he was the one always assigned to leave broken hearts in his wake, but between Basgiath and his parents death, settling down isn’t in his personal vocabulary any longer. 

She stares back at him a moment longer before he’s caught off guard when her melodic laugh shoots straight through him. 

“You’re telling me, Mr. Can’t Keep It In His Pants, is just trying to be nice?” The incredulity on her face makes her eyes sparkle, something he hadn’t ever noticed before. She cocks an eyebrow, obvious challenge to the tale he’s spinning.

“I mean I wouldn’t be oppos-“ His words die on his tongue as a dagger he didn’t even see her grab slices through the air next to his neck, the bite of the blade grazing his skin and landing with a decisive thunk behind him. 

Garrick just stares – blinking. Of course he had been told no before, some women just didn’t bed hop, though those were few and far between since entering the rider’s quadrant. But this, this was new, and he didn’t know if he was mad or exhilarated by the sight. 

“Did you just throw a dagger at me?” The words are incredulous, almost as if that had never happened. But of course, plenty of daggers had been thrown his way, just not for this reason before. 

“If you want to flirt or get in my pants, you can move on Tavis. I’m not here for your good time.” Her voice is dismissive, turning back to the supply paperwork she had been working on keeping inventory of the weapons. 

The feistiness of the challenge heats his blood in a way no other woman has in the last two years. What’s the harm if there’s a little satisfaction along with accomplishing his mission? As long as he can get the numbers that are close enough to touch each week, anything that comes after would just be a bonus. 

“Well I’ve never backed away from a dare before, why start now?” His eyes light up as the annoyance sparks on her face. “Look, I’m trying to get another weapons proficiency and you’re apparently the only one who has it.”

It isn’t a total lie, but it’s definitely not the truth. Garrick is more than proficient with every single weapon available at Basgiath, but its no secret that she's the master when it comes to lances. A weapon not common in the school, not common in battle, but when wielded can extend the reach needed. 

Her quirked eyebrow is the only indication she gives that this is even a consideration. 

“I promise no flirting or trying to get in your pants. Just a student and a master.” He says while pointing between her and himself. 

A loud sigh of exasperation leaves her, and he can’t help the quirk to his lips as an adorable look of inconvenience passes across her face.

“Fine.” She says with exaggerated slowness. “But if you start getting any ideas, this is off.” She says gesturing between the two of them. 

As he walks back to the dorms, satisfaction settles in his chest, maybe this entire endeavor will be easier than he thought. 

___________

“Why the fuck does he always get to be the one to do this?” Bodhi whines as he looks between the other two boys.

“Because you don’t know how to operate when I tell you no feelings involved.” Xaden snaps back, irritated to have to explain this to Bodhi once again. 

Garrick sits on the chair, looking entirely too smug for his own good. “Last time we told you to do something like this, you ended up confessing in the first week.” Garrick’s snark is smart, though he isn’t about to pass the chance up to entertain the newly appointed logs master for Emmetterio. 

“But I was only eleven! And she’s way out of Garrick’s league.” Bodhi continues in protest. 

Garrick’s nose wrinkles, a look of aggravation stealing across his face. “She’s not out of my league. She’s beautiful and you’re just jealous.”

They all know this conversation is ridiculous. Are more than aware they shouldn’t be speaking about any woman this way, but this isn’t just for sport, it’s for survival. 

“She’s more than out of your league considering the display that she made in the dining hall two months ago.” Bodhi points his finger to both accusatorily. 

It doesn’t take much to drum up the memory of her walking up to Railan and slamming his face into his mashed potatoes, completely unprovoked. Or that he ended up in the infirmary with a broken wrist after she challenged him to a spar. Only for everyone to learn later that he had cheated on her with a scribe. 

“That’s different. I’m not going to cheat on her, just make her think I’m interested, get to know her and break up eventually – nothing more, nothing less. I just need her to trust me, if I get to bed her while at it, so be it.” The confidence radiating off Garrick coming in thick waves, assured that this whole plan will be easy. His earlier achievement with her solidifying his bravado.

“Quit the fucking bickering.“ Xaden commands, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “You flirt with her, train with her, get her to bring you to the faculty offices and check the logs. We only need the information every two weeks. No one needs to be in a relationship, garner feelings, learn about childhoods or share secrets. This is just meant to be a simple transaction.”

Bodhi and Garrick look at Xaden and exchange their own glances, his entire description clearly hitting on something he’s done before. 

“She’s not fucking Catriona, Xaden. I’ve spoken to her before, and she doesn’t deserve to be used like that.”

“Maybe not, but we didn’t deserve our fate either, yet here we are.” With the words out of Xaden’s mouth, they all go silent. There isn’t any arguing with that, no way to brook a rebuttal when no one bothered to do it for any of them at the respective ages of sixteen and seventeen. 

“I already spoke with her today. She’s going to train me with lances and I’m going to get the weapons proficiency. If we train enough, there’s no way not to break her down at some point.” The plan seems simple enough, train and get the information they need. Besides, Garrick has enough women banging on his door, having to settle for a friendly relationship won’t be an issue. 

___________

“You’re late Tavis.” She calls as the lance sails through the air landing square in the mat at his feet. The version of the weapon a crude one compared to the intricate piece standing tall next to the woman who is currently glaring at him. 

“Didn’t know that it was imperative to be here at the exact moment asked.” It’s a ridiculous comment, he knows well enough that if someone says a specific time, it’s always abided by. However, he couldn’t help the run to the forge that kept him longer than he was hoping. 

“You are a soldier, aren’t you? If nothing else, you should know by now punctuality is not a request, it’s a demand.” Garrick’s blood continues to heat, the forceful nature of her words and her air of confidence lighting a fire he isn’t here to stroke. 

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to punish me with some grueling drills I suppose.”

She doesn’t even wait, words that were meant to be playful striking a chord he didn’t know there was to stroke, before slicing forward with the triple blade at the end. Garrick staggers back, caught off guard by the ferocity of her reply to his teasing words. 

“I told you before, I’m not here to flirt. If you want to work, then fine, otherwise, don’t waste my time.” Her words cut as sharp as the blade she wields. Garrick nods in acknowledgment, the challenge to focus singing the song of battle in his blood. 

“Grab the lance and take your fighting stance. Let’s see exactly what you have down already.” 

As she retakes her stance, the fight in her eyes burning, Garrick can’t help but think how impossibly attractive she is. Battle lines sharp, eyes even keener, yet posture relaxed, as if she’s been fighting for her life far longer than she leads on. He can’t help the way his eyebrow quirks, its possible they have more in common than he thinks.

___________

Days turn into weeks, and Wednesday evenings begin to be his favorites. The routine one he dares to hope for, a lesson with a woman not afraid to claim her readiness for war. A weapon in both her sharp edges and even sharper tongue. Though he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it was the cooling off after weapons practice that was truly his favorite. 

Her eyes that once only studied him in suspicion begin to soften, a recognition and appreciation of their time spent together. Perhaps it was because he was an eager student, always latching on to each lesson and trying to perfect the technique before their next session. Or perhaps it was the way in which she began to reveal the softness that still resonated under the sharp exterior. 

Another Wednesday, another day when he pulled his strength, reining it in so she always had a slight upper hand. 

“When are you going to use your full strength?” She asks breathlessly.

Garrick can’t hide his surprise, brows shooting up as he turns back to face her again. She gives him a look back that screams please, you don’t think I noticed, come now. For once in his life, Garrick feels sheepish. Most girls he’d been with never thought much about his power or his body as a weapon, well everyone except Imogen, but they’d known each other since childhood. 

For a moment he’s speechless, how can he explain that he’d been going easy without explaining why he was there in the first place. But even then, was that why he continued showing up every Wednesday?

He blinks, clearing away the surprise before falling back to his usual teasing. “Didn’t think you were ready to handle all of me?”

He watches as her brow rises in surprise and sarcasm. She’s less than impressed with his retort, he can read that plainly on her face. Though he doesn’t even have the chance to reply when she rolls to the side and swipes the lance under his feet, blades slicing through the leather of the mat. 

She doesn’t stop there either, letting the weapons arc and come full circle, blunt edge heading straight for his head. Arms raise in instinct to block, reverberations shooting through his arms as the weapons clash. Though it’s the crack that suddenly begins that has him looking up. Without warning, the wooden shaft splinters and fractures in too many directions. 

“Shit!” She calls as he stumbles back trying to clear his vision from the shards. Falling on his backside, the impact rocking the cuts now marring his arms. 

“Fuck.” Garrick groans out as he tries to still his eyes, a shard clearly roving uninvited in his eye. Eyes still closed, he can feel a tentative hand land on his shoulder, making his head turn.

“Hey, it’s just me.” She calls out in a soothing voice he’d never heard from her before. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

“There’s a shard stuck in there somewhere. Having a hard time opening it.” He responds in the direction of her hand that still rests on his shoulder.

“Okay. Can you lay down and I’m going to get some water to try and wash it out.” Her hand leaves him; a sudden coldness meets the skin where it was resting. 

In seconds, he hears the familiar click of boots and the squeal of leather as she kneels next to him, the unmistakable slosh of water greeting his ears. 

“Is it both eyes or just one in particular?”

Garrick moves both, and the right sings in pain. “Seems to just be the right side.”

“Try to open your eye just a little so the water can wash through. It’s cold so it may sting a little, and I’m sorry for that.” She says as one arm rests on his face, cradling it towards her and the sounds of water.

A sudden gasp leaves him as the icy water begins to meander down his face and over his eye. A finger begins idly stroking his cheek, a move he’s unsure if she even realizes she’s doing. Minutes later, the feeling of water sluicing over his face fades and he feels her palm drag down the side of his face. 

“Can you try moving your eyes again and see if that did the trick?” Her voice is tentative, apologetic in a way he’d never heard from anyone. 

Through closed lids he tentatively moves them left and right, there’s still discomfort in one, but the worst of the pain has dissipated. 

“I think you got it out.” Garrick replies as he begins to flutter his eyes open, readjusting to the brightness of the sparring gym. 

Vision focusing, his eyes find her face, concern painting her features from above and he thinks it might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His eyes flare in shock at his own thoughts, a mental reprimand – no feelings he reminds himself. 

“Does it still hurt?” Her voice doesn’t raise, the concern still peaked through every word. “We should probably get you to the healers, just in case.”

Her hand moves down his arm, a gentle coaxing touch, before she grabs his hand and begins to pull him forward. Garrick opens his eyes in a squint while watching her actions carefully. As soon as he’s standing, he pulls his hand away feeling scorched by the heat of her hand. 

“Sorry.” She says as though she takes the blame for the entire incident. “Do you want me to help you to the healers? I understand if not.”

He can’t believe the way she has seemed to curl into herself, her usual commanding presence turning unsure. A pang surges through his chest, and he rubs at it without understanding why. 

“You know that wasn’t your fault, right?” His words are quiet, holding the hope to soothe the discomfort that seems to run through her.

“Well, either way, I am sorry.” She repeats as she begins to pick up the shards that litter the space around him.

Garrick is unsure how to move forward. He tries to wrack his brain for moments like this, but soon realizes that no one has apologized to him, especially not in Basgiath. Why apologize to the son of a traitor? A traitor himself. Why apologize to someone who moves from bed to bed, never staying long enough to matter?

Gods. Has he really just forgotten how to be human?

Instead of acknowledgment, he just moves. Walks towards the doors of the sparring room only turning for a second to look back as the doors close behind him. 

______________

“What did you do to her?” Bodhi’s voice greets Garrick as he continues towards the battle brief room.

“What the hell are you on about? Who her?” Bodhi gives him an unimpressed look in return as they both enter into the room. 

Without trying, his eyes roam the room, looking for a woman who showed him more compassion than the average person here. Garrick can’t help the way his shoulders tense when his eyes finally land on her. Instead of her usual proud stance, her shoulders curl in slightly, and he doesn’t miss the white bandages that wrap tightly across her knuckles. Eyes narrowing as they finally clock the blood that has begun to seep through the white cloth. 

“You know damned well who I’m referring to.” Bodhi’s head cocks to the side as he follows Garrick’s line of sight. “Heard through the grapevine that her squadmate found her in the gym beating the punching bag like she has a vendetta against it.”

Garrick turns looking at Bodhi, expecting to see the laughter in his eyes and the lie, but it’s not there. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Well since you were the last one, she spoke to and she told her squadmate that she just lost track of time while training, I’m just assuming.”

Garrick’s eyes swing towards her again, not believing that she would punish herself for something that wasn’t her fault. But, he understood the compulsion better than most. What was there if you didn’t punish yourself for the one’s you couldn’t protect? Gods, he, Xaden, and Bodhi were walking advertisements for doing just that. 

For the second time since he was tasked with this, he felt his chest tighten, the thought of inflicting more pain on you tearing at his insides. 

“Regretting your assignment yet?” Bodhi prods as he studies Garrick’s face. 

Garrick just scoffs in response, but they both know he agrees without even speaking. He needs to move this along and get in and out of it as fast as possible. The last thing he wants is to inflict more pain than necessary. 

He tries to concentrate through battle brief, but he can’t get her bloodied knuckles out of his mind. His fist closes around the pen that he has poised on parchment, the creaking of the force on it dragging looks from Xaden and Bodhi. 

Taking a deep breath, Garrick adjusts himself, letting his eyes slide shut to get away from the incessant want to look her way. Bodhi’s snicker makes his eyes open and he glares back at him while he feels Xaden lean closer.

“Should I have Bodhi take over?” The question is quiet, but it causes Garrick’s heart to race erratically. 

“No.” He says, almost too quickly to be casual.

Xaden doesn’t ask anything else, just sits back in his chair. 

As soon as Devera closes her lecture, Garrick is on his feet, striding to the nearest column. He watches as cadets file out, unaware that he still stands there. When the familiar fall of hair passes, his hand shoots out and wraps snugly around her wrist, halting her movements. 

She whirls, dagger raised in defense, blood beginning to drip from her hand at the pull of the action on her wounds. Garrick isn’t surprised, he doesn’t try to defend himself, he knows that she’s used to being hunted. It’s showcased in the way she trains, how she constantly battles to be better, to perfect every movement. 

He watches as her eyes widen in shock, moving quickly to apology and remorse, to finally settle on irritation. “Is there a reason you go grabbing people like that?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He rushes out, knowing that if he doesn’t push through it, he’ll never give her what he should have yesterday. “I shouldn’t have left like that after you helped. It wasn’t your fault, and I never thought it was.”

Garrick is mesmerized as he watches her ire soften, the ridge of tension in her shoulders easing as he continues to talk. 

“And I wanted to see if you’d like to hang out after dinner.” Her eyes are now narrowing again, but this time trying to read exactly what he’s trying to say. “No weapons. No flirtations. Just talking to smooth over everything and get to know each other outside of the shattering of weapons.”

She continues to study him, clearly trying to parse out if he is lying or not. Garrick doesn’t move, his facial expressions don’t change, every single thing is as neutral as it possibly can be. After moments, she sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.

“Fine.” She huffs out before pointing her finger at him. “But no funny business, or I walk.”

With that comment she turns and heads back towards her squad, her closest friend wrapping her arm around her and pulling her away. Garrick watches as she walks away, appreciation lighting up his features as she moves farther from view.

“How hard are you going to try to flirt with her now?” Xaden asks as he follows Garrick’s line of sight to the two girls heading to their other classes.

“Not at all.” Garrick turns his head to Xaden and quirks an eyebrow at his best friend. 

“You mean to tell me that she truly got you to keep it in your pants?”

The words are all accusation, and Garrick wants to deny it, but he can’t, his own reputation warranted. 

“She asked me not to, so I won’t. I just need to get back on equal footing after yesterday and this is the best way to get into her good graces again. Besides, if we start hanging out, maybe she’ll finally drag me to see those logs.”

Xaden shakes his head in agreement as they both begin walking to their next class.

___________

“You’re lying.” She says, though the amusement dancing in her eyes and the smirk on her lips belies her words. 

“No, I’m not.” Garrick chuckles as he leans his head back on his forearm. Gone is the hard and stoic soldier, the constant tease, and he’s peeled back the veneers and let her see him. The real him.

“You mean to tell me that you ate an entire chocolate cake yourself, in less than an hour, just because you didn’t want to share with Xaden?” She repeats, still incredulous.

“You, my dear, haven’t seen Xaden with chocolate cake.” The minute the words leave his mouth, her head tilts back, a harmonizing melody of laughter slipping from her lips. 

The smile of amusement plastered on his face falls, though it gives way to something softer, a look of complete adoration. A look he’s never given any other woman. The sound reverberates through his bones, lighting up the hollows of his chest that have been vacant since losing his mother. 

As her laughter begins to fade, she looks back at him, a question in her eyes.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” The words roll off his tongue, the truth lined in every word. The smile that tugs at his lips is impossible to hide as he watches her face flush, pink dusting her full cheeks. 

She falls onto the grass next to him, hands trying to hide the flush still rising on her face. “Are you sure you aren’t flirting?” Question coming out muffled from the fingers covering her mouth. 

“I promise.” His own laugh answers as he goes to move one of her hands. “You asked me not to and I’ll always respect your wishes.”

She finally brings her hands away from her face and faces him again. 

“Thank you.” She whispers as a soft smile curves her lips, both of them falling in a contended conversation. 

____________

“I feel like I’m going fucking insane. The numbers were correct a week ago and now we’re short another thirty.” She grumbles as she sits at her desk, Garrick making himself at home on the floor of her room. 

A month of trading stories, sparring, and general friendliness has turned into nights together. 

“Bring it down here and let me take a look.” Garrick says, his voice coated in a lazy nonchalance.

She looks between him and the sheet between her fingers, a dip creasing between her brows. “I’m not supposed to show this to anyone other than Emetterio.” She comments worrying her bottom lip.

“I won’t say anything to anyone.” Garrick hopes his tone is comforting, because the lie is beginning to make his own throat constrict.

“Fine.” She concedes before adding. “But if you do, you have to promise to never eat chocolate cake again.”

Garrick gasps at her, his hand covering his heart. “How dare you threaten my favorite dessert!” The mock exasperation paints his voice and expression, but her own is serious.

“Fine.” He grumbles finally. 

She sits on the floor next to him, scooting to meet his own shoulders. The touch sends a shiver skating through his body; he looks over to find her poised over the paper trying desperately to reconcile the numbers correctly. 

For an hour they pour over the numbers. His eyes roam the entire report, soaking in every bit of information he can. 

“Are you sure they didn’t miscalculate the raw material available or utilize too much? That could explain the lack of weaponry, correct?” He tries to explain away the missing daggers, full well knowing they are sitting in a bag in Xaden’s armoire. 

“That may be true, it seems like the smiths are getting a little heavy handed in their weapons skills. This has been happening since I was assigned to help Emetterio. It’s the whole reason that I was given the assignment.” She ponders, giving him more information that he’d ever thought he’d get from her. 

They sit there looking over the numbers more, but neither comes up with any other explanations, both eventually returning back to their own assignments. The guilt that wasn’t there before begins to gnaw at Garrick’s thoughts, he knows the true answer, is aware why the logs will never be correct, but his lips remained sealed. 

Her yawn cuts through the companionable silence that had descended on them, the only other sound the scribble of pens as they both continued to work.

“I think I’m going to head to bed.” She says as another yawn slips past. 

Garrick rises, gathering his things into his own pack. As he rises to his full height, he sees that she’s stepped closer and his eyes get caught on her lips. The sudden urge to capture her soft pink mouth with his own. 

He turns, the thought still lingering. As she opens the door, Garrick turns back, in his mind intending only to say good night, but without thinking he leans down and softly touches her lips with his own. It isn’t anything like the usually stormy kisses, ones exchanged in passion and desperation, just looking for release. 

This is sweet, caring, and the opposite of every single thing he should be doing. Garrick pulls back, apology sitting on his tongue. But, before he can speak, her hand threads through his hair and yanks him back towards her. Their lips meet again, it still isn’t hot, still a little tentative, but there’s no denying the fire that has begun to spread in every vein. 

When they part again, her face is flushed, a beautiful blush rising to her cheeks and a sweet smirk crosses his lips. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asks tentatively, as if dreading the response.

“Of course, if you want to.” Garrick replies, before bending down and stealing one more kiss. 

The only response she gives is a shy smile as she slowly closes the door to her room. A smile tears at his face, dimple on full display as he revels in this turn of events. Boots clicking through the stairwell as he returns to the third-year floor.

Though the minute he opens his own door, it drops as Xaden sits in his chair, clearly waiting on a report. 

“Getting in too deep there, Tavis?” His smirk is dirty, a knowing look that Garrick hates. 

Garrick refuses to answer, to play Xaden’s game. He tasked him with finding out information, and he will, but he wants to keep her too. There must be a way to keep both.

“They’re aware of the discrepancy between the ore their producing and the weapons that are fired. Though it seems like the smiths are being blamed for being heavy-handed.” Garrick report, monotoned. He refuses to give anything else but the facts he learned, Xaden doesn’t need to know he kissed her.

Xaden doesn’t need to know that the minute she pulled him forward that Garrick knew he was in trouble. Knew that he was treading a wire he never wanted to be put on. 

“Probably should hold off on pilfering anything for a week or so, let the numbers wash out correctly.” Xaden nods as Garrick continues, they have to be practical in order to operate under the noses of the Basgiath cadre. 

“Agreed.” Xaden says rising from the chair. “Keep it up, seems like your little project is starting to trust you.”

“Don’t call her that.” Garrick snaps as Xaden walks into the hall. 

Xaden’s brow quirks at the response. “It wouldn’t be good to get involved, you know. Things like this always end badly.”

“Says the king of no feelings.” Garrick grumbles as he turns and closes the door in his best friend’s face.

He’s aware this isn’t ideal, that he’s going to have even more secrets to hide, but gods, he doesn’t want to give you up. Not just yet.

 ______________________

“Hey there.” Garrick greets as he opens her door. 

Her smile in response lights up every tired part of his heart. Stepping in, he takes in the simplicity, not just in the décor of the space, but also the ease that she exudes. His body begins to sag in exhaustion.

How long has it been since he’s had a good night’s sleep?

She rises from her chair, hair loose and swaying, light training clothes hugging each curve of her body as she strides quickly towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him down to her level. 

“Hi.” She breathes after she kisses him quickly. 

She takes his hand and brings Garrick further into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

“Glad to be back from being pulled to the midlands?” She asks as Garrick sinks down on her bed, slotting herself between his parted legs. 

The lie hits him in the chest and he drags her forward, burying his guilt into her stomach. His own stomach turns sour, churning at his own lies. Calloused hands splay across her back, anchoring himself to her, desperate to chase away the lies and demons clinging to his skin.

“Glad to be with you.” He breathes as he hugs her tighter, the tension from the drop finally releasing from his shoulders.

“That bad?” Her words are soft, her voice the only real thing in his life. 

“At this point, I think anything that involves days away from you may just be the worst.” Garrick grumbles as his thumbs trace circles into her lower back. 

The sweet sound of laughter greets his ears, and he pulls himself back, every ounce of hardness melting at the musical reverberation. His eyes light up at the sound, warmth pouring back in after days without her. Garrick can’t help himself, can’t stop the need to erase any distance between him. 

He pulls her down, a shriek of giggles following as she lands on top of him in the bed. In a flash he as her back to the bed and leans over her, head resting on his palms.

“Never stop laughing.” He whispers as he pushes hair from her cheeks, pink with the remnants of happiness. 

“Are you getting sentimental, Section Leader?” The question is meant to be teasing, but the smile on her face makes it all too real. 

“I don’t know about sentimentality, but I’m not sure if the sun would be quite as bright without that beautiful sound.” 

Their eyes meet and Garrick can barely breathe around the tightness in his chest. Her eyes are a beautiful mélange of adoration and love, emotions that he’s never thought would be directed at him. Her hand rises and she cups his cheek, the tenderness causing him to melt into her touch. 

“Let’s get some sleep. You’ve been out a while and need it.” She says as she continues to map his face with her hand. He leans into her, head resting on her chest as her hand moves through his hair. 

Garrick’s arms tighten around her as the precarious situation with the woman underneath his cheek begins to plague his mind. 

“Please stay.” The words are barely a whisper, but no less a plea. Want wrapped up in utter desperation. He isn’t even sure she heard him, her heartbeat steady and hand tangled in his curls.

“Always.” It’s returned on barely a whisper as he hears her breathing even out. At that, his arms wrap around her, impossibly closer, clawing desperately to hold onto something he feels like he’s already lost. 

________________

“How’s your new toy, Tavis?” Imogen questions as she appears in the training gym, the smirk on her face indicating there’s more to the question than just face value.

“What are you on about Imogen?” His words are curt, being up since dawn on leadership meetings cutting his patience thin. 

“Didn’t know if you’ve seen her today. She seemed to be on a warpath of sorts when she stormed through the dining hall earlier.” Garrick’s eyes narrow, suspicion growing uncomfortably. 

He studies Imogen’s face, the too-satisfied smirk, the eagerness to engage in whatever this question entails causing his hackles to rise. Without waiting on Imogen’s convoluted skirting of the topic, he storms out of the training gym, sure-footed steps taking him to the familiar door that he’s spent so many hours behind. 

Before reaching the handle, his hand is moving, lesser magic working to click the lock, but as Chradh’s magic flows, nothing happens. The door, the very same door he opened yesterday, stays stubbornly closed. He swallows hard, heart tightening as if a fist has been wrapped around the organ, uncertainty weaving through every breath he takes. 

Garrick knocks, three times, a fourth, and still nothing. The door remains stubbornly closed, not a hint of movement on the other side. 

“Don’t think you’ll find her in there. And even if you did, I doubt she’d let you in.” Imogen’s words are filled with satisfaction, the kind that means his own world is breaking. 

“What the fuck happened?” Garrick snarls, worry and fury melding equally wrapping a fist around his throat.

A snarled chuckle is returned, Imogen straightening in the doorway across. “I believe Xaden may be the one who should be answering your question.” Her only words before opening her own door and disappearing through the threshold. 

Garrick doesn’t stop, taking the staircase, two at a time, pace frantic. He doesn’t knock, doesn’t wait for Xaden’s command to enter, no that is for civilized conversations, and this one is decidedly not.

“What the fuck did you do, Riorson?” Garrick’s furious gaze takes in the room. Xaden sat in his chair at his desk, Liam hovering behind, and Bodhi comfortable on the bed. 

Liam and Bodhi turn when the door slams open, eyes widened in shock, but Xaden doesn’t even turn his head. 

“I did what you were supposed to do two months ago.” Xaden’s tone is flat, a finality to the words that has the panic in Garrick’s throat tightening. “Or let her overhear it at least.”

Garrick’s entire world stops. The words clanging in his brain but making absolutely no sense.

“Overhear, what?” The whispered snarl drips venom, fury rising faster than the ocean tide. 

“Bodhi, Liam, go.” Xaden orders to the two other men, but Garrick doesn’t trust himself.

“No, you stay.”

Xaden lifts a challenging brow, but it’s the only emotion revealed before he turns back to his desk. 

“I let her overhear Bodhi and I discussing the shortages that were on the logs. Let her realize that the secret she told you to keep wasn’t a secret at all.” The explanation is blasé, every word rolling off Xaden’s tongue as if he’s only discussing the weather. 

Red. Everything is fucking red. 

Garrick’s temper flares and he turns and pounds his fist into the door, splintering the wood in several spots. Breathing ragged, he turns back to the men in the room, eyes narrowed in a deathly glare.

“When the fuck will it be time for you to keep the fuck out of everything in our lives? You can’t dictate the people we choose to be with. Fuck, Xaden! Just because you want to be fucking miserable and pine over the General’s fucking daughter, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to!” 

Xaden shoots out of his chair, both men facing off, fury radiating in a wave of heat the temperature of dragon fire. 

“I’ll keep out of everything when the scars rest on your back, Garrick.” The words are low, in tone and threat. 

Garrick’s nostrils flare and eyes widen. This, this is what it always boils down to. The threat that will forever hang over their heads. 

“How about you two settle this like normal, in the sparring gym?” Liam suggests as he slowly approaches the two men.

“No. I’m tired of this. Of this looming threat every time we don’t fall in fucking line.” Garrick presses, rising to his full height, making use of the inches he has on his best friend. “I’m your best friend. I’ve always listened, followed orders, gotten you out of scrapes, helped move along plans, but when is it fucking enough, Xaden? When will our debt to you be paid?”

“Do we all have to be miserable and alone, hopping from bed to bed for the rest of our lives because something worth dying for is dangerous to you? You sit here and dictate Liam to follow around Sorrengail. You say its for protection, but hell, we all know you’re in love with her.” Xaden’s shock registers for only seconds, the emotion gone in a blink.

“Even if Liam’s interested in someone, how can he compete with the schedule you gifted him? She has an entire fucking squad and every single one of your circle constantly protecting her, at what cost? Living, Xaden, at the cost of living!” Words begin tumbling out, the grief of something Garrick may have lost pushing him past restraint. 

“And you do what? Take away the one thing I had that didn’t feel like a burden, that brought back a little bit of peace. Why? Because for once, I was happy? For once I didn’t have to rely on flirtation and sarcasm to feel something. Godsdamnit, Xaden – just why?” The fight has drained. 

Fury giving way to resignation and sadness. Garrick turns, not giving any of them to speak, and walks out the door. His steps don’t falter, each one beginning to fill his boots with lead. The threat of what he expects to find burying itself in worry. 

But as he searches every single nook and cranny of Basgiath, he comes up empty. It’s as though she has disappeared. At the dining hall in the evening, he searches again, his heart in his throat as he waits to face the punishment for the way he used her. Frantic responses roll about in his head, any way that he can possibly rectify the situation. 

_______________

Words and ideas are wasted as days pass and there is still no sign of her. Her door still inaccessible, her form missing every battle brief, the sparring gym bereft with no logs being taken regarding weaponry. The walls scream as they seem to shrink with each day that passes.

Garrick watches her squad, noting the way they even search for the familiar face. A gnawing unease begins to eat at his very being. It isn’t just their relationship, but what if someone else heard Xaden, heard that she had broken protocol.

Worst cases begin to swirl in Garrick’s mind, closing his eyes, all he can see is her bloody and broken, chained because of his choices. 

‘Is Cois in the Vale?’ Garrick questions Chradh as the third day of nothing comes to a close.

‘Your human squabbles are not my responsibility.’ The grumpy brown replies, though there’s no real bite.

‘Please Chradh. I need to find her.’ The words are an appeal to the brown’s loyalty. 

‘Cois is in the Vale. But she will not share any details, unless you want her to continue trying to snap my neck.’ The response does nothing to soothe the worry in Garrick’s mind. 

Garrick breaks out into the courtyard, steps desperate to find something to settle his mind. Before he makes his tenth stride, pacing across each stone, light footsteps skirting rocks along the cobbled path. His eyes rise and his heart stops. 

She stands there, bloody from head to toe, hair mussed with dirt and grime, leathers torn and barely clinging to her form. Her steps continue, slow and overly measured, trying to push past pain. One of her eyes so bruised, it is sealed shut, cuts marring her beautiful face. 

When awareness finally hits again, Garrick is moving, strides eating up the distance in seconds, but a panicked voice makes him stop. 

“No.” The word leaves her lips, but pain and fear are etched across her face. She tries to straighten, stand up to her full height, but Garrick doesn’t miss the small hiss of pain. 

Garrick’s hand rises, his palms itching to hold her, to touch her and make sure she’s truly standing in front of him. 

“I said no.” The words are more forceful this time, malice sliding into her voice. 

“I asked you to keep what I told you to yourself. Didn’t think I needed to explain that I would be punished if anyone else found out about it. I trusted you, thought giving you my trust meant something in return.” She shakes her head, as if disappointed by herself. “I didn’t know that I was just a fucking project for you to pretend with. Just a little plaything for whatever you and Riorson have going on.”

Her eyes land on a point behind her, but Garrick can barely breathe, let alone focus on anything else.

“So, I hope you enjoy what your little game cost. Maybe next time you and your best friend will consider the people that will have to face the consequences of your actions. But I should commend you, Tavis, I truly thought you cared about me. Thought all the rumors of the quadrant were really a lie.”

An indignant huff leaves her lips, the split on them opening back up. “More fool me, I guess, just another pawn in whatever game you enjoy playing. So bravo, I hope you enjoyed every minute of it.”

Her eyes move, a form coming and stepping up next to her.

“Let’s get you to the healers.” Her squadmate says while glaring at Garrick. 

Everything comes crashing down. Her words settling into every broken crevice. Garrick swallows, trying desperately to give voice to anything, but the words are stuck in his throat. Every apology, every damn wish to make it better, to take her place, burning like bile as it sits, not making it past his lips. 

Instead, he watches as she limps away, watches as she drags his heart along with her. Wild energy coils inside him, the force making his entire body vibrate. Before he can blink, he’s entered the training room, walked up to the nearest punching bag, and the next sound that greets his ears is skin hitting leather as he blasts each bag past its point. His mind races as the skin on his knuckles begins to burn, fingers fracturing the only feeling that can get past the barriers of his anger, his misery. 

Garrick doesn’t know how long he stays there, how long he lets his blood pool on the floor, skin torn from his knuckles. It isn’t until exhaustion begins to settle, reality clawing its way back in, but the pain from his split skin is nothing. Nothing compared to the pieces his own heart has fallen into. 

“You should get those bloodied knuckles mended. Doesn’t look good for a Section Leader to let anger get the best of him.” Xaden’s words float to him, Garrick turning to see him settled on the wall closest to the door. 

Garrick scoffs, ire still burning between them. He walks towards the door, intent on ignoring Xaden like they have been for the last few days. But before he crosses the threshold, he turns, eyes hard.

“I pray to Amari that you never have to see the woman you love beaten and bloodied for your actions. For all the things you never told her. Eye swollen shut because you’re just another traitor. Beautiful face full of cuts and bruises, that even when mended will leave a mark on your soul.” He pauses, letting his words settle between them. “Because no matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, no one and nothing will be able to take that mark away. The mark that your love left on her, and not one of gentle compassion and devotion, one that mars you both.” 

Garrick walks away then, lets their choices settle between them. The true cost of rebellion, the cost of war.

________________

Garrick tries desperately to seek her out. To plead his case and tell her that she was never a project, that his need for her was never something he faked. It was the only real thing he had for himself.

Every time, she is surrounded by squadmates, by loyal friends that help pick up her pieces when they learned of his betrayal. He knows that he isn’t worthy, he never may be, but it doesn’t change the way that his entire being cries out for the chance to be with her again. To feel her nimble fingers tangle in his curls, her melodic laugh reverberate through his chest. All the quiet ways in which she showed him love. 

The older years gather in the sparring gym, challenges resumed on a higher level, skills expertise being analyzed by the professors. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her. 

Garrick’s hands fist when her opponent is called. 

Oswyn. Fucking Del Oswyn. The man that had been trailing her for months after she slammed her ex’s head into the table. The smile that lights up Oswyn’s face is the very definition of sinister, the gleam in his eye pleased amusement. 

Garrick watches as she walks to the mat, posture rigid, but held with power and purpose. She wasn’t quite as aware of Oswyn’s attempts, especially since Garrick gave him a black eye when he found him watching her through the door of the sparring gym one night. After that Oswyn backed off, clearly not willing to mess with the threats Garrick had levelled.

But now, now he wasn’t there, wasn’t a barrier to all the other men that would seek to use or hurt her. It didn’t matter; he would do anything to make sure that Oswyn played by the rules. There was no doubt in Garrick’s mind that she could take down Oswyn, but he was also aware that Oswyn wasn’t beyond playing dirty. 

They circled each other, the familiar dance of sparring, opponents sizing up each other, looking for weakness, any way to gain the advantage. He only caught it because of the scrutiny, the slight hitch in Oswyn’s stance, the indicator that something was hidden, a weapon he didn’t normally keep there. 

She lunged, fist aimed squarely for his jaw, but a quick step to the left and he was out of reach. She countered, body swerving quickly to follow his retreat. Oswyn’s boot came up, the glint of metal streaking and before anyone could react, it swiped through her ribs. 

Garrick could only watch as the pain stole across her face, hand gripping her side, blood seeping through her fingers. She didn’t fall. With her left hand, she grabbed the curved dagger at her side, a weapon clearly made solely for its wielder. The blade cut across his boot, hidden dagger falling to the ground. 

A scream tore through her lips as she sliced the blade across his knee, bringing him to the mat. Oswyn tried to swipe for her feet, but a dagger was flung, holding the sleeve of his arm to the floor. 

“He yields.” Emetterio announces. 

She turns; familiar eyes meeting Garrick’s with triumph. Before she can spin away, her face crumples and everyone around them erupts. Garrick looks down at Oswyn and a malicious look runs across his face, before she falls to her knees. 

Garrick’s eyes widen as he sees the handle of the blade slotted through her back. Panic ceases his lungs, before his feet move. Anger turning him into a weapon, meant only for destruction, to inflict maximum pain on the ones that seek to hurt her.

Her squadmates rush to her, two lifting gently and quickly rushing out towards the healers. As soon as the doors swing shut, Garrick’s fist wraps around Oswyn’s throat, his other hand twisting and pulling the air from his lungs. Distant orders sound in his ears, but his focus is on the bastard in front of him. The one who may have just cost the life of the girl he would willingly trade his own for. Garrick’s face closes in on the fear filled eyes in front of him, a glare as sharp as the daggers strapped to his ribs.

“If you dare to lay another fucking hand on her, your life is forfeit. Challenge or not. You. Will. Die.” The last words are punctuated, a wrath of righteous fury running through his veins. 

As the last word leaves his lips, he closes his wielding fist and releases his grip on Oswyn’s throat. He steps back two steps, the picture of control, though the hazel in his eyes has hardened to a molten gold. Walking away from the mat, he slams the doors open and walks out, steps firm and steady, but his heart beats wildly in his chest. 

Approaching the bridge to the healer’s quadrant, he sees the shadows move, whisps beginning to drag over his feet. His steps halt, head turning slightly, finding Xaden standing a few feet behind. 

“You need to go back to your post.” Xaden’s words are command and directive wrapped into one.

“No.” Garrick replies, finality sweeping through the word as he continues to look over his shoulder. “I’ve let you decree enough of my life. I’ll always be there to stand by your side and help in every way I can, but I will no longer let it be at her expense.”

With that, Garrick moves, steps continuing to carry him forward to the healer’s quadrant. Opening the doors, he’s met with chaos, light blue robes fluttering in every direction. He scans the hall, looking for any sign of black and continually comes up short.

The next time a healer passes in front of him, his hand shoots out, blocking her from escaping. “I’m looking for a rider that was brought in with a knife in her back. Where is she?”

He doesn’t even register the words he says, the actuality slicing through his own heart.

“I believe she’s in with Nolon. They aren’t allowing anyone in, you can wait outside with the other two that brought her in, if you stay out of the way.” The healer recites before flitting away to another duty.  

Garrick’s boots clip against the stone floor, footsteps heavy, echoing the dread that has clawed up his throat since he watched her face crumple. Wrath and fury turning to panic and dread. 

The familiar forms of her squadmates come into view, both turning to observe the newcomer. 

“If you’re here to drive the knife in further, you can turn around right now Section Leader.” The honorific slips from the man’s lips like a slur, Calvin or Caylin, he can’t remember. 

“I’m here to make sure she’s alright, Cadet.” Garrick isn’t afraid of him, but he won’t spit in the face of the way her squad cares for her either. “She can tell me to leave once she’s healed and awake.”

_________________

Minutes turn into hours, the agony of waiting pulsing under Garrick’s skin. He’s unsure when he started, but the dagger continues to twirl end over end as he waits outside the door. The hall is too quiet, no sound reverberating from outside the door, healers walking in and out, somber expressions plastered to their faces, bloodied sheets wrapped in their hands. 

As he focuses on another set of red stained sheets, his throat works, trying to swallow down the chance that he may never see her open her eyes ever again. But just as he begins walking the line of worst case scenarios, Nolon walks out. Every inch of the older man is sunken, tired from the toll of mending, shoulders hunched, exhaustion pulling at every feature. 

“She’s – stable.” The words are soft, meant to be reassuring, but the pause between says there’s more he isn’t saying. 

“She’s going to be unconsicious for some time.” He continues, his eyes turned down. “She lost a significant amount of blood and the blade knicked her kidney.”

Nolon looks up then, face somber, straight to her two squadmates. “If you wouldn’t have gotten her here when you did, I’m not sure she’d still be alive.”

Those words cause Garrick’s lungs to cease. The truth that he almost lost her a second time collapsing his carefully crafted control. He wants to rush to her, to beg her to wake up, to hit him, scream at him, hate him – anything. 

“You’re welcome to see her, but I’d suggest you all get some sleep. She’ll most likely be out for a day or so, if not longer.” Nolon’s words are supposed to be a comfort, to soothe the worry, but it does nothing to tamp the frantic nerves that still course through Garrick’s body. 

Nolon turns and walks towards another wing of the infirmary, but Garrick’s eyes stay on the door of her room. He can feel her squadmates look to him, they want to push him away, to make him leave, but he won’t, not until he can see the sunlight hit the familiar orbs that have been haunting him both waking and sleeping. 

“I’m assuming you aren’t going to leave her to rest, are you?” The words are inquisitive, the sharp edge that was there before dying slightly. 

“No. I’m not leaving until she’s awake.” The words are out of Garrick’s mouth as he steps forward, his hand resting hesitantly on the doorknob. “You both can rest, I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t wait for them to respond, hesitation finally wiped away as he pushes the door wide. Eyes settling on the form on the bed, all the blood rushes from his face. There, laid in the middle, is his girl that looks smaller than she ever has before. All color has leeched from her face, the normal warmth of her skin tone faded to a sickly hue. Her eyes are sunken in, deep purple bruises underneath her dark lashes. 

Garrick’s jaw tightens, his jaw feathering with held tension, every inch of his body locked. He wants to say it’s because of his control, because he can never let things slip, but it’s truly because the guilt is surging faster and harder than before. The woman he loves hurt because he wasn’t by her side.

He hesitated, didn’t move when he should have, didn’t predict the threat, even when it was right in front of him. The only thing moving him forward is the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the one thing holding him in the room and not running to kill Oswyn. Fuck the useless threats. 

His chest begins to match hers, her steady breathing dragging his feet closer and closer, until he’s next to her bed, his larger fingers curling around her own. It’s that contact that brings the control crashing down. 

Tears that he hadn’t shed since he watched his parents burn falling down his face in sheets. The truth behind every missed moment with her crashing all at once, the possibility that he would never be able to hear her beautiful laugh or watch her smile. Loss, grief, and heartbreak tumbled into hot tears that he wouldn’t dare show to anyone else. 

“Please, come back. Please.” Garrick can only plead as his forehead comes to rest on your intertwined hands. 

“Make me cross a gauntlet, fight ten opponents at once, bleed every ounce of blood I possibly can – just please come back to me.”

In the quiet of the room, tears still falling, words whispered in fierce desperation, Garrick’s heart cracks open. The organ that he had chained crumbling underneath the reality that she was never leaving the space. 

So, he sat there, day after day, until on the morning of the third day, her breathing picked up. Eyelids beginning to flutter, he rises from the chair, the ache of being in one spot too long stretching through his entire body.

As her eyes flutter open, the fear that never settled finally dulls at the edge, the recognizable color letting him finally take a full breath. 

Eyes squinting at the bright lights, he moves closer, hand ghosting over hers as to not frighten. 

“Welcome back to us.” His words are soft, the relief flooding through each word. 

Her head turns slowly as her mind begins to work again, she blinks fast and then realization must dawn, because he can see the walls rising in her eyes. 

“Wh – Why are you here?” The words are a rasp as she begins to cough lightly.

He turns and finds a glass of water, handing it to her while helping her sit up. As she sips the drink, she doesn’t move her eyes from his, clearly not wanting him here.

“I’ve been here since your fight. You should know that I’m not going to let anything hurt you.” Garrick’s words come out, his own eyes widening as realization dawns.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Unless it comes directly from you, right?”

Garrick can’t help the flinch. She hasn’t even been awake for ten minutes and already his own actions are biting back at him. 

“I never meant to hurt you.” His words just seem hollow, even to his own ears.

“For some reason I think that’s exactly what you expected to do.” Her snark isn’t unexpected, it’s warranted even. 

Garrick clears his throat trying to gather his own thoughts, he can admit to himself, this isn’t exactly going the way he wanted it to.

“Let me ex-“ Before he can even finish, her hand shoots out, stopping his thoughts.

“I don’t want your explanation. You broke my trust. You used me to get something and accomplished your task. How about we just leave it at that?”  As she turns away from him, Garrick wants to turn her back to him, to force her to listen. But he knows that she won’t give in or hear him if she doesn’t want to. 

Still, he refuses to leave without showing her that he truly does still need her. Damning the consequences, he leans down, breath ghosting over her temple and kisses her there. Not with heat, or passion, just with the gentle care that he’s determined to give her. To make her understand that it was truly real.

___________________

“Garrick, get up. Someone’s going to see you.” She says in a forceful whisper, eyes flitting to the left and right.

“No. I’m going to kneel here and beg until you let me at least explain myself.” The reply slips easily from his lips, he’s not above groveling and begging, not at this point. Over a week has passed since she returned from the infirmary and he can't stand it. He refuses not to be able to protect her any longer, for her not to know how important she is, how loved.

“You can’t let just anyone find one of the most feared riders in the quadrant on their knees.” She huffs as she steps forward and grabs the arm of his flight jacket, wrenching him to his feet.

“I don’t give a fuck who sees me. All I care about is you.” He says as she pulls him into her room and closes the door behind him. 

Not giving her a second to think, he’s on his knees again, this time his arms are around her waist bringing her to him. 

Gods. He’s missed her smell. Missed the way her body molded in his arms. Missed the way her hand fists in his hair as if its muscle memory, the place where it has always belonged.

“Please let me explain.” His words are muffled as he tries to bury himself in her stomach. Desperation mingling with a small slice of hope.

“What is there to explain? Xaden knew I was there, he knew I would hear everything he said. Your faithful leader showed your hand, what else is there?” Her words are clipped, forceful and too damn true.

“What you heard is true. Even if I want to take back every single ounce of them, you’re right.” Garrick gets out as he looks up at the woman he so desperately needs. “But there’s one thing that Xaden never accounts for. Fuck, something that I didn’t either – until you.”

“The reason for getting close may have been bullshit, but the minute you began to pull me into your orbit, it became the opposite – the excuse. The excuse for all the others to stay away, to let me get close to you. And as the days went by, I fell, I never intended to – but I did.”

“And I could have fucking killed Xaden when I found out, when I realized that he blew up every single thing I had because it wasn’t part of his plan.” Garrick rises, his hand coming up to cup the soft skin of her cheek. 

“You were never part of the idea, but gods, now you are my only plan. The only thing that makes sense in this death sentence. The one thing that keeps me wanting to come back home from war, to not be lost to dragon fire and battle.”

Her eyes searched back and forth as she looked up at him. Garrick didn’t know what she was looking for, but he hoped that she found it, hoped she believed how much he needed her. 

“Are you ready to scale the insurmountable mountain of proving that you’re really here because you want to be and not because of some directive?” She challenges, fire lighting up her eyes.

“I will scale anything you put in my way. I refuse to let a stupid fucking directive derail the one thing in my life that’s been only mine. And gods I hope you are still fucking mine.” 

Control is lost as Garrick surges forward, arms lifting her from the floor, wrapping around her waist and tugging her to him. His face gets lost in the crook of her neck, her familiar scent settling him in a way he hasn’t experienced in months. 

"And I'll keep my word, I promise no chocolate cake until you trust me again." Garrick can feel the way her lips quirk in his hair, the one indication that maybe, just maybe, she'll forgive him - eventually.

In that moment, he knows that he’ll protect Tyrrendor, his Duke, the continent, but never at the cost of her. 

.

.

Taglist: @ilovetomtailor@nevermoresworld@nastylicious@iambored24601@mysticalfuncollectorus@sadpieceofbread@alwayshave-faith@bestillmystuckyheart@luvly-writer@yuelhua@mitziix

[superpowereddonut]

“It was about you” CRYING OMG THAT SO SWEET

Decompressing Pairing - Bodhi Durran x Scribe!Reader Summary - While everyone is excited about the Reunification Day party, you can't help worrying about your boyfriend and what this day means for him. Word Count - 1.8k Warnings - None!

You were ashamed at how long it took you to realize what was going on. 

After hearing all the other scribes smiling and giggling about how much fun the Reunification party was, how you got to wear special robes, and socialize with the other quadrants, you had to admit you were looking forward to it. You would get to be with Bodhi, in public, and no one would bat an eye. It was like a weight off your chest, and you started counting down the days until you could have him on your arm with that beautiful smile that was just for you. 

As the party drew closer though, Bodhi’s mood seemed to get worse. He tried to keep it hidden, bestowing as much attention on you as he always had, but his smile wasn’t right. There was something missing. The cracks started to show: brief flashes of temper over things that never used to bother him. One day, a first year at a nearby table made a comment about how easy one of the history classes was, and Bodhi, sitting with you, clenched his jaw tight. Then, while he was visiting you in the Archives, a second year came in with a smile asking for your help. He seemed fine at first, but by the time you returned, you couldn’t help but catalogue the way his knee bounced under the table. You realized what was going on when he snapped at you for asking him if he was okay after telling him about your new robes for the party, and him responding with single syllables. 

That’s when it clicked. The Reunification party didn’t just mark peace for the continent. For Bodhi, it marked the day he lost everything. 

Shame burned under your skin until you could barely meet his eyes. The look on your face must have shown it, because he apologized, making an excuse about not getting enough sleep, but you knew it was a lie. 

How could you have been so self absorbed? You’d counted down the days with excitement. He must have been counting them down with dread. You were gushing over a party that celebrated his parents’ deaths. While you’d never met them of course, you knew what kind of man they had raised. Maybe they hadn’t made the best decisions, but they had made the best son. It made getting ready for the Reunification party miserable because while around you others were laughing and excited, all you could think about was how miserable Bodhi must be, watching everyone celebrate the death of his loved ones. 

You would have skipped the party all together if it hadn’t been for Markham. He’d mentioned several times over the past week how this party was mandatory, and his eyes seemed to linger on you more than the rest, almost as if he knew you were going to try and get out of it. 

You wished that you had, because now that you were here, you were miserable. 

Taking a sip from your drink, you let out a sigh, moving your gaze from the entrance where you had to accept that Bodhi wouldn’t be coming through. You couldn’t blame him for it. You wouldn’t want to be around people either. 

“Ah, it’s good to see you made it.” 

You straightened up at once as Markham approached. “Of course, Sir.” 

Sometimes the way he looked at you made you feel uneasy. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was almost like he was examining you. Trying to watch your face for a sign of . . . something. “I was worried your . . . attachment would prevent you.”

Attachment? Did he mean - 

“You have great potential, cadet. Don’t let anything . . . distract you from it.” Markham added, took a sip of his drink like his words were nothing more than discussing the weather, and left you alone. 

Your stomach dropped so fast you nearly forgot how to breathe. Had he . . . Had he really just threatened you? Implied that your relationship with Bodhi would keep you from reaching your potential? 

What. An. Asshole. 

You looked around, wondering if anyone else had seen the brief interaction, but everyone was standing around, talking, smiling, and enjoying themselves. 

And now, thinking about what the marked ones, what your Bodhi, were remembering while everyone else had a great time made you feel nauseated. The laughter felt too loud. The colors too bright. The air too thick to breathe. 

You couldn’t stay here another minute, whether it would “ruin your potential” or not. Instead, you set your drink down, and slipped out the back. It wasn’t a long walk to the Rider’s quadrant, and you only received a few odd looks as you made your way to Bodhi’s first year dorm. That hallway was empty, and there wasn’t a single sound as you knocked on Bodhi’s door and waited for him to answer. 

When he did you felt even worse. He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale, like he hadn’t seen the sun in days. His whole body sagged, like a man hollowed out from the inside, carrying a burden it couldn’t hold onto anymore. 

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, not knowing what to say. Then you realized, maybe you didn’t need words. 

You stepped forward, slipping your arms around his neck and hugging him tight. 

His body relaxed into yours at once, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he couldn’t hold you close enough. He buried his face in your hair and breathed in deep. Then with a silent step back, he pulled you into his room, only letting go long enough to close the door before reaching for you again. 

Your fingers slipped into his curls, gently guiding him as you turned and walked backward, leading him to the bed. 

He followed without a word, settling between your thighs and resting his head on your chest. A soft sigh escaped him as your fingers threaded into his hair, and he tightened his arms around you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You laid there in silence, your fingers moving through his curls while he breathed against your chest, steady and slow. Finally, you spoke - softly, like the words might shatter something if you weren’t careful. “Will you tell me about your parents?” 

Bodhi lifted his head up, and those warm brown eyes studied your face, a guarded look in them. “Why do you want to know about them?” 

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “They raised you. So that must mean they were pretty good parents.” You said, biting your lip for a moment, “and I like learning about you.” 

He hesitated, and you could see the weight of the decision in his eyes. His parents had always been a topic he hadn’t discussed much. Or at all. 

“You don’t have to,” you said. “But . . . maybe it would help to remember the good parts. Just for a little while.” 

Something in your voice must have gotten through. Bodhi’s expression softened, and you watched his eyes drift into the past while one of his hands began drawing small circles on your back. “I didn’t see my dad much. He was always gone. But my mom . . .” 

A faint, wistful smile touched his lips. 

“She loved to garden. Every spring she’d drag me outside, even when I whined about it, and she’d make me walk the rows with her. She’d point out every bloom by name. Said they deserved to be known too.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Only an ache. “Those were some of my favorite days. It seemed like everything kind of . . . faded away. The world seemed good. For a few hours at least.” 

You closed your eyes, and an image settled in your mind. A little Bodhi, his curls all wild and smiling a toothy grin up at a beautiful woman as they walked through a colorful garden in the sun.

“Every night, she’d whisper something she loved about me. She said if I went to sleep surrounded by love I’d have good dreams.” Bodhi rested his head back on your chest, still lost in memories. “There must have been some truth to it, because I don’t think I’ve had a good dream since I saw her burn.” 

Your throat tightened. The grief in his voice wasn’t loud, it was quiet, steady and devastating. 

You felt angry. Angry that he had lost his mother, who he adored, way too young. Angry that it hadn’t even been an accidental death, no, she had been taken from him. 

But mostly, you were angry that there was a crowd of people outside celebrating it. 

You weren’t going to be a part of that ever again. Kicked out of the program or not. You were done honoring cruelty dressed as tradition.

Instead, you looked at him and said, voice full of quiet certainty, “Well, then it sounds like tonight is a great time to have a good dream again.” 

Bodhi froze at your words, sitting up so he could see you more easily. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, let’s carry on the tradition.” You said, sitting up as well and giving him a warm smile. 

“You don’t have to -”

“I love that you sneak away every morning, way earlier than you need to so you can see me. It might be for thirty minutes, or it might be for five. It doesn’t matter. It’s the best part of my day.” You told him.

Bodhi looked at you for a long moment, the guardedness in his expression slipping away. You could see every emotion flicker through his eyes, settling on one of pure adoration. “I love that you question everything,” he said. “That you don’t just accept the world as it is. You want to understand it, change it if you have to. Even when it’s hard.”  

The heat in your cheeks returned, and your chest tightened with the weight of what those words meant. He wasn’t just talking about you. He was talking about now. About this. 

You didn’t know how to respond. At least not with words. 

“Come here, Bodhi Durran.” You whispered instead. “I’m not letting go of you for the rest of the night.” 

Bodhi smiled, the first one that felt true all night, and he folded into you, arms wrapping tight around your body as you did the same, holding him close enough to feel his heartbeat through your ribs. You kissed whatever skin you could reach, his temple, his jaw, his shoulder, until you felt his breathing hitch. 

Then you felt it: the damp warmth of his silent tears soaking into your shirt. 

You held him until the both of you drifted off to sleep. 

And in the quiet morning that followed, when he woke you with soft kisses and sleep-rough murmurs, you asked the question you’d been holding onto all night. 

“Did it work? Did you dream of something good?” 

He smiled, slow and full of something gentle. 

“I did,” he said. “It was about you.”

[superpowereddonut]

Reassurance (Bodhi Durran x Reader)

My first time posting for Fourth Wing!! I'm currently reading Onyx Storm (almost finished), and I am just obsessed with the gorgeous Bodhi Durran. He is like Xaden but... not emotionally constipated?? Anyways, I think Bodhi's character is super interesting and I have a lot of ideas for him, so I'm thinking of turning this into a series of connected one-shots. Let me know what you think! And if you have any recs for Bodhi fics please please please let me know :)

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Bodhi is struggling with his new signet. Who better to reassure him than his loving girlfriend?

Word count: 1.3k

*****

It was difficult to focus on History homework when your boyfriend was gods-knows-where with Professor Carr, being forced to channel to the edge of burnout. But here you were.

Bodhi had manifested his Countering signet two months ago, and Carr was relentless - always demanding training sessions in between classes or after dinner. Being in separate years, in separate wings, you barely saw him enough as it was, and the constant worry about his safety was seriously grating on your nerves.

But finally, nearly three hours after he left to meet with Carr, Bodhi knocked quietly on your door and slipped inside, your wards letting him in instantly. You were out of your chair in a heartbeat, scanning over him intently as he closed and locked the door behind him. 

He looked wrecked. His usually golden-tanned skin was pale and wan, contrasting sharply against his crumpled black flight leathers. Your heart ached when you noticed the slight shake to his fingers as he slid the bolt home and the way his entire frame sagged with exhaustion as he turned to face you. 

“Hey, gorgeous.”

The crack in his hoarse voice had you striding immediately forwards to pull him into an embrace, though you smiled against his neck. Even tired and drained, of course Bodhi would greet you with some light-hearted flirting. You buried further into his arms, gladly accepting some of his weight as he slumped against you, his own arms wrapping tightly around your waist. He inhaled deeply, as though grounding himself in your familiar scent, and you realised you were doing the same.

You let his comforting presence slowly wash away the anxiety that had been weighing you down for the last few hours, before eventually stepping back. Bodhi didn’t let you go far though, keeping his arms locked around you as you tenderly brushed his curls away from his forehead.

“Hey, handsome,” you replied at last. He smiled at that, but it quickly turned into a grimace when he tried to lift a hand to your face. He dropped it back to his side with a wince.

“Sorry love,” he said, “my arms feel like noodles right now. Carr made me channel until I couldn’t lift them anymore.”

Gently, you stepped out of his hold and pulled him to sit at the edge of your bed.

“Let me help,” you said, giving him a quick kiss before carefully removing his flight jacket and the tight black shirt underneath. He watched with fond amusement as you shamelessly admired his naked torso, your eyes following the swirling rebellion relic up his toned arms before skating down his muscular chest and abdomen. Fuck, it was unfair for him to be this attractive.

With a slight shake of your head, you redirected your focus, motioning for Bodhi to lie down. He did so slowly, stretching out on his stomach with a low groan. A moment later, you climbed onto the bed as well, moving to straddle him, your knees bracketed on either side of his waist. Warming your hands with your own signet, you began to massage the muscles in his upper back and shoulders, knotted from hours of channeling. 

Bodhi was quiet at first, merely letting out grunts or sighs as you worked at particularly sore spots. Perhaps it was your soothing movements, or the fact that he didn’t have to look you in the eye while he talked, but after a while, Bodhi was opening up in a way he rarely did. Certainly not with anyone but you.

“I just don’t get it,” he was saying, the words muffled by the blanket his face was buried in. “Everyone else gets these cool, useful signets and I’m left with something so… boring. I always thought I was going to become a powerful rider. Xaden’s right-hand, his general. But countering is like the absence of power.”

You frowned as you listened to Bodhi disparage himself, unconsciously digging your fingers deeper into his muscle until he hissed. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked, genuinely confused, “You’re the most powerful one of all of us.”

The boy tensed beneath you before turning slowly onto his back, his hands coming to settle on your hips to hold you in place above him. 

You couldn’t help but smile once he’d rolled over, his soft curls falling messily over his honey-brown eyes. Exhaustion still lingered there, and his jaw was still tight, but he at least seemed a fraction more peaceful than when he’d first come knocking on your door half an hour ago. 

“How do you figure that?” he asked softly. “You are a fire-wielder for Dunne’s sake. Xaden shadows can choke a room full of people and Garrick can put someone on their ass with a single rush of air. I mean, gods, Imogen could wipe all our memories and we wouldn’t even know! Compared to all of that… Countering is nothing.”

It broke your heart to see Bodhi like this. He was usually so calm and composed. So self-assured. And while you knew he didn’t mind being in Xaden’s shadow - following his older cousin's orders without complaint - it couldn’t be easy. He dedicated himself to being dependable, capable and strong. But sometimes he needed a gentle reminder that he was enough just as he is.

You leant forward, supporting your weight on your left hand by his head as your other cupped his cheek, coaxing his gaze to yours. He needed to see your confidence in him. Your unshakable belief in him.

“Countering is one of the most powerful signets there is, because you can go up against anyone. Sure, my fire might be able to melt an ice-wielders’ weapon, but shadows beat fire every time. Garrick might be able to blow an impressive stream of air, but he’s practically defenseless against an earth wielder, and Imogen’s limited by touch.” 

Bodhi looked as though he was about to argue, but you gripped his face tighter in warning.

“You are limitless, Bodhi,” you said firmly. “You can go up against anyone and render them useless, whether they’re a first-year metallurgist or General Melgren himself. I’d say that makes you the most powerful wielder on the Continent.”

A beat of silence. Bodhi just looked up at you, his lips parted slightly and those alluring dark eyes swirling with too many emotions to name. 

Maybe you’d said the wrong thing. Maybe you’d missed the point he was trying to make.

Sighing softly, you let go and began to pull away. But Bodhi moved like lightning, one of his hands moving to hold your wrist in place. His other hand tightened on your hip, his fingers splaying against your lower back. 

“I- Do- Do you mean that?” he whispered, so quietly that you had to lean even closer to catch it. 

You skimmed your thumb over the smooth skin of his cheekbone, marvelling that this gorgeous man was yours. You wished he could see himself the way you saw him.

“Yes,” you whispered back just as quietly. “And even without your powerful signet, you are one of the strongest, bravest, most skilled riders in the quadrant… You’re incredible, Bodhi Durran.”

His eyes fluttered shut at your words, and the hand on your hip slid around to your lower back, pulling you even closer. You happily moved forward until your forehead rested on his, and his eyes opened again at the touch, full of so much adoration and reverence it made your breath catch.

“I love you,” he breathed.

Your heart soared, but before you could respond, he surged upward, covering your mouth with his. His lips were soft but insistent against yours, and you hummed in contentment as he released your wrist to slide his hand through your hair, tilting your head to give him even better access. 

“I love you too,” you murmured onto his lips.

[superpowereddonut]

bound by fear - masterlist

pairing: Azriel x reader

content warnings: physical and emotional abuse by a parental figure (alluded to and described), anxiety, violence, misogyny, language, descriptions of injuries, descriptions of menstrual cycle/menstrual blood, nudity, smut (18+)

~ ~ ~

bound by fear

You spent three decades suffering under the cruel thumb of your father. When you finally escaped, finally started to build your own life, the last thing you ever wanted was to find a mate.

bound by love

You were falling in love with the mate you never wanted, and he was waiting patiently to catch you.

explorations in intimacy

Maybe it was time you learned how to satiate the need that coursed through you every time you looked at your mate.

endeavors in love

You loved your mate. You loved him with your whole heart, and it was time you told him.

~ ~ ~

complete

[superpowereddonut]

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor (Azriel x reader) Masterlist

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: this is an Azriel x reader fic, however there will be a ton of Cassian and Rhys interaction because found family! Besides they’re so fun to write for.

*banner by @milswrites

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14.1, 14.2

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

[superpowereddonut]

holy shit I have no words for how beautiful this is.

one of my favourite fics EVER!! I had to stop for a mini freak out every 30 seconds oh my god

already know I'll be re-reading this one a million times

bound by love

a/n: part 2 of bound by fear! can probably be read alone but I recommend you read part 1 first :)

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: anxiety and panic caused by past trauma, allusions to past trauma and abuse, language, descriptions of injuries, descriptions of menstrual cycle/menstrual blood, finally some comfort for reader

word count: 12.7k

synopsis: You were falling in love with the mate you never wanted, and he was waiting patiently to catch you.

read part 1 here

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

“You’re not seeing her.”

“Az—”

“Rhys.”

Your eyes flew open, and you had to blink a few times to adjust to the golden sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains. Your breath caught in your throat as you focused on the voices that woke you.

“She comes from a rebel camp. Her memories—” An unfamiliar voice spoke calmly. A male voice that made your hair raise.

“I don’t give a fuck, Rhysand.” You knew that voice. You heard that voice in your dreams—but you had never heard it so feral. There was quiet lethality that laced the low growl of Azriel’s voice, and it sent a suffocating spike of fear through your chest. 

A beat of silence passed, then Azriel said quietly. “She’s awake, and she’s scared.” Gods, could he smell your fear from here? Were you that obvious? “You need to leave.”

“You both need to leave,” a third voice cut in. Female. Nesta, if you remembered right.

“I am not leaving—”

“Az—” she cut him off, “Go. Calm down, and then come back. Go bathe, eat, fly around the townhouse in circles, for all I care, but you need to calm down.”

There was some inaudible grumbling, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. Then the door slowly creaked open and Nesta’s silver eyes met yours. You had to squint to make her out, your vision was still blurry and your head was pounding, but you could see the surprised tilt of her brows when she saw you.

“Well look at you,” she drawled as she shut the door. “You actually seem lucid.”

Your cheeks burned at her words. You wanted to argue, to quip back, to say something that made you seem less vulnerable than you were—but the truth was you didn’t even know what day it was. Your memories were hazy bits and pieces of Nesta and Madja poking and prodding at you, and brief moments where you awoke in the night, then listened to Azriel’s heartbeat in the hall to soothe yourself back to sleep.

He had yet to see you since he brought you here.

Nesta sat a plate of toast on your nightstand, then started digging around in the drawer. “Illyrian males and their egos,” she grumbled and sat some vials next to the plate. 

Your mouth felt dry as you asked. “Who was that?”

Her eyes flicked to yours, a bit of surprise limning them. She quickly went back to focusing on her task, but she still answered, “Rhys.”

The name was…familiar. Familiar in a way that left a pit in your stomach, but you couldn’t place it. Your thoughts felt jumbled and sticky, like someone had dumped a bucket of honey in your head and left you to pull bits and pieces apart one by one. “He’s Illyrian?” you asked. You hated how weak you sounded, how hoarse your voice was. Who knows how many days it had been since you even used it.

Nesta paused at that. Her eyes met yours again, and they assessed you with something raw and knowing—something akin to sympathy, but not quite. You shifted under the uncomfortable weight of her gaze.

“He’s the High Lord.”

You swallowed hard. You knew that. You knew the High Lord’s name was Rhysand, and you knew Azriel considered him family. Of course he would want to see you, to interrogate you.

You had not realized your breathing had turned shallow and frantic until Nesta placed a cool hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said, in a tone as gentle as you assumed she was capable of. “He’s not a threat to you,” she added, albeit begrudgingly. “Just a pain in my ass.”

She pulled her hand away, and the brief, casual touch left you feeling untethered. “Has Madja been here? Do we need to do your wing salve?”

Your stomach turned at the thought of her touching your wings. She likely already had touched your wings, but you couldn’t remember, and you didn’t want her to now. So you lied, “She already did it.”

Nesta didn’t even question you. “Are you hungry?”

You were starving, actually, but the thought of moving, of trying to sit up to chew the buttered bread on the plate beside you was revolting. You ignored her question, and instead asked, “How many days has it been?”

Her lips pressed together, and her eyes narrowed at your deflection, but she still answered, “Four.”

The number rattled around inside you, leaving you feeling bruised and hollow. Four days. You had been trapped in this bed for four days, vulnerable and injured and—

“Azriel has barely left the hall,” Nesta said quietly. “Only when I’ve been here, or Feyre. Do you remember her?”

You didn’t, and that left you feeling sick. If you didn’t remember her, who is to say someone else had not snuck in, or—

“Azriel would die before he let someone lay a finger on you,” she said quietly, her voice cold but eerily soothing. The sun was starting to fade, and you finally realized it was evening, not morning. “I know you don’t believe that, and that’s okay—but it’s true.” She brought a tiny vial to your lips, coaxing your mouth open to let a fruity liquid slide down your throat. It was alarming how pliant you were for her. Your subconscious trust for this new female was entirely driving your motions.

She sat the vial down with a soft plink, and she glanced at the hall when there was a soft thud. That familiar tug pulled at your chest, but it was gentle, and something settled inside you. That might be the work of whatever tonic Nesta had given you, though. “Sounds like your bat is back,” she mused with an eye roll. “Try to get some sleep,” she said as she moved toward the door, leaving you alone with your sticky tumultuous thoughts and the fading rays of sunlight as your only company.

Well, your thoughts, the sun, and your bat sitting in the hallway, apparently.

~ ~ ~

Turns out, skipping your wing salve had been a gross miscalculation on your part. Suffering through Nesta’s touch on your wings would have been a far better alternative to the agony you were in right now.

Painful did not even come close to describing the state of your wings. It had yanked you from your sleep so brutally—it left you gasping for breath. You were certain you were under attack, that you were back in that damned forest, until you recognized the silken sheets brushing your skin and the warm bed beneath you. Things that so sharply contrasted with the torment you were enduring it almost made you laugh in your hysteria.

The pain was paralyzing. You couldn’t move. How could you possibly still be in this much agony? Tears were streaming down the side of your face, and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to soothe yourself, how to survive this. You didn’t even know where or what your wing salve was, and even if you did, you were certain you couldn’t apply it yourself.

You gasped when you felt that gentle tug in your chest again, and more tears fell as you instinctively clutched at the glowing thread coiled around your soul. You slowly registered Azriel’s presence outside your door—his scent, his breathing, his heartbeat—all things that tethered you slightly back to reality, and you didn’t even think before you rasped, “Azriel.”

The door immediately flew open, and Azriel was at your side within a second. His eyes were wide as they took you in, and you couldn’t stop the full body shiver that rattled through you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, words panicked. “What can I do?”

“My wing,” you whimpered. “I—” you gasped, “I didn’t let Nesta put on the wing salve.”

His eyes turned vicious, and a new wave of fear flooded over you. This was your fault. Your fault you were in pain, your fault you had to bother him—

“She should have insisted, or got Madja,” he growled. 

“I lied,” you cried, “It’s not her fault.” A sob broke free when you thought about him unleashing his ire on her because of you. “I just didn’t want her to touch my wings. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” his voice was softer, and when you opened your eyes, the anger on his face was gone, and now only worry shined in his hazel irises. “You didn’t know. It’s your instinct to protect your wings, it’s okay—we’ll take care of it.”

You were still shaking as you stared at him, as you watched him dig around in your nightstand until he pulled out a silver tin. He unscrewed the cap hastily but not clumsily—you were fairly certain that Azriel would look graceful doing anything—and he scooped out a generous clump of a sticky, amber colored balm with his fingers. Then he froze.

His throat bobbed as his eyes met yours. “You need this,” he said quietly, but he didn’t move. “You have to have this—but I can get Feyre, or Nesta, or I can find Madja if you want but—”

“Just do it,” you gritted out, your voice unnaturally high as the pain radiated everywhere. 

“Okay,” he murmured, and he didn’t even question it. He didn’t wait or overthink it—he didn’t give you the chance to think about him touching your wings.

Until he was, and you cried out as his fingers spread the salve along the raw membrane of your wing that had been miraculously stitched together. “I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, but his ministrations didn’t stop. The pain slowly ebbed away as he rubbed the balm over you meticulously, and you thanked the Mother for creating a fae as gifted as Madja that made such fast-acting remedies. As your pain ebbed away, the underlying anxiety you felt from Azriel hovering you, touching you, started to shine through.

Your chest felt tight, and even though he was helping you, he was taking away your pain, you still found yourself wanting to shove the male off the bed. You clenched your hands into fists at your sides, grinding your teeth together to fight the fear that was coursing through you. You asked him to do this. You were safe. You were safe.

You had never been safe in your life. You had never had someone you could trust. No one ever did anything for you out of the kindness of their heart. Any male that had ever shown you a smidge of kindness, of charm, only wanted to fuck you, and when you rejected them, that kindess flew out the window.

The Illyrian shopkeeper was probably the only faerie you had met who had shown you genuine kindness, but even that kindness was born out of desperation—of a shared disdain for the culture you were both subjected to. It was kindness born out of spite.

Azriel was just…different. Nothing he did made sense. It was confusing and scary and comforting all at once.

“There,” he murmured quietly, pulling his hand away and standing up from where he had knelt on the bed. “It’s done.”

You didn’t respond. You still felt like you were suffocating as you stared at him, and as if he could feel your anxiety, your glare, he went still as he was screwing the lid of the tin shut. His eyes slowly dragged to yours, and you hated how soft his gaze was. You hated the pity you saw in his eyes. 

“Is it helping?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, and eventually nodded. 

He gently sat the tin on your nightstand, and the clinking of the metal against the wood made you flinch. Azriel clearly noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

You felt the tether on your temper snap when he looked at you again with those damned hazel eyes that always left you feeling conflicted and unmoored. “So what’s your plan?” you asked, and you knew your tone was abrasive—aggressive even—but you felt cornered lying there in front of him.

“My plan?” Azriel asked slowly.

“Yes,” you snapped. “Your plan. What are you going to do with me?”

~ ~ ~

Azriel was certain that his heart couldn’t break anymore. Not after he found you in that blood-soaked snow. Not after he ripped your father from your limp and battered body, and he felt your terror rushing at him in waves down the bond. His heart was in pieces for you, and they rattled around inside his chest every time he heard you whimper in your sleep or felt a trickle of fear run from your soul to his.

Then you woke up screaming. You woke up in agony, and you trembled in fear the entire time he helped you, because you were in so much pain you couldn’t bear to wait another second for someone else to do it. Then you asked that question. That fucking question.

“What are you going to do with me?”

It made Azriel just as angry as it did the first time you asked him that. Only this time, his ire was much closer to slipping its leash. If you weren’t lying there staring up at him with glossy eyes and tear-stricken cheeks as you desperately tried to appear angry, when all he could feel was your fear—he would be in the Hewn City this second, delivering justice to the male who hurt his mate.

Azriel wasn’t mad at you, though. Never. Mother, he sometimes wondered if all of this was his fault. If you had endured such suffering because you were destined to be his mate. It made him sick to think about the decades you spent in that camp, under a roof with such a wicked male, and he had no idea you even existed.

You didn’t trust him. He wasn’t sure you would ever trust him. Hell, he couldn’t blame you. He remembered what it was like when Rhys’s mother took him in, when Cassian and Rhys decided to stick to him like a thorn in his side. He constantly wondered when she would grow tired of housing the Illyrian bastard that talked to shadows, or when she would tire of his piss poor manners and impenetrable silence every time she spoke to him. He wondered when Rhys and Cassian would dig in too deep, when one of them might decide to breakaway, and leave him behind as dead weight—or even just outright kill him.

A fresh wave of terror  washed over him, sucking the breath from his lungs as his mind scrambled to parse apart his own emotions from his mate’s. Azriel’s mouth felt full of cotton as he met your red-rimmed eyes, as he watched you tremble on the bed in front of him, as he took in the bandages peeking out from your shirt and the freshly stitched membrane of your wings he had just slathered in salve. Your eyes were bracketed by the darkest of circles, and he had to fight to keep his own anguish, his anger, isolated to his side of the bond.

Azriel wanted to touch you. He wanted to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, to solidify that you were here, in Velaris, with him. He wanted to take away the pain and suffering and fear that was suffocating you.

He didn’t, of course. You were petrified of him, and he knew that the last thing his touch would do was bring you any semblance of comfort. It didn’t matter how loud his instincts roared at him to wrap you in his arms and swaddle the two of you in his shadows, away from the rest of the world that had brought his mate pain. He would never do that. He would never be another male in your life taking what was never his to take.

He swallowed hard, and he moved toward the low-backed chair in the corner, pulling it out slightly so he could meet your eyes as he sat on the velvet-lined cushion. “You want to know my plan?” he asked quietly, his voice steady and as gentle as he could make it with the anger still simmering beneath his skin. Anger that flared when he watched you curl into yourself further, your eyes wide with regret and trepidation. “It’s a work in progress, I suppose,” he said. He kept his eyes on yours, no matter how much your gaze bounced away from his and then back. “My first priority is letting you heal.”

He could see the confusion cloud your eyes, your skepticism momentarily diluting the fear coursing through you. “Then,” he said slowly, “We’ll decide what to do with your father.” Azriel couldn’t help the way he spat the undeserving title out, the word dripping with disdain.

Your throat bobbed, and your hands clutched at the sheets beneath you. You tilted your head away from him, opting to stare at the ceiling as you asked, with such a heartbreakingly small voice, “My father—is he—can he—” you shook your head slightly, your face twisting at the motion. “Can he find me here?”

And there went another piece of Azriel’s already shattered heart, another shard crumbling to dust. “No,” he promised, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. You slowly turned your head back to face him, your eyes heavy with utter exhaustion. At least you had stopped trembling, and the fear coursing down the bond had slowly calmed. “He doesn’t know where you are, and even if he did, he couldn’t cross Velaris’s borders. He couldn’t enter this house. I promise.” You didn’t seem convinced, and again, Azriel couldn’t blame you. “Besides,” he added quietly, tracing a thumb over the siphon on his hand absently. “He’s indisposed.”

Your eyes widened. “Did you,” you sputtered, “did you kill him?”

Azriel’s eyes locked with yours. “No.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I will, should you ask.” He could tell you didn’t know what to make of the lethal promise, and for a moment he feared he said too much, that he shouldn’t be offering to kill a male so easily while you're still wrestling with your own fear of him—but your shoulders seemed to relax a little with his words, and he didn’t feel another rush of terror. “We can talk about that later, though,” he murmured.

“And what about me?” you asked shakily, your voice nearly a whisper.

Azriel didn’t know where to begin. He knew one thing, though, and he knew it was what you needed to hear above anything else, so he said softly, “You will do whatever you want. You can stay here, we can move you to the House of Wind, we can find you your own place in Velaris, or—” Azriel choked a little over the words he knew he had to say, even if they felt like an axe to his chest. “Or somewhere else. Another court, if you wished.” He prayed to the Mother you didn’t.

Your blinks were growing slower as you observed him carefully. Your gaze made him nervous—he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous with someone. He was quiet, reserved, and he flustered far easier than he cared to admit—but he was also the Spymaster. He had spent centuries mastering his nerves, but with you…it was just different. He also felt overwhelming pride and relief when his words seemed to lift a weight from your body, grateful that he was for once soothing your anxiety rather than causing it.

You pulled the blankets up close to your chin, and he winced as you did when the fabric brushed over your wings, but you eventually relaxed, settling back into the bed. “I’ve never been to a city,” you murmured, voice tired and heavy. “I never left my camp until—” your words cut off with a sharp breath, and Azriel shifted forward.

“Velaris is beautiful,” he said hurriedly, desperate to keep your momentary reprieve from the fear and panic and pain that had clutched you so thoroughly earlier. “We call it the City of Starlight, and it certainly lives up to its name. It’s beautiful during the day too, though.” He couldn’t stop his soft words from tumbling from his lips as you watched him with hooded eyes, listening silently. “There are markets and jewelers and tailors. Bakeries and diners and taverns. Artists have an entire quarter for their work. It’s vibrant, and full of life, despite the hardships they’ve faced. Velaris is resilient.” Like you, he almost said, then thought better of it. “I think you will love it.”

His rambling was met with silence, and when Azriel looked at you again, his heart stuttered. Your lips were parted slightly as you breathed steadily, your eyes shut and your face more relaxed than he had ever seen it. His chest swelled with even more pride that you had fallen asleep with him right there, that some subconscious part of you felt safe enough to let your exhaustion take over with him sitting just a few feet away.

He watched you sleep for far too long, far too many minutes passing with him staring at you in awe. His throat felt tight and his eyes burned as he finally tore his eyes from you—his mate. His mate. You were his mate, and he would die before he let anything happen to you again. He meant what he told you that night he brought you here, he was devoted to you. He never could have anticipated the overwhelming reverence he would regard his mate with, but it was entirely consuming in the best way. It was all he ever wanted, and he would be damned if he did anything to jeopardize it.

That meant another night of sleeping in the hallway, with his back propped against your wall, listening to your heartbeat from afar. He knew you would not want him to stay here tonight—you wouldn’t want him watching you while you slept. He was fairly certain you would spiral the next morning about leaving yourself so vulnerable to him, and he would be damned if he added to the impending panic.

He moved the chair back to the corner, his movements entirely silent, and he yanked his shadows back that had slowly migrated to hover near your face. He glared at the rogue tendrils, and then gave you one last onceover, confirming to himself that you were okay. He hesitated, though, standing there beside you, the bond begging him to just touch you. To tuck an errant strand of sweat-damp hair behind your ear, to brush his knuckles over your cheek, to press a kiss to your forehead—anything to physically connect with his mate.

He clenched his jaw, breathing deep, and told himself that it would take time. He had to give you time, and that if you never gave him more of you, if this was as close as he would ever get, he would make himself be okay with that. So, instead of reaching his hand out to brush his fingers along your bruised and mottled skin, he whispered another promise into the silent darkness, “Wherever you go, I’ll support you.” His throat bobbed, and he licked his lips before turning toward the door. “I will be in the hall. If you call for me, I’ll come. Always.”

~ ~ ~

“Are you and Azriel…close?” you asked Nesta, voice far too nonchalant when you were feeling anything but.

Nesta peered at you over her shoulder, her brows raised. “Close,” she repeated slowly, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes.

You hated the blush that crept up your neck and all the way to your ears. You were learning you were far too easy to fluster, and you hated it. It just felt like another vulnerability—another open window that anyone could peer through to see your emotions.

“Forget it,” you grumbled, tugging your breakfast tray into your lap.

“No,” Nesta said as she turned away from the vanity to fully face you. Why she had decided to braid her hair this morning here in your room was beyond you. Your eyes couldn’t help but snag on the Illyrian leathers wrapped around her as she sat on the foot of your bed.

“Azriel is my family,” Nesta said quietly, almost as if the words were foreign in her mouth. Family didn’t mean much to you, and you almost told her that before she added, “And not because he’s Cassian’s. Azriel is one of the few that gave me space to…heal—and he never made me feel guilty about it, even though I deserved to. I think he…” She licked her lips, looking at the wall across the room. “He gets it.”

You took a bite of the now lukewarm oatmeal, immediately gagging at the bland taste and gooey texture. You hated oatmeal. Nesta snickered, then gestured to the array of bowls on your tray. “Put some fruit on it.”

You glanced at the bowl of berries beside you, the bowl of honey and the bowl of nuts, feeling foolish for not knowing that’s how oatmeal is normally eaten. You rarely had access to such foods in Illyria, and the glimpse of the variety they had here in Velaris was overwhelming.

“Do you think…” You played with the hem of the duvet lying in your lap. This felt like such a juvenile question, but you needed to know. “Do you think he is a good male?”

Nesta’s eyes softened slightly, and you found yourself wishing you could stuff the words back in your mouth. Before you could tell her to forget you said anything, she said, “Well, I certainly didn’t bring you breakfast in bed. Nor have I been sleeping on the floor of a hallway for two weeks.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “You didn’t make this?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “No, he insists on doing anything he can to help you. He just gives it to me to carry in.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the slightly elaborate but frankly minimalist breakfast. Something that he likely knew you would be used to eating, with just a garnish of something new. It was like that every morning. You rubbed at your sternum, feeling something squeeze tight in your chest.

Nesta stood up, her sudden motion making you flinch, and started rifling through the dresser against the wall. She tossed stretchy black pants at you, followed by a navy sweater that looked like it could swallow you whole. You pushed your tray to the side and picked up the sleeve of the sweater, a fresh and intense wave of cedar and salt rushing over you. You swallowed. “Is this—”

“The pants are mine,” Nesta said as she shut the drawer with a thud. “But I don’t have wings, so the sweater is Azriel’s.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

Nesta seemed entirely unimpressed. “Put it on.”

“But—”

“You have been here nearly three weeks now. Madja cleared you days ago to leave the bed, and yet you still have not left this room.”

“And where am I supposed to go?”

“Anywhere!” Nesta threw her arms out toward the balcony. “Even just stepping outside would be good for you.”

You looked away, heat creeping up your cheeks as you played with the sleeve of the too soft sweater that you hated loving the scent of. Why did the thought of wearing his sweater make you feel so…warm? Comforted?

Nesta sighed. “It doesn’t matter, because today, you’re coming to training.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Get dressed.”

“Nesta.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t training, but you need to get out of this room. Feyre will take us.” She moved toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “She’ll wait for you on the terrace.”

Then she was gone, and you were left alone with your head spinning and your heart racing.

~ ~ ~

Azriel was terrifyingly beautiful. His movements were elegant in a way that promised death. You weren’t the only one to notice, either, if the moony gazes of the priestesses scattered around him were any indication. It was annoying. So annoying, that it distracted you from your still racing heart after Feyre winnowed the two of you to the House of Wind, only to let her wings flare out to catch you at the last second. You didn’t even know she had wings, and she only gave you a sheepish smile when you said as much.

More notable than the priestesses’ awestruck gazes, though, was that none of them seemed afraid of him. There were plenty that appeared timid, unsure of their movements or their place in the room, but there was no fear. Cassian was busy overseeing a group of females that appeared more advanced with their skills, while Azriel was guiding others through slow stretches with low-spoken instructions.

One of the females in his group twisted her ankle while shifting poses, the awkward motion sending her toppling to the ground. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight, and your chest felt tight as you watched Azriel move toward where she was splayed on the ground. Her face was red as she met his gaze, and you waited for the lecture, the berating, but instead he offered her his hand, and smiled so softly at her as she placed her shaky hand in his.

He didn’t touch her anywhere else. He didn’t yell at her, or make a spectacle of her. He said something in a hushed tone that made her smile shakily and nod, and she resumed her position with the rest of her friends. 

You could feel Nesta’s gaze burning holes in the side of your face, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t pull your gaze from Azriel. You couldn’t find the words to describe his genuine display of kindness that left you rattled and breathless. It left you with a glaring and uncomfortable truth that you had been fighting tooth and nail to avoid since you met him—you still found yourself struggling to accept it, but you could feel it—him—starting to wear through your defenses.

Azriel’s eyes suddenly snapped to you, his hazel eyes locking with yours from across the room. You sucked in a sharp breath, and your face grew hot from being caught. You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze to finally turn toward Nesta, who was watching you and Azriel with an entirely too smug expression. 

You narrowed your eyes. “You are a conniving little—”

“Nesta,” another female voice groaned from behind you, growing closer as she walked. “Tell your menace of a mate that warm ups are meant to be warm ups.”

“Keep whining, Emerie!” Cassian called across the room. 

You turned around slowly to look at the female, stepping to the side to let Nesta speak with her. She met your gaze with a friendly smile, one that immediately melted off her face at the same time you felt your breath stall in your throat. She was Illyrian. She was an Illyrian female, and you knew her. She was the shopkeeper that had essentially kept you alive those first few months that you spent alone in that cottage.

Your mouth was dry and your heart was pounding as your mind raced to make sense of this female standing in front of you. Why was she here? Was she friends with the High Lord? Was she friends with Azriel? Had she told them you were living in that cottage in the woods?

Azriel never told you why he had suddenly returned to the safehouse he had left abandoned for so long. He never gave you any explanation, any indication as to why he was in that area. Was it because this female, Emerie, had told him you were there? 

You were going to be sick.

“H-hi,” she stuttered, rocking back on her heels as she stared at you with wide eyes.  “You’re here.”

She didn’t seem surprised to see you, only startled that you were here right now, as if she wasn’t expecting to have this confrontation yet.

“You know each other?” Nesta asked, but her voice sounded distant as your stomach turned and you stared at the one, single female who had ever come close to being your friend. The female who sold you out.

“I need to go,” you rasped, and you turned on your heel and ran for the door before anyone could stop you. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know where the winding hallway you turned down led, you didn’t care.

It was too much. It was all just too much. Everything that happened in that camp. The self-isolation. The unsolicited mate. Your father. Velaris. Now Emerie.

The weight of it all was suffocating. You wiped hastily at your cheeks, smearing your tears across your face as you neared a staircase. You crumpled to the floor at the first step, letting your tears go as you sat there with your knees pulled up and your wings splayed behind you.

You found yourself wishing, and not for the first time, that you had wings that worked. Wings that weren’t just some useless extension of yourself. You wouldn’t be trapped in this mountain, in this city. You wouldn’t have been trapped in the Illyrian Steppes for the last two years.

You closed your eyes as footsteps sounded, slow and deliberately loud steps that grew closer and closer, until familiar black boots stood in your periphery. You wiped hastily at your eyes, a desperate and futile attempt to hide your tears from Azriel. He could probably feel everything through that fucking bond anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled as you pushed your hair behind your ear.

Azriel stepped down onto the first step, then slowly sat beside you. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured.

He was so close to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and his wings splayed behind him lied only inches from your own. As much as you hated him seeing you fall apart, again, his presence was settling—grounding.

He sat there next to you without saying a word, letting you stew in silence for however long you needed. He sat with you while your emotions simmered and bubbled, until they slowly pittered out and you were left with a bone-deep, aching exhaustion.

“Emerie told you about me,” you said solemnly, not really a question.

Azriel let out a breath, then admitted softly, “Yes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes suddenly stinging again with a fresh wave of hurt and frustration.

“She was worried about you,” he continued softly. You sniffed as you wiped at the tear that escaped from the corner of your eye, glancing at him briefly. “She said you came to her shop monthly, like clockwork. Never early, never late. You were a week late when she came to me.”

You blinked, thinking over the weeks leading up to Azriel finding you. You had been a week behind schedule, after staining one of your tailorings and needing time to fix it. It had never even occurred to you that the shopkeeper, Emerie, might worry about you. It never occurred to you that she would care. She didn’t even mention it when you eventually showed up two weeks later than usual, aside from a quip about tardiness.

“She told me there was an Illyrian female living alone in the woods. She thought you were in hiding, and she was worried whoever you were running from had caught up to you. She asked me if I could look for you.” He shifted a bit, running his scarred palms over leather clad thighs. You still didn’t know how he got those scars.

“That wasn’t her place,” you whispered, looking down at the stone beneath your feet.

“She was worried about you,” Azriel defended. “And she knew you would feel betrayed by her coming to me, if you were perfectly fine. But the odds are stacked against a female in Illyria. She would rather you hate her and be alive than dead—or worse—because of her silence.”

You absorbed his words, the truth behind them startling. No one had ever made a decision with your best interest in mind. No one had ever cared enough to check on you, to worry about you. Emerie did. Emerie cared, and she didn’t even know your name.

Azriel cared too. He wouldn’t be sitting next to you in this dim stairwell if he didn’t. You rubbed at your chest as you swallowed the realization. “How did she know where I lived?”

“She didn’t,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. I never even planned on going to that safe house. It had been decades since I thought about it. But as soon as I stepped foot in Illyria, I just felt…” His eyes flashed with something indecipherable, and you knew exactly what he meant.

“A pull.”

His gaze snapped to yours, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze, to face the raw emotion shining in his irises. “Yes,” he rasped.

“I felt it too,” you murmured, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve—his sleeve. “When I escaped, I just ran. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know where I would stay or if I would survive in the Illyrian Steppes, but I just kept moving. I was following something. I thought it was pure desperation pushing me forward, but now I know….” You sniffed, meeting his eyes again. “I was drawn to that cottage, and as soon as I found it…I knew I was safe.”

Azriel seemed stunned for the briefest second, before he closed his eyes and masked whatever emotions were whirling inside him. For the first time, you wished you could feel him through the bond the same way he felt you. “I know you are upset with Emerie—”

“I’m not,” you said quietly. “I mean—I was—but—” You let out a shaky breath, struggling to find the words to explain the storm inside you. Azriel sat quietly beside you while you gathered yourself, his patience causing fresh tears to burn at the back of your eyes. “I’ve been alone my entire life. I’ve never trusted anyone—I couldn’t. Everyone was a threat. I don’t know how to accept kindness. I don’t know how to trust it.” You sniffed, wiping away more tears. “But I want to,” you whispered, trusting Azriel with the vulnerable confession, hoping it was enough to keep him here while you learned to trust him wholly.

Azriel was silent for a moment, letting your words float around the two of you, twining with his shadows that had creeped out of the corners and crevices of the hallway. One slowly slithered toward you, and when you didn’t flinch away, it gently brushed against your hand, curling up your arm until it stroked your cheek, then disappeared. Your skin was warm and tingling in its wake, and you wondered if you should feel pathetic for relishing in the touch of a shadow.

“My shadows came to me when I was a child,” Azriel told you quietly, startling you from your awe at the elegant tendrils. He held up a hand and let one curl through his fingers. “I was the bastard son of an Illyrian lord. He was a cruel and miserable male, and his wife was entirely suited to him. They kept me locked in their basement until I was eleven. They only let me out to see my mother once a week, if that.”

Your heart stuttered, and you didn’t dare speak—didn’t breathe—while you waited for him to continue.

“My stepbrothers were just as cruel.” He flipped his hands to face palms up, and a pit grew in your stomach as you stared at the scarred skin. “They lit my hands on fire. They wanted to test Illyrian healing.”

Your stomach soured as you stared at his hands. The pain he must have endured—the damage they must have inflicted for the skin to scar so extensively. He was just a child.

“My shadows came to me shortly after that. I was so lonely. I just wanted my mother. I wanted a friend. They kept me company—they kept me sane.” He dropped his hand to his lap. “When I moved to Windhaven, when Rhys’s mother took me in, I didn’t know how to trust anyone. Rhys and Cassian pestered me and we fought, but they weren’t cruel, and it didn’t make sense to me. All I ever wanted was a friend, but I didn’t know how to actually have one. I didn’t know how to sleep in a bed. I didn’t know how to sit at a dinner table and share food. I didn’t know how to talk to someone. I didn’t know how to fly.”

“You couldn’t fly?” you rasped, the words escaping you without thought. You almost apologized before Azriel shook his head.

“Sometimes I think that was worse than anything they ever did to me. Forcing me to ignore my instincts that were screaming at me.” His throat bobbed. “Rhys and Cassian taught me to fly. They weren’t gentle about it,” he said with a light laugh, “but they didn’t give up. They gave me time.”

You heard the words he left unspoken. I understand. I’ll give you time. They left you feeling raw and seen in a way you never had been before, and it scared you. You forced yourself to sit with that fear instead of hiding from it, and when it eventually ebbed away, you let out a shaky breath, pride simmering deep in your core.

Warmth rushed into your chest, and your face flushed as you glanced shyly at Azriel, who was smiling softly as he watched you. You bit your lip, looking away quickly. You felt him tug at your sleeve, and you glanced at your wrist to see the navy fabric pinched between his thumb and finger. He played with the fabric for a few seconds, and his skin brushed against yours as he pulled away, a shock rushing through you.

“Nice sweater.”

Your face was molten at this point. “Nesta gave it to me,” you rushed out, feeling both defensive and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any other clothes—”

“We’ll get you some,” he cut you off gently. “But you can keep the sweater.”

You swallowed hard, staring at him with what you were sure was a dopey and wide-eyed expression. He stood up then, brushing his pants clean of any dust and his wings fluttering as he stretched them. Why was that so attractive?

He held his hand to you, and your brain froze. “Come on,” he said, an amusement dancing in his eyes. You shakily placed your hand in his, letting him pull you up from the ground. He squeezed your hand once before he let it go, and nodded toward the direction you came from. You followed him silently down the hallway, his arms brushing yours every once in a while, every touch sending your mind spinning faster and faster.

No one had ever touched you so casually before. 

No one had ever offered you their hand.

Azriel was the first, and he did it without hesitation.

~ ~ ~

“Good morning.”

Azriel was not proud of his reaction to your voice. The plate in his hand slipped from his grip and shattered all over the tile floor, and he knocked over a glass of juice in his desperate attempt to save it. He didn’t miss your flinch at the loud sound, and he had to close his eyes and count to three to calm himself down before facing you.

“Good morning,” he returned sheepishly.

Your eyes were wide as you took in the mess. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He waved you off, letting his shadows sweep away the shards of ceramic. It was their fault, really, for failing to warn him of your approach. “You’re fine. I just—I wasn’t expecting—” He shook his head. “I was going to bring you breakfast.”

“I thought I could eat down here, today,” you said quietly, hesitantly, as if waiting for him to send you back to your room.

“Of course you can,” he assured. He gestured toward the table. “Take a seat.”

You bit your lower lip, nodding as you released it and moved toward one of the empty chairs. Azriel turned back toward the counter, righting the overturned glass and wiping up the juice pooled on the granite. He refilled the glass and grabbed the plate with a stack of pancakes, drizzled with syrup and topped with berries. He set the food in front of you, and he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as your eyes widened.

“What—”

“They’re pancakes.” He pulled out the chair beside you, and placed it on the empty plate in front of you. He then took one for himself, taking a slow and deliberate bite so you could watch him. “Not the healthiest meal, but I love them.”

He watched you take a small and tentative bite, chewing slowly. There was no denying the pride that warmed his chest as he watched your eyes widen and you took another, larger bite. “Mother,” you mumbled. “You made these?” you asked around your food. Your cheeks instantly reddened, but Azriel thought it was adorable.

“Rhys’s mother taught me.”

You took another bite, closing your eyes in appreciation. “I think the food here might be my favorite thing about Velaris,” you murmured before continuing to devour your plate.

“I could take you to the city today,” he found himself saying without giving the words any true thought. Regret immediately curdled in his gut when you froze, and he hated himself for pushing you—

“You would do that?”

Azriel blinked. “Of course,” he said. “If you want to.” The momentary regret was replaced with giddy excitement. A giddiness that had lingered since you sat with him in that stairwell yesterday. “We could get you some new clothes. I can show you some of my favorite pastry shops. Anything you want.”

You glanced at your plate, then back at him. You nodded quickly. “I would like that.”

~ ~ ~

You had never seen so many faeries. They were everywhere. High fae and lesser fae alike, ambling up and down the streets of Velaris, weaving in and out of shops, moving to and from merchant booths lining the streets.

They were so lively—buzzing with energy and happiness. It was a far cry from the decrepit and dreary camp you grew up in. It was overwhelming.

Azriel handed you a blackberry tart from the paper bag of treats he had bought you from the store you just stepped out of. You took it absently, watching the movements of everyone around you. He nudged you gently with his elbow, raising his brows. You blushed and took a bite of the tart, a delicious sweetness flooding your mouth. You couldn’t believe you had been missing out on food like this for decades. You took another bite, and then another, until you heard Azriel lightly chuckle.

Your face was warm under his attention, and you knew you likely looked ridiculous, the sight of you devouring the pastry akin to a ravenous animal, but you still managed to glare at him. “It’s good,” you huffed.

“I can tell.”

You ignored him, polishing off the tart in silence, diverting your gaze back to the buzzing of the city street. You swallowed your last bite, licking the sugar and juice from your lips. “Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much,” he replied. “You should see it at night, though.”

You laughed nervously. “Maybe another day.”

Azriel’s face softened. “Of course.” Then he gestured toward the street. “Let’s find you some clothes.”

You nodded, following after him as he stepped into the throng of bodies. He glanced at you, then his gaze moved toward your wings. “We’ll probably have to have everything tailor-made.”

Your steps faltered. “Tailored?”

Azriel nodded, sidestepping a child that went running past. 

“I can tailor my own clothes.”

Azriel tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “You can?”

“I had to.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s cheek, and he faced forward again. “Well you don’t have to now.”

“What if I want to?” you challenged, feeling cornered. You didn’t want to depend on him, on anyone—

“Then you can,” he said softly. “You can work in the city or do it for fun, or not at all. It’s up to you—but you don’t have to anymore.”

Your hackles immediately fell. “I don’t want to—not right now,” you admitted softly.

“Then let’s find a tailor.”

You followed beside him as he weaved through the streets, the booths morphing from produce and baked goods to jewels and threads. Somehow there were even more faeries in this sector, and your throat felt tight as they bumped against you. A male stepped in front of you, holding a gold necklace with an overly gaudy pendant out to you. Your blood pounded in your ears as he stepped closer to you, his sales pitch warping in your ears as panic boiled.

Azriel had disappeared, and you couldn’t see around the sea of bodies you had been swept into. The male kept talking, kept pushing, his voice growing more and more agitated the long you stood there frozen in place. You murmured no thank you, but when you tried to step away, he followed, blocking your path.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You were trapped. Where was Azriel?

A hand curled around your bicep, and you immediately flinched away, but their grip only tightened. You turned toward them, panic driving your every move, and when you met Azriel’s eyes your shoulders slumped and you leaned into him.

“She told you no,” he grumbled at the merchant, who had the good sense to apologize and run back to his booth.

Azriel’s grip on your arm dropped, but you immediately grabbed for his hand, holding yourself close to him. Your heart was racing and everything was so loud. You couldn’t kick the feeling of danger, the sense of standing on an edge. “Don’t leave,” you rasped.

Azriel squeezed your hand, pulling you close. “I won’t,” he promised, leading you away from the merchant’s booth. Another faerie bumped into, sending you rocking into Azriel, and you sucked in a sharp and ragged breath.

“I want to go home,” you whimpered, hating that your panic was controlling you, that you couldn’t handle this. “Please.”

Azriel’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the small ministration soothing. “Okay,” he murmured, without an ounce of annoyance. “We’ll go home.”

~ ~ ~

Your cycle had been sporadic and fleeting for as long as you could remember. You never knew when to expect it, and it was rare it followed the normal sixth month pattern other females had. More often than not, it only came once a year.

So when you woke up to pain piercing your abdomen, you immediately panicked. You weren’t expecting your cycle—but as soon as you felt the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs and smelled the iron in the air, you knew. Only then did you realize it had been just a little over six months since your last cycle, and while it wasn’t normal for you, it was for everyone else.

You supposed eating well and sleeping well for the last two months had prompted your body to revert to its natural processes. The panic resurfaced when you saw the pool of blood beneath you, seeping through the sheets and likely into the mattress. Then another sharp pain stabbed at your abdomen, and you tried to stifle your groan as you keeled over.

You somehow had to clean this up, but first you had to clean yourself. You stumbled to the bathroom, lifting the hem of your sleep shirt—Azriel’s shirt—to reveal the blood smeared across your inner thighs. Tears burned at the back of your eyes, pain and panic swirling together as you knelt to the floor to rifle through the cabinet. The tears fell as you found the cabinets bare, save for some spare towels and toiletries. You shakily reached for one of the towels, dreading staining that too, but you didn’t know what else to do.

You flinched when the bedroom door flew open, and you held the towel toward your abdomen as you leaned against the cabinet, watching as Azriel rushed to the center of the room.

“Y/N?” he yelled, his voice panicked. His hands clenched into fists as his eyes landed on the blood soaked cheeks, and involuntary sob escaped your lips. His head snapped toward you lying in the bathroom, and panic drowned his irises as he rushed toward you.

You flinched away as he came closer, your body trembling from fear and pain and shame.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice cracking. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, his face blurry through your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I—I didn’t know I was due. I’m sorry. I’ll clean everything—”

Relief washed over Azriel, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening. “You’re on your cycle?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He crouched down to face you, and you could only imagine how you looked right now. You sitting on the floor with your hair a mess and only a t-shirt covering you as blood leaked down your thighs. “Why are you apologizing?”

You closed your eyes, hot shame creeping up your neck and to your ears. “It’s gross. No—no one wants to be around that.”

“It’s not gross,” he growled, and your eyes snapped open to look at him. “It’s just blood, and it’s natural.”

“Is it?” you asked shakily, fear creeping into your voice. “I’ve never bled this much.”

He looked pained for a second, the emotion gone as quickly as it came. “I think so,” he murmured. “I’ll check with Madja, and get you a pain tonic—but I think this is normal, as painful as it is for you.” 

You clutched the towel tighter to your chest, nodding slightly. “I don’t have any linens.”

“I’ll get some for you,” he assured. “Do you want to take a bath?”

You shook your head. You just wanted to curl up in bed and hide away, to forget Azriel ever saw you like this. To ride through the pain alone, just like you always had. Is that really what you wanted? To be alone?

He reached for you and you sucked in a breath, halting his movements. You met his eyes guiltily, hating that you were still so scared, so racked by nerves and anxiety that your subconscious couldn’t parcel out genuine threats. You knew Azriel would never hurt you. You knew that now, after spending months with the male, you knew he was good.

“Can I help you up?” he asked gently, like he was afraid one wrong move, one wrong word, would send you toppling off a precarious edge.

You nodded, the movement jerky and hasty. He reached for you again, his hands wrapping around your biceps so he could haul you to your feet. You whimpered at the pain that sliced through you, Azriel holding you upright as your knees wobbled.

“I’m sorry,” he cooed. He leaned down to grab the towel that fell from your hands, draping it over the toilet seat before guiding you to sit. He wet a cloth with warm water, wringing it out before coming over to wipe at your face. 

You sank into his touch, relishing in the tender care he gave to wiping the sweat and likely blood smeared across your face. He moved to your hands, cleaning each finger meticulously, dragging the cloth beneath your fingernails. No one had ever handled you so tenderly. No one had ever taken care of you. Warmth flooded your chest that made you nearly purr, and you tilted your head a bit as Azriel moved to your other hand.

“I like when you do that,” you murmured.

Azriel smiled softly, proudly. “I know.”

You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t in so much pain.

He finished cleaning your fingers, then rested his hand on your knee. Your heart immediately started racing, but Azriel soothed any anxiety before it could fester.

“Can you finish up? While I find you some linens and fresh clothes?”

You nodded, eyes wide as you watched him stand to his full height. He was in his leathers, and a pit of dread suddenly gnawed at you. “You’re supposed to be at training,” you whispered.

“No,” he said, rinsing the cloth before handing it back to you. “I’m supposed to take care of my mate.”

My mate. The words left you feeling warm and fuzzy, and you were certain Azriel caught the small smile that pulled at your lips before he left.

And when he returned, and he handed you a stack of linens and clean clothes that smelled like him, and then guided you to your bed with fresh sheets, and pulled the covers up to your chin after coaxing a tonic down your throat, you wondered if this was how life should be. If it should be filled with love and care and people who are willing to shoulder your burdens with you. You imagined the future, a future with Azriel, with a mate that took care of you, and wondered if he already treated you this well, how much better could it be if you just let him completely in.

~ ~ ~

The terrace of the townhouse had become your favorite place to sit. It was peaceful, serene, even if you could still hear the dull chatter of the faeries in the streets of Velaris. It was even better at night, with the city glowing and the stars illuminating the night sky—brighter than any stars you ever saw in Illyria.

You missed nature. You missed feeling connected to something separate from the rest of this world—but the view of the night sky from the terrace soothed that longing for the most part. Sometimes you watched Rhys and Cassian, or even Azriel, fly over Velaris, usually gliding toward the House of Wind, and you caught yourself envying them.

You always wished you could fly so you could escape—you had forgotten that it was something that should have brought you joy as well. Another thing your father and Illyria stole from you.

Cassian soared over your help, making you yelp as the wind whipped at your hair. You could faintly hear his fading laugh as he flew toward the House of Wind, waving at you in the distance. You waved back timidly, confused how someone you had yet to properly meet could be so comfortable interacting with you.

“I’m sorry about him.”

You spun around to face Azriel, his voice startling you from your thoughts. “How long have you been standing there?” you asked breathlessly.

Azriel grinned, moving to stand next to you at the railing. “Not long. We just got home.”

You nodded, leaning on the railing again. “How was it?” you asked quietly. He and Cassian had been in Hewn City all day.

Azriel shrugged. “Wretched as always.” He glanced at you, hesitating before adding with no shortage of disdain, “You father was pleasant as usual.”

You swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” you whispered, “And I know I never want to see him again.”

Azriel’s gaze was unwavering on your face, but you couldn’t face him while you said this. You didn’t want to see his face if he disagreed—if he was disappointed.

“I have nothing left to say to him. I don’t care what you do with him, so long as I never have to see that male again.” You finally glanced at him. “Does that make me pathetic? That I can’t even stomach facing him one last time?”

“No,” Azriel said immediately. “Never. Only you know what will bring you peace, and you have every right to take it.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. “You can decide what you do with him.”

“Are you certain?”

You nodded.

“Then consider it done.”

And that was that. A weight felt lifted off your shoulders, passing the burden of your father’s fate to someone else, someone you trusted to deliver proper retribution.

The two of you stood in silence for a while, staring up at the stars. A bat flew over the two of you, and you smiled softly. “I think about flying sometimes,” you admitted.

A beat of silence passed, heavy with your confession, the loss you carried every day. It was nice. For so long you had only yourself and the trees to share your thoughts with. For so long you had devoted all your time and energy to surviving, that you never let yourself dwell on the pleasures you had been deprived of. Some of those pleasures Azriel had reintroduced into your life, but some you would never get to have.

“I’ll take you flying whenever you want. All you have to do is ask.”

Your head snapped to him. “Are you serious?”

You thought his cheeks might be the faintest shade of pink, but you couldn’t be certain under the night sky. “I know it’s not the same—”

“You would really take me flying?” you asked, your voice wavering with disbelief and a bubbling excitement.

Azriel stared at you with something akin to wonder, and you felt a little childish for the briefest of moments, but then he said softly, “Of course I would.”

Of course I would. As if you shouldn’t be shocked that someone would do something so kind for you—that Azriel would jump at the chance to make you happy. You sniffed, pushing away the emotions slicing at your insides, and focusing on the budding excitement from earlier.

“Can we go now?”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and you immediately retracted. “Or not. Of course not right now. That would be—”

“We can go now,” he cut you off gently, but there was still hesitation in his eyes that made you wait for his next words with bated breath. “It’s just—are you sure you’re comfortable with that? I—I would be holding you. And your wings—I can’t promise I won’t touch them. I will do my best, but—”

“I trust you, Azriel.”

Your words made his own die on his tongue, his mouth held slightly agape as he stared at you in shock. Your heart was racing with your confession, with the power you just handed him on a silver-platter. It was terrifying—but you weren’t scared of him. If anything, you felt safest with him. Which was also terrifying, but you refused to let the fear your father instilled in you rule your life. You refused to let him keep you away from your mate when you were fairly certain having Azriel in your life was the greatest blessing the Mother could have bestowed on you—even when you tried rejecting it kicking and screaming at first.

Azriel’s eyes were glossy under the starry sky, moonlight glinting off his cheeks and sucked in by his hair. He was still wearing his leathers from the Hewn City, and he was decked out in all seven of his blue siphons—the sight would have left you anxious and trembling a few months ago—now it was…alluring.

He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and your stomach flipped at the genuine happiness shining on his face. You couldn’t help but match his grin. “What are we waiting for then?”

Your grin grew even wider as you moved toward him, letting him wrap you in his arms effortlessly, before he took off into the sky. The wind against your cheeks was cold and tinged with salt, leaving behind a delicious sting across your skin. You were smiling as you stared at the stars, feeling all the more immersed in them as Azriel weaved the two of you through the sky. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his voice deep in your ear. His lips brushed the delicate skin briefly, and it sent a cascade of goosebumps down your flesh. 

You swallowed hard, ignoring the flush gracing your cheeks. “Anywhere.”

Azriel hummed his acknowledgement, and you relaxed in his arms as he carried the two of you over the buzzing city. He wasn’t kidding when he said you should see it at night.

He dipped low as you approached the Sidra, causing you to squeal and clutch to him tighter. Azriel laughed as you hovered inches from the water, before taking off back into the sky. His grip on you tightened when you glared at him, but the smirk on his face was unapologetic.

The tip of your wing touched his when he tilted slightly, the contact sending an unfamiliar rush of electricity down your spine. Both of you sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, and when you met his eyes with your own wide ones and reddened cheeks, he simply smiled softly at you before weaving through some tree canopies.

One of your hands around his neck relaxed slightly, and your fingertips threaded through the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Azriel seemed to lean into the touch, his lashes fluttering so slightly as your motions became more exploratory, deliberate.

You…you didn’t know what you were doing. You had never been this physically close to someone. You had never touched someone so tenderly—never wanted to learn what touches could make someone preen and purr. Yet, with Azriel, you were fairly certain you could spend an eternity tracing his body with your fingers if he let you. Did he feel the same way about you? Did you want him to?

He eventually landed the two of you on an outcropping of the mountain, high above the city and even the House of Wind. It was so quiet up here. A serenity you never could have imagined wrapping around the two of you. Azriel sat you on your feet, but he kept his hand in yours as you spun around slowly to take in the sky. 

You turned back to him, breathless from the flying and the view and him. “This is amazing, Az.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed as he stared at you. Eventually he squeezed your hand, joining you in looking up at the sky. “I’m glad you like it.”

You shook your head. “I love it.”

You looked at him again, and an overwhelming rush of gratitude and care and fondness went through you. Something else so raw and consuming it left your heart beating erratically as it flooded through you. You didn’t think before you flung your arms around his middle, pressing your cheek against his chest, holding tight even when he went rigid. His shocked stillness morphed into an easy warmth, and he slowly wrapped his arms around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. You both knew what this meant, that you both needed the comfort of being held in your mate’s arms, and neither of you wanted to risk fracturing this brief sanctuary you found with each other.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from whispering against his chest, “Thank you.”

Azriel only held you tighter.

~ ~ ~

Blinding terror ripped through you, wrenching you from your sleep as you struggled to catch your breath. The room was still swathed in darkness, moonlight peeking through the curtains. You looked around frantically for the threat, for the source of your fear, but came up empty. Then another wave came crashing over you, accompanied by overwhelming pain, and you clutched your chest as your mind raced to understand what was happening.

This wasn’t your terror. It wasn’t your pain. It was Azriel’s.

You threw the covers off you and bolted for the door, rushing across the hall to push his own door open, the briefest relief washing over you when you found him asleep in bed.

Then he thrashed against the blankets, a muffled groan escaping his lips, and you watched as his shadows circled him anxiously. They parted for you as you came closer, one even wrapping around your wrist and tugging you onto the bed. You kneeled beside him, your own fear meshing with his as you struggled to decide what to do.

When he groaned again, you lurched forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him softly.

He didn’t even stir, so you shook again, this time harder, as you said his name. You said it again and again, until you were practically screaming it, “Azriel!”

He shot up with a gasp, and his hand wrapped around your throat so quickly you didn’t even have the chance to react. You swallowed hard, staring at him with wide-eyes. “Azriel,” you whispered again, and you could see the dream-induced panic clear from his eyes, replaced with an entirely new pain as recognition dawned and his hand dropped away. “Y/N,” he gasped, his hands shaking as he ran one through his hair. “I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry,” his voice trembled as he apologized, pleading with you not to be scared of him—to forgive him.

“Azriel—”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice thick and distraught as he looked at his trembling hands.

“Azriel,” you said again, voice his eyes to meet yours with a gentle hand on his jaw. His eyes were red and glossy, his cheeks wet with tears. Your heart cracked. “It’s okay,” you cooed. “You’re okay.”

He shook his head. “I—”

“No,” you stopped him, voice soft and gentle but holding no room for argument. “You would never hurt me. I know that. You were dreaming.”

His throat bobbed, and he sniffed, wiping one of his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Did I wake you?” he asked, voice low and steady again, but you could hear the exhaustion lacing it.

You nodded, your hand still cradling his jaw. “I felt you through the bond.”

His eyes widened. “I’m sorry—”

You immediately shushed him. “Don’t be,” you whispered. “I’m always the one needing your help. It feels nice to be needed by you for a change.” A fresh tear fell from the corner of his eye, and you wiped it away with your thumb.

Azriel’s face flushed crimson, his skin going hot beneath your touch, and Mother, if he wasn’t so vulnerable right now, so distraught, you would think it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen. It was precious. Azriel was precious, and he was yours. He was yours, and you would do anything to make him happy, you realized, as he leaned into your hand.

“I always need you,” he whispered, and the soft confession made your heart stutter. No one had ever needed you. But Azriel—Azriel did. It left you feeling warm and soft and glowing, and you pulled him into your chest to hold him close.

“And I need you,” you whispered. 

You shifted the two of you around, until you were lying on your side and Azriel was curled around you, his head pressed against your stomach and his arms circling your hips. You brushed gentle fingers through his hair, over and over until you saw his shadows settle down, and you heard his breathing even out. You ran your fingers through his hair even long after he was asleep, all the way up until you followed suit, holding your mate in your arms as darkness washed over both of you.

~ ~ ~

You woke up curled around Azriel, his breath coming out in hot and delicate pants against your skin. Your arms cradled his head to your body, and his wing draped over the two of you haphazardly. You glanced down to see your shirt had ridden up in the night, and Azriels hand was now splayed against the bare skin of your stomach, Your skin flushed at the sight, at the awareness of his touch, and at the realization that you didn’t want him to move.

Unfortunately, Azriel soon started to stir, and he nuzzled against your skin before pausing, and then dragged his gaze up to meet yours. His cheeks flushed bright red, you were certain your cheeks matched. You met his gaze with a sheepish smile, that seemed to instantly make him relax. “Hi,” you whispered.

His lips twitched. “Hi.”

You dragged your fingers over the back of his head slowly, Azriel closing his eyes as his head rested on you again. “How are you?” you murmured.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. When your fingers dug in a little harder, he huffed. “I am. I promise. I’m sorry—”

“I told you to stop apologizing,” you chided gently. 

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open, his head tilting to meet your gaze. His eyes shined with awe and reverence, and it made your heart clench. No one had ever looked at you like that. No one had done a lot of the things that Azriel did for you. No one made you feel the way Azriel did.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You slid your hand around to cup his face, guiding him to slide up so his head rested next to yours on the pillow, the two of you eye to eye. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone, your eyes taking in every detail of him—the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the length of his lashes—it was all breathtaking.

Azriel’s throat bobbed as you stared at him, and you could feel the nerves simmering beneath his skin, the uncertainty he felt laying under your close gaze. You weren’t the only one that struggled to be vulnerable with others, that struggled to trust another enough to show them the most fragile parts of yourself and hope they didn’t break them. Sitting with Azriel last night, holding him after  his nightmare and falling asleep with him in your arms—it was as big of a step for him as it was for you.

You found yourself leaning closer to him, your breaths twining together in the soft quiet of the morning. Then your lips were pressed against his, and Azriel was still as stone. You pulled away quickly, embarrassment searing down your chest, and then Azriel pulled you back to him by your hips, and pressed his lips to yours.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know what came over you that gave you the courage to just kiss him, but Mother, did his lips feel heavenly against yours. They were so soft, tender, and loving. You were swimming in euphoria as his lips moved slowly with yours, and you never wanted it to end—you never wanted this connection you felt with him to sever.

He eventually pulled away, squeezing your hips as he planted one last peck against your lips, and his bright eyes met yours. A smile slowly spread across his lips, and you couldn’t stop your own from morphing across your face. “Hi,” you murmured awkwardly.

Azriel huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Hi,” he replied cheekily.

“That was nice,” you said shyly.

“Really nice,” he agreed. “Heavenly.”

Apprehension slowly started to creep in, new anxiety unfurling inside you. You hated it, hated that you might let it sour this moment, but, “I still need you to be patient with me,” you whispered.

Azriel’s eyes snapped to yours. “I just—I’m not—this is all new—”

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his hand coming up to trace your jaw.

“Just—” You let out a shaky breath. “Please be patient with me.”

“Always,” Azriel promised, his eyes soft as they stared into yours. “Always, my love. I will always wait for you. You never have to worry about that.”

My love. 

No one had ever loved you. You had never loved anyone—but you were fairly certain you loved Azriel. It still felt too soon, to speak that aloud—too vulnerable. It would take more time, before you were ready to hand that to him, but you did—you loved him. 

You couldn’t tell him yet, so instead you sent all the warmth and gratitude, the reverence you felt toward him rushing down the bond. When his breath caught and his hand stilled, you knew he felt it. His eyes were glossy as they met yours, and then he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he sent his own wave of warmth, of love, down the bond to you.

You never wanted a mate, but you were damn grateful the Mother gave you one anyway—that Azriel was yours, and you were his.

~ ~ ~

taglist (anyone that asked for pt. 2!): @slytherin-pen @bellefleurs @crookedcrusadestranger @breathingstarlight @weepingw1dows @coolepowersthings @antisocial-architect @bbontenswhhore @crimsonandwhiteprincess @myvoiddreams @shinyghosteclipse @be-your-coffee-pot @lisaxx01 @dreaming-starlet @alimarie1105 @bruxa0007 @mich0731 @just-some-teenagerr-blog1 @triangleshapewinner @blonde-bansheee @velarisnightsky444 @writtenbypavani @audiaantonette @chaidove @ohemgeewhat @autumnwitch626 @greenmandm @ilovegrishaverse @barnesispunk

[superpowereddonut]

The Ballad of the Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader Oneshot

“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.”

Warnings: ANGST with a happy ending, mentions of attempted SA and suicidal ideation (they're very brief, but please do read with caution)

Author's note: I finished this at 3am last night and I think it's pretty apparent... buuuuuut I'm going to post it anyway. Enjoy...

The Shadowsinger arrived one winter night, curling into existence on the border of town like cream through coffee. Jadhan was only a boy at the time - painfully human with a broken leg that had never healed properly. The Midlands were a terrible place for a child to grow up - a place where the only thing more unstable than the ground was its sense of safety.

But things changed when the Shadowsinger arrived, bringing with him gold and the brutal violence required to scare off the bandits and murders that slipped in from the nearby Lordship. And when the Lord came for the Shadowsinger’s head, it was the fae male was the one who walked away from the fight. Except it wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.

Jadhan was thirty-seven now with three young boys that had come in a cluster, forcing their way into the world one after another. Sasha had never been quite pleased with him for that, but her love for her sons and her husband outweighed the pain and hardship in the end. 

The boys - Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik - ran around the tavern, ducking beneath tables and barstools while their height still allowed it. The Shadowsinger watched them with the faintest of smiles as they clambered about, begging for more attention from his shadows. 

There was little known about the Shadowsinger this deep into the Continent, but whispers still passed through the mouths of travelers at the inn. The most common piece of gossip was that he was a Prythian outlaw - banished to the Continent after attempting to kill his Lord. Jadhan didn’t know - and he figured he would never find out. 

The Shadowsinger was so quiet that no one even knew his real name. They all called him Shadowsinger - Shadow for short. He disappeared into the woods at night and stalked into town come morning, but give a shout at any time and he would be there, flying overhead like a black stormcloud. 

“On the house, Shadow.” Jadhan said, dropping the glass onto the sticky counter. Whisky neat, two fingers - just the way he liked it. 

The Shadowsinger picked it up, swirling the amber liquid around like he hoped it would start talking to him, “You say that every night.”

“That’s because a free drink is the least I could get you.” Jadhan tipped his head towards the rickety stage where the local songbirds were setting up. The singer, Phaedra, had her eyes on Shadow, sending love and gratitude his way like a flood, “Phaedra’s been telling everyone what you did for her. You know, with the Morois boy.” 

Shadow grimaced, taking his first sip. He grimaced again. The whiskey was home-brewed and tasted like it. Everyone in town said a shot of the stuff could kill a man, but Shadow was hardly a man, and more shadow than fae.

Lev Morois had had his eyes on Phaedra for a while now. And he didn’t like to be denied anything, especially women. Normally he traveled to the Lordship for his fill, and he would have been better off going there last night. Instead he’d forced his way into Phaedra’s home… and Shadow had made sure he’d never be able to hurt a woman like that ever again. 

“How old are your boys now, Jadhan?” His voice was deep and smoky.

The trio neared closer, as if they knew they’d been summoned. The eldest, Mikhail, nearly crashed into the countertop, forgetting he had to bend down now. A tendril of black shadow shot out, muffling the blow and corralling him back out onto the open dancefloor with the rest of the children. 

Jadhan sighed and rubbed at a burned spot on the counter, “Too old, and growing faster than weeds.” 

It was a sweet pain for Azriel to see the three brothers romping around. It was almost winter and soon enough they’d be wrestling in the frosted fields, shoving snow down each other’s shirts, and hurling it at each other's heads. 

When was the last time he’d seen his brothers? Cassian had stopped by twenty-five years ago, shocked and scared to see Azriel looking so wretched. The next time Azriel’s shadows had warned him, and they’d sent Cassian away.

Rhysand was a different story… he’d never forgiven Azriel for what he’d done - and rightfully so - but that didn’t make the pain any easier to swallow. That didn’t make Azriel miss them any less.

He tossed the rest back and, to Jadhan’s surprise, he let the barkeep refill it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Phaedra’s voice crooned over the crowd, settling over drunk men and women like a warm blanket until it was time for their sober partners to drag them home. Those who were alone either settled into the hard booths for a nap or resigned themselves to a stumble home in the dark. They’d all make it to their beds in the end - The Shadowsinger would see to that.

He dropped a gold coin onto the counter - triple what the night’s libations actually cost. It was the briefest of stumbles that had Jadhan gripping onto the male’s shoulder and forcing him back into his seat. 

Azriel wasn’t drunk. It would take an ocean of human liquor to get a fae drunk and then some. But he was starting to feel something.

“I got a pinch of ambrose from a merchant passing through.” Shadow’s eyes snapped up to Jadhan, who only raised his hands in surrender, “Hey, hey, hey, I know you don’t drink my whiskey for the taste, so I thought I'd put something in there to remind you of home. Something to loosen you up like liquor is supposed to.” 

The Shadowsinger winced at that word: Home.

“Very well.” He said.

The boys had gone home with Sasha hours ago, and without them running about with their usual compatriots, the tavern seemed dull. Now was no longer the time for dancing and riotous laughter. Now was the time for the sad drunks and those who didn’t want to go home.

But Azriel wasn’t drunk and he desperately wanted to go home.

It was the shame that kept him rooted to the stool like a stubborn weed… that and Rhysand’s promise that if he ever laid eyes on Azriel again, he’d rip the wings off his back. 

Jadhan seemed to understand that about him, leaning over the counter on sturdy arms thick as tree trunks. His leg was still lame, always had been and always would be, but that had never held him back much.

“What’re you doing here, Shadow?”

His hazel eyes flickered up. 

“What’s it been? Twenty-five years you’ve been in town now?”

“Thirty. Exactly.” 

So that was why the Shadowsinger had drank so much that night. It was to commemorate the sad, terrible anniversary of his banishment to the Midlands.

“Don't you think that's long enough? I don’t mean any offense, but don't you have anywhere else to go? Friends? Family?”

The male gritted his teeth and Jadhan had the sinking feeling he'd just poked the bear.

“I thought I was wanted here.” 

“Of course you are. Hell, we’d all be dead or piss poor if it weren’t for you.” Jadhan shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re running from - if you’re a thief, a murderer, a treasonous bastard or all of the above-” 

Shadow flinched, actually flinched, and Jadhan knew it was all of the above.

“But whatever it is,” He continued, “I think you’ve made up for it.” 

Azriel stilled, shadows continuing to swirl around the wet, empty glass in front of him.

How he wished those words were true, but only a human would think thirty years was a long time. They were nothing if not optimistic.

“No. I haven’t.” Shadow said flatly. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Jadhan finally sighed and went to clear the glass.

“I had a mate.” He whispered the words so quietly, Jadhan almost didn’t hear him. 

His thick eyebrows disappeared into his receding hairline. He didn’t know much about fae customs and the ones he did know about were often violent, strange, or both… usually both. But he had a great deal of respect for mating bonds and understood they were prized above all else to fae.

“Had?” 

Shadow’s lips flattened into a thin line and Jadhan could have sworn his eyes began to brim with years. 

The Shadowsinger nodded stiffly.

“Dead?”

Shadow gritted his teeth and nodded once more, wings drooping low enough to brush against the sawdust packed floor.

Jadhan sighed so deeply he seemed to shrink into himself, and Azriel was once again struck by how quickly humans aged.

Silver streaks were already beginning to color his temples and his leg was getting stiffer and stiffer each day. It wouldn't be long until he was forced to swallow his pride and buy a cane like Sasha had been suggesting.

It seemed like just yesterday Jadhan had limped his way into the woods, calling out for the Shadowsinger with a copper coin clenched in his fist and a bargain to make. 

Kill my father, and I will do anything you ask of me. Anything at all.

There had been such determination in the little boy’s body that Azriel hadn’t hesitated to fold his small fingers back over the coin and then do what he had been told… to do what he’d always been told to do. 

“I’m sorry, Shadow.” He shook his graying hair, “I’m so sorry.” 

Azriel grimaced, fists tightening until they turned pale, “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you dare.”

He frowned, “And why not?”

The Shadowsinger stilled and got quiet again, “Because it was my fault. I killed her.” 

Jadhan, for all his mortal naivete, didn’t look surprised at his answer. He only twisted his mouth to the side in thought before asking once again, "Why are you here, Shadow? Why don't you leave?"

Azriel looked at him, hazel eyes filled with despair.

He would never tell Jadhan this, but he’d always been envious of humans for one thing - they could die of old age. They could be killed easily. So easily that all it would take was one flick of Azriel's wrist and Jadhan would be no more.

Fae were not so easy to kill, and their only end was a violent one. Maybe that was why Rhys had banished him to the middle of the Continent where life was harsh but simple, and fae were nowhere to be found.

No one here was strong enough to kill him. Azriel would know - he’d spent the first five years on the Continent searching for a way to die and getting into so many bloodbaths it had lost its luster.

“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.” 

___

There were many reasons Azriel built his house in the woods. Firstly, he liked the privacy Secondly, when the nightmares came, there was no telling the damage he could do. 

Tonight’s dreams were especially violent and cruel to him. 

Elain appeared before him, sweet and delicate as a dove and despite knowing better, he couldn’t help but follow her into the darkness like a fly to a carnivorous flower. It wasn’t her fault - he should have known better than to drag them both into this mess. She’d been reckless, hungry for some semblance of control in this new and strange world, and he had been all too willing to play the role of the selfless knight. 

When she kissed him it felt wrong, but like every other night, he was too powerless to push away. This was how it had happened, and there was no changing that.

She whispered against his lips, “Thank you for coming for me.” 

Azriel’s stomach twisted, because two people had gone on the mission into Beron’s lair, and two people had come out. Azriel had wrapped his arms around Elain’s silky body after saving her, and left you behind.

He followed Elain further, chasing her shimmering pink skirts onto the Autumn Court battlefield where she dove into the grasses and disappeared. 

This was where it truly went wrong. 

He caught sight of you on the hill, blood blooming like roses from where the ash arrows pierced your flesh. Your wings were gone and you leaned too far backward, still feeling their phantom weight against your back. That was what it had taken to bring you down. That was what it had taken for Beron to break you.

It was like a bolt of lightning running through his body when the bond snapped into place. Your bruised eyes shot open and you fought against the chains, horror freezing your heart. 

Azriel would know, because he felt it all.

“AZ! NO!” 

Beron’s ax caught the light as it came down on your neck and this wonderful thing he’d dreamt about for over five hundred years was snatched away from him. 

Azriel shot up in bed, skin slick and suffocating under the blankets. He kicked them off his body, taking big, desperate gulps of air as his stomach and shadows settled down. 

He rubbed his chest, feeling that hollow space where the bond used to be. 

He’d had you for less than a minute… he should have had an eternity with you. You should have had an eternity with all of them. 

On the day you died, Rhys and Cassian had also lost a sister. Feyre and Nesta had lost a best friend. Cassian may have been quick to forgive him, but Rhys could never. He’d already lost one sister. Nothing could have prepared him to lose you too. 

Shadows swarmed around him and he already knew his powers had wrecked the roof once again. Moonlight streamed through the newly made hole in the ceiling, pooling around his shaking form. He imagined it was the Mother staring down at him with her unblinking eye. Disappointed. Angry. 

The mating bond had been utterly wasted on him. 

“I’m-I’m sorry, Y/n.” He gasped out, trembling. He wrapped his wings around his shaking shoulders, as if that would be enough to shield him from what he’d done. 

Once again he was that little boy trapped in the cellar. Abandoned. Unloved. Alone. But this time he deserved it.  

“Please. Please.” He begged. He begged for the madness to take him. He begged for an end to his eternal life. 

“I want to come home.” He sobbed. “Please. I want to come home.”

You stood before him at the foot of the bed - a vision that had arrived three days after coming to the Midlands and never left. You looked at him sadly, your white dress hanging still despite the breeze that flowed through the room. But you didn’t say a word. You didn’t say anything at all. 

___

Jadhan was fifty-five now. The Shadowsinger still came to the tavern every night, drank his whiskey on the house, and left once the songs were over. 

Mikhail had left at eighteen, chasing after opportunities on the edge of the Continent. Zhik had died the year before - the youngest and the weakest of the trio. Not even the Shadowsinger could fight the cold that came for him in the Winter and stole him away before Spring. 

Now it was Alzhar and Jadhan that ran the tavern. Alzhar who poured the Shadowsinger his drinks.

“On the house.” He said, sliding the glass along the countertop. Whiskey. Two fingers. Just how the Shadowsinger liked it. 

“Thanks, Alzhar.” He raised the glass in the air before tossing it back in one shot, grimacing. Either he was getting older, or the whiskey had gotten worse. 

Snow flurried past the windows, more rain than anything else. 

“Happy Solstice day.” The Shadowsinger said with the faintest of smiles. 

“Happy Solstice day.” 

It was no grand holiday in the Midlands, and it certainly could never hold a candle to the festivities that were going on in Velaris, but still, Azriel would take whatever comfort he could get. 

Phaedra had quietly retired from singing, opting to strum along with her guitar in the background. But her daughter led the band now, a vibrant star in the midst of these quiet lands with a smoky voice that was only rivaled by her mother. 

“Happy Solstice day, everyone!” The tavern-goers cheered and a new generation of children shrieked from their spots closest to the stage. “Now I know it’s not looking too great outside, but we all know what dear old, Phaedra says.” 

“Are you calling me old, Miss Devra?” Phaedra hollered, red painted lips turned down in a frown. 

“I’m calling you a dear, Mama. You’re still as young as a rosebud in April.”

“That’s right!” Alzhar whooped. Phaedra winked and blew her future son-in-law a kiss.

Devra’s smile was positively radiant, “Alright, alright well whatever. She says daisies look brightest when they’re down in the shits, but that’s not really the most appetizing turn of phrase now is it?” 

Everyone erupted in a mixture of laughter and cheer.

“Come on now, Dev.” Alzhar called out, “You’ve kept us waiting long enough. Sing!”

She rolled her eyes playfully, “Well since you asked so kindly,” She cleared her throat and began to croon,

“When my mama first warned me you’ve got trouble on your tail, I told her foxes are quick runners and my heart ain’t just for sale. I won’t be wooed by sweet flowers or sugar tea on ice, I just want someone who’ll love me and who’ll never think twice. I’ve-”

The tavern door burst open, letting in a howling blast of night-chilled air tinged with rain and frost. Everyone cringed back except Shadow, clutching at their thick coats and gasping at the sight of the being that came in from the darkness.

The female was anything but cold with her shining, warm eyes and radiant skin. She glowed like she'd been brushed with an otherworldly glimmer. She was sunlight shooting through crystal. 

Dev stopped singing immediately, her hands slipping from the worn out strings with a strangled thrum.

The Shadowsinger stumbled, actually stumbled, to his feet, and the world seemed to fall silent.

Shadows shot out towards her, curling around her legs and licking the hem of her midnight blue coat. She was the moonlit darkness given form, delicate and fierce at the same time. 

“Azriel.” She breathed out, finally giving a name to the nameless fae. “Azriel.” She repeated, still in disbelief.

The Shadowsinger - Azriel - walked forward without a sound, his scarred hands shaking at his sides.

She looked ready to throw her arms around him. Whether it was to embrace him or strangle him was yet to be seen.

Before she could make a move or say anything further, he dropped to his knees, head bowed and trembling. He swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor between her feet like he was scared to even look at her straight on.

If he had been looking at her, he would have seen the horrified shock that parted her lips and widened her eyes.

He pulled out that sleek obsidian blade he carried with him everywhere. The knife seemed to hum, the silent sound reverberating through the room and causing the air above it to warp.

Everyone knew that that knife was as much a part of him as his wings. But he held it out to her now like an offering, wings stretching open so that everyone could see the orange glow of the fire through the thin membrane, and the tendons that flowed through them like rivers.

Alzhar looked to his father in confusion. Was this some fae custom he wasn't aware of? Should they all be bowing to her? Perhaps she was their queen.

But his father only let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking down.

The Shadowsinger was the picture of reverent misery, and he would let her take whatever she wanted for her revenge.

His wings.

His life.

Anything...

Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.

That was what the Shadowsinger had revealed to him years ago, and Jadhan had never forgotten it. 

Because I’m waiting to die.

Her beautiful face crumpled, then turned resolute. She ignored the blade, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and hauling him up to his feet. Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise.

“You bastard. You absolute bastard.” She said, her silky voice shaking, “I’ve been looking for you for years.” 

“Y/n,” Azriel whispered reverently, “I-” 

She slammed her lips against his, swallowing whatever desperate apology had been about to escape his mouth.

The Shadowsinger froze, then slowly melted into her touch, wrapping his arms around her waist so tightly it was a miracle her ribs didn’t snap. Shadows swirled around the pair in a perfect mixture of light and dark - like moonlight bleeding through winter clouds. 

No one in the tavern could stand to look away. They were absolutely transfixed. Some great power was moving in the world and they could feel it. Magic or not, it demanded to be felt.

When the two fae finally pulled away from each other, gasping for breath, something in the earth seemed to crack open and shake the ground, releasing pressure that had been building for hundreds and hundreds of years. 

Tears slipped out of her eyes, salty and not entirely unwelcome. 

“Oh, Az.” She whispered, cradling his face with one hand and clutching her chest with the other. The Shadowsinger was weeping now, curling into her like a vine seeking sunlight, “How could I have forgotten this?”

He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of elderflower and mountain pine like a man starved. His shadows grew around him, thick and powerful. And before anyone could even let out a strangled gasp, they disappeared with a whisper of smoke and shadow.

You reappeared in darkness, holding Azriel’s shaking body against you like an anchor to a ship. 

“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You gently shushed him, tangling your fingers through his hair.

You scanned the room finding nothing but a rickety bed and a dresser in the corner by way of furniture, and a small pile of firewood against the wall.

Moonlight streamed in through the roof and you held out a hand, latching onto the rays and weaving them together so tightly they filled the room with a silver glow. 

“Az.” You whispered, all your attention turned back on him, on your mate. "Az." You gently shook him, pressing fervent kisses to his temple until he finally lifted his eyes.

Azriel looked exhausted, purple bruises shading the hollows beneath his gorgeous eyes. 

“How-” Azriel gasped, “How is this-” 

“Bryaxis brought my body to the Cauldron.” You finished, equally out of breath, “It took him years to put me back together but… he did it. He did it, Az.” 

Azriel closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. This time you let him fall. And you fell with him, climbing into his lap so he could bury his face in your wind-swept hair. 

Home.

You smelled like home to him.

“Promise me." He begged, "Promise me you’re real, Y/n. Please, promise me. I’ll-I'll do anything." He could feel you on the other end of the bond, your heart pulsing and alive. But… he didn’t know if he'd be able to survive if he woke in the morning to find that this was all some terribly perfect dream.

“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You replied thickly, “I’m here and I’m whole.” You tugged off your coat, throwing it somewhere behind you, and pulled down the neck of your sweater. A thick line of scar tissue wrapped around your throat, one of the many physical reminders of the horrors Beron had put you through. 

Azriel stilled, one hand daring to trace the pale flesh with a feather-light touch. “I… I did this.” 

“No...No.” You whispered, brushing away the moisture that had collected on his cheeks, “You didn’t do this, Az.”

“I left you behind.” His voice broke. “I took Elain and I left you behind. Y/n, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.” 

You flinched and closed your eyes. It was one of your worst memories to date - the sight of Azriel’s broken face as the first ash arrow caught you in the back and brought you to the ground. The second was what had done you in, piercing through the membrane of your wings and digging into the ground, pinning you there.

Azriel had only gripped Elain’s golden form closer to his body. He could only fly one of you out, and in that moment he had made his choice and leapt into the sky. 

Azriel felt your emotion through the bond and desperation flooded his system once again. 

He couldn’t lose you. Not again. Not like this. Not when he had so much to make up for. 

“I know what I did, Y/n. I know it was unforgivable, but I swear to you I will do anything you ask. Whatever it takes. If you’ll just give me a chance, I- ”

“Shhhhhhh.” You shook your head, pressing your finger to his lips and silencing him. “I forgive you, Az.” You said, cupping his face.

He immediately leaned into your touch, craving the feeling of your soft skin against his.

“I don’t-I don't want to think about that anymore. Trust me, I’ve spent the last half a century agonizing over it.” You said, smiling without humor.

His hands rubbed up and down your back, tracing the ruined remnants of your wings and silently begging you to explain.

You hesitated, collecting your words and speaking them carefully, “I would have come sooner but… I was so scared and confused about everything. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore without my wings with-'' Your hand flew up to your throat on instinct. 

Azriel gently pulled your fingers away, kissing the pads of your fingertips all the way to your palm, and then your wrist. His lips brushed against the pulsing vein as soft as a feather. It was such a small point of contact, but it grounded you to reality.

 “I couldn’t remember anything. It was like… like I was starting from scratch. Building my life from the ground up.”

Azriel repeated the gesture with your other hand, soft lips skimming over your skin until you shivered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He whispered softly, “I should have been there.” 

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have known.” 

You looked at him for a long time, drinking in the sight of him and refamiliarizing yourself with his face. He did the same with you.

He looked tired and thinner than you remembered, the elegant planes of his face now harsh and sharp. But buried beneath all those years of loneliness, he was still there - your Azriel. The male who never did anything in half-measures. The male who couldn’t help but make some of the most impulsive decisions you’d ever seen in your life, and also some of the most careful. 

Gods, you’d missed him.

You'd missed talking to him and laughing with him. You'd missed the simple joy of being in his presence and the way that the world seemed to fall with hush whenever he entered a room.

“I came for you as soon as I remembered.” You brushed a strand of inky black hair from his forehead, and then flicked him. Hard. “But you just had to go and disappear on the Continent without a trace.” 

That wasn’t completely true. He’d left bloody, brutal footprints for a while, but those had dried up too quickly. 

The smile Azriel gave was weak and dull, but it was a start, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Y/n.” 

“That’s alright." You murmured against his lips before kissing him, "You can make it up to me.” 

Azriel’s heart leapt in his chest, and the bond responded in kind, singing louder than a choir of a thousand songbirds. Even after all this time, even after everything, the Shadowsinger hoped. 

“Y/n-” That light began to dim, hateful voices whispering in his ear that he was unworthy of you, that he would destroy this chance at happiness just as swiftly as he’d done the first time, that he would ruin it all, “I don’t deserve-”

“Stop it, Az.” Your words were soft but commanding, “I don’t care about what you think you deserve or don’t deserve. I want you. I want my best friend back. I want you back.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks, “I want you back in Velaris, and if it turns out I’m still pissed at you for everything, we’ll figure it out, ok?” 

You took a shaky breath and Azriel looked up at you in awe. He gathered you in his arms and captured your lips in a softer, more gentle kiss. A kiss that said, I’m tired. I’m so so tired and for the first time in my life I’m going to force the voices that tell me terrible things to be silent.

And it worked for a spell, but Azriel was pulling away again, looking guilty. 

“Rhys-”

“I’ve already handled Rhys.” 

His brow arched up every so slightly. Your guilty eyes flitted to the side.

You loved Rhys like a brother, and you fought with him like siblings do. That was why the last thing you'd done before leaving Velaris was force him to lift the banishment... and then you'd punched him in the face.

“I wasn’t exactly happy with him when I found out he banished you to the Continent. And to the Midlands too. I’ve heard it’s terribly boring here.” 

Azriel smiled, and this time it was a genuine one full of love and relief, “Everywhere is terribly boring without you. And terribly painful.” 

“That’s a very good answer.” You replied, feeling that a great weight had been lifted off your chest.

He held you in a gentle caress, tracing your brow bone and the curve of your lips and committing the feeling of you to memory.

This was real. This was real. This was real.

You both folded in on each other like paper houses laid to rest, until you were tangled up on the floor. There was a perfectly functional bed not even four feet away, but even that seemed like too much effort after everything that had happened. 

Azriel wrapped his wings protectively around you, settling down with his head against your chest so he could hear your heartbeat. You hummed in tired contentment, peppering his forehead with kisses as your eyelids began to droop. 

“I want to go home, Azriel,” You murmured, “I want to go home with you.” 

Home. 

Azriel swallowed thickly, “We’ll leave tomorrow first thing in the morning. I promise.” 

You opened a bleary eye, examining your mate quietly, “Do you not want to say goodbye?” 

Azriel kissed your chest, right over your heart. Thirty years ago he would have said yes. He would have taken time to get his affairs in order and to make sure Jadhan and his sons, Phaedra and Devra, and the rest were taken care of. But things had changed, and he knew that no matter what, they would be alright. They would live and travel and fall in love. If they were lucky, they’d experience the joy of dying in their sleep surrounded by loved ones at the end of a long and eventful road. 

“No. No, I don’t think so.” 

You pressed one final kiss to his forehead, absorbing him in the warmth of your arms. Azriel sighed, hanging onto the golden thread in his chest that wrapped around his soul and bound him to you. 

“They’ll be ok, my love.” You murmured.

And so will we. You whispered the promise down the bond, soft and gentle. 

He closed his eyes, pressing the words I love you into your skin.

“I know.” He whispered to the night sky once your breathing had evened out, “I know.” 

That night at the tavern felt like a dream - the kind that left you groggy and awestruck when you initially awoke, and then slipped away like water cupped in a child’s hands. 

Everything seemed louder than before, even though the townspeople walked about in a contemplative daze. It was the forest. That’s what it was. It hummed more brightly. The blanket of power that had rested over the treetops for decades had lifted overnight. 

No one spoke of the events aloud - they were too aware of the enormity of what they’d witnessed - but they all knew the truth.

The Shadowsinger had finally been called home. 

___

“Quick!” Alzhar’s eldest son, Samu, called out to the twins. They hobbled over as quickly as their stout legs could carry them. 

“Samu,” Niran whined, “I’m tired.”

“Papa said to be back by dark.” Rhaan reminded them all. The only trademark that separated him from his twin brother was the flash of blond through his ruddy brown hair. White-tailed deer they called him.

“I want dinner.” 

“Me too.” 

Samu looked over the hills where the sun was sliding down the sky like rain on a window.

“But we haven’t found the house yet!” He protested.

“We’ve been searching for days.”

“Yeah, we’ve been searching for days.” Niran parroted.

“Of course we have!” He threw his hands up in the air, “Did you really think the Shadowhouse would be easy to find?” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head, “Go back if you’re so scared. I’ll look for it myself.” 

Niran and Rhaan looked at each other, identical frowns pulling at their lips. They wanted to prove their worth, but they were still younger than Samu, and their hunger mattered more.

“We’re telling Mama you didn’t listen.”

“I want your dessert.”

“Wait, no. I want it. Can we share?”

“I’m not sharing!”

Samu smiled triumphantly and stomped further into the woods, leaving the twins to their usual bickering.

The little boy sprinted back home hours later, a gleeful kick in his step. The sky was already turned pitch black, but the Mother had sprinkled out the stars like salt to guide him home.

Devra stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, swollen belly blocking out the roaring firelight like an eclipse. 

“Where have you been?” She gasped out, grabbing Samu’s head and holding him close to her stomach. Samu loved when she did this, convinced that his newest sibling would talk to him first. 

Niran and Rhaan wanted another brother to tussle with, but Samu was hoping for a sister. She could tussle with them too, he was sure.

He ignored her question, grabbing her hand and hauling her back inside, “Papa! BaBa! I found it! I found the Shadowhouse.” 

Niran and Rhaan popped out from their bedroom, clambering after their older brother as he dragged their mother along.

Jadhan and Alzhar looked up with relief. Jadhan’s hair had turned white as snow in his old age and hints of gray were beginning to sprout from Alzhar’s temples.

“Papa!”

“Samu, what have we told you about staying out past-”

“The Shadowsinger left something for you and Baba.”

“What?!” Jadhan sat up straighter, grimacing at the painful twist of his leg. He motioned his grandson closer, helping him climb onto the bed.

The little boy dropped the blue-velvet bag into his outstretched hands, leaning back on his heels with rapt attention. Samu, being the boy that he was, hadn’t opened it on the whole journey over and was now buzzing to learn what secrets it held within.

Jadhan was immediately startled by the weight of the parcel. 

“Open it!”

“Wait! I want to see!” 

“Help me up!” 

Alzhar and Devra relented, picking up the twins and leaning close. Their own curiosity was itching to be satisfied.

Jadhan opened the bag and tipped it over spilling dozens of gold coins onto the quilt. Devra gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. Alzhar didn’t bother hiding his shock, his mouth agape. 

It was more money than they’d ever seen in their lives, Jadhan didn’t concern himself with it - he hadn’t had to worry about money in a long while. Instead, he picked up the slip of paper that had also fallen out, carefully unfolding it with trembling, wrinkled fingers.

For all the drinks “on the house” and for your son, Mikhail, who traveled to the edges of the Continent and made it possible for my mate to find me and bring me home.

Scrawled on the lower edge of the paper were more words, cramped and small like they’d been jotted down as an after-thought. 

Also, your whiskey is absolutely disgusting. Never let anyone else drink it.

Everyone stilled, watching Jadhan carefully. 

Without warning, the old man tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

Samu leaned back in surprise. His grandfather was a naturally solemn man, and he'd never heard him laugh so loudly and so fiercely.

Alzhar reached for the slip of paper, skimming the words quickly.

"No!" He cried out in disbelief, "Stop! This can't be. Devra, look-"

One by one the adults fell into fits of roaring laughter, collapsing onto Jadhan's bed or onto the floor. Even the boys cheered - confused but happy to be part of whatever story had just finished unfolding.

Jadhan was seventy-one years old when he died, and he died laughing, surrounded by his family at the end of a long road.

Down the street in the tavern, the band was still playing the same old songs, although they were being performed by yet another generation of songbirds. But, there was one new addition to the repertoire.

A song penned by Phaedra and aptly named The Ballad of the Shadowsinger years before her quiet passing. 

It was always the last song of the night. Always. And it ended like this: 

Come Solstice day

Come wind or rain

Now calls the heather

The Midlands will have no reason to dismay

For the Shadowsinger has been called home again

___________

Another author's note:

I feel like I threw in so many new human characters so I made a family tree. Ha!

Also, please enjoy the small essay I wrote last night after writing this oneshot...

From last night:

Listen, some red flags are just pale orange scraps of fabric when you’re an immortal non-human being who’s been alive for hundreds of years. Don’t come for me. I’m so tired. It’s 3am. I should sleep. 

Ok, note from Florence B at 3:16am because I am making CONNECTIONS. Not all of this was intentional, but maybe it was? Maybe I’m just stringing connections after the fact.  Maybe I’m a genius. Probably not, but still. I’m so tired, guys. Why am I doing this right now? I should be sleeping but I can’t sleep so I’m going to do this instead.

Buckle down folks for the essay I am about to write: 

I have my qualms about the ACOTAR books, as I’m sure most people do. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful reads and it’s the series that got me back into reading after college, but they’re not perfect by any means.

One thing I think that gets brushed under the rug (especially given how ALL the batboys fall for girls who are literally in their late teens/mid-twenties - it’s a major red flag but we forgive because it’s fiction) is how DIFFERENTLY fae experience time. LIke, these fuckers live hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of years. The only way they die is if they get killed, like purposely poisoned or stabbed or whatever have you. I tried to write this/touch upon this when Azriel describes how he’s jealous of Jadhan for his humanity and how no matter what, Azriel is stuck potentially living an ETERNITY with the reality of what he’s done. It’s why for me - personally - all the stuff about the mate bond driving males mad or the choice that Rhysand and Feyre make to bind their lives to one another kind of makes sense. Like, if I was faced with an eternal life sentence in a world that was as brutal and cruel as the ACOTAR universe is, HECK YEAH I MIGHT BIND MY LIFE TO SOMETHING/SOMEONE I CARED ABOUT! I’M NOT DOING THIS SHIT ALONE! You’ve gotta retire from the game at SOME point. 

I know I probably made things really confusing by introducing a whole host of human characters spanning several generations (re: the family tree up above), but as I previously mentioned, I thought it was important to do this to contextualize/compare the lifespan of a fae to a normal human. While Jadhan is growing up, getting a job, getting married, having kids, Azriel is still struggling with his banishment to the Midlands and his own sense of self-worth. The line about Jadhan approaching Azriel and offering him money to kill his abusive father who broke his leg was thrown in there later on around the 1am mark. And I didn’t think of it much - I just wanted a reason for Azriel to know Jadhan personally throughout his life from childhood to old age. BUT! Now that I think I’m thinking about it more, it makes sense that Azriel would be able to accept Y/n’s forgiveness so quickly. He sees a lot of himself in young Jadhan and by helping him escape his abusive father(albeit by violent means) and watching him grow up into a strong man and a good father, Azriel’s helping heal his own inner child. 

The kids! Oh my goodness I love the kids so much. Once I threw the first kid into the story I thought - fuck it, we’re going to make the parallelism painfully obvious with Azriel seeing himself, Rhys, and Cassian mirrored in Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik. Then of course I had to bring things around full circle and give Alzhar three boys and a girl on the way (yes, Devra is pregnant with a girl and Samu is going to shower her with all the love that Rhys gave his own sister). 

Finally, I’m going to address any comments about Y/n forgiving Azriel too quickly. 1) I feel like it is a universally acknowledged/unacknowledged truth that no one hates Azriel as much as he hates himself. And no punishment could ever be worse than the self-loathing he feels for himself (NOTE: people, if a partner/romantic love interest/friend/crush/whatever EVER says this kind of stuff to you, drop them like a two-ton boulder. That’s a major red flag, but once again this is a fictional man/fae so we can let it slide). 2) Once again, these fae are literally HUNDREDS OF YEARS OLD. I can only speak for myself when I say this, but I feel like if I had known and loved someone for that long, I would be willing to forgive a lot and trust that time might be able to heal deeper wounds than humans are used to. Time is precious to us humans, we can’t always afford to wait and hope for things to get better on their own, but fae can. 

Are those all my thoughts? I think those are all my thoughts. It’s 3:47am now. Oh jeez. To future me: I’m so sorry if you have to read this and it’s bad and you have a coffee-fueled headache all day because I fucked things up for us. 

[superpowereddonut]

BRUH this gotta be my favourite trope and it was so well written here!! I'm a slut for an underestimated woman who handles her mf business and slays (literally)

and ughhh I love how Az and Rhys had so much trust and faith in her capability!! "She's late" "She likes to be thorough." YESSSSS

and the softness at the end?? YES YES YESSSS

Heads Will Roll | Azriel x Reader Oneshot

Warnings: Violence (aka Reader kills some fae and Rhysand and Azriel are 100% cool with it), fluff

One of Koschei's followers turns up to the Court of Nightmares prepared to make a bargain: your life in exchange for Ataraxia. But he'll soon learn that you are not to be underestimated, and you are always exactly where you want to be.

Azriel bristled from behind Feyre’s shoulder when the male winnowed into the Court of Nightmares in a dramatic display of power that had everyone beneath the dais falling back.

He was all sharp lines, emboldened by the pure black silhouette of his cape that flared out behind him, teasingly parting to reveal the bone white sword strapped to his right hip that seemed to whisper with horrible power. The only piece of him that didn’t look like it was cut from death and destruction were his bright blue eyes - startlingly innocent and all the more unnerving for it. He fit in well with the violence the Court of Nightmares naturally radiated. 

Rhysand’s eyebrow curled up in a look of carefully crafted boredom from atop his obsidian throne. The only one who looked more nonchalant than him was Feyre. She tilted her head up, staring down the slant of her nose to the unknown male as he extended his arms and bowed as prettily as a bird. 

“Greetings.” Even his voice was sharp and cutting. “To the Lord and Lady.” 

Cassian frowned from behind Rhysand’s back at the omission of their proper title. To the outside, Rhysand was anything if not bored. Inside, he was ready to blow the male to bits. He wore Koschei’s stamp on his forehead, red and dripping like a fresh wound.

Neither the High Lord nor the High Lady deigned to reply.

The male only smiled. All teeth. 

“I come to you on behalf of my master.” His smile grew. More teeth. “You may have heard his name.” 

“Koschei.” The name rolled off Feyre’s lips as easily as if she were ordering a meal - blasé and unimportant. But the name shifted the energy in the room, stirring up hornet's nests of gossip. Heads bowed towards one another like grass stalks in the wind, whispering.

Feyre tapped one finger on her forehead, “He has a fondness for marking his followers.”

“Like a collar on a dog.” Rhysand finished. He stroked the bond, grounded by the feeling of Feyre’s very soul on the other side. She had always been - and always would be - his calm.

“My name is Darwynn.” The male tipped his white head, “And I bring news from my master. News you may find worthy of your time.” 

Azriel’s heart picked up in his chest. 

He knew what was coming - the words that would soon slip out of Darwynn’s mouth. You’d been gone for over a week and he felt your absence from his side as intensely as if someone had ripped the wings from his back. Empty, cold, and unbalanced.

For the first three days he hadn’t worried, even as the bond lay dormant in his chest. It wasn’t uncommon for you to hunt after secrets, unraveling mysteries like threads in a coat or diving into the unknown with an insatiable appetite.

Three days were nothing. But nine days was getting to be concerning.

“Go on.” Feyre said with a wave of her hand, looking more interested in the glass of wine in her hand than anything else. 

Darwynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin string of silver stained with blood - a necklace crafted from unbreakable metal with a deep blue pendant swaying like a pendulum. It was a piece of one of Azriel’s siphons, imbued with a small measure of his power and given to you as a Solstice gift after you’d accepted the bond. In the twenty years you’d been together, you’d never once taken it off. It was unnatural to see it swinging in the cruel male's hands.

Cassian growled. Azriel’s jaw clenched, beautiful brows lifting only ever so slightly in surprise. It was the only expression the Shadowsinger had shown all night.

Rhysand mirrored his expression. “Ahhhh yes, my sister. How long has she been missing for now, Az?” Rhysand looked back at him, some unspoken agreement passing through that brief glance. If this male had truly captured you, he would not be leaving this room with his head still on his shoulders.

“Nine days.” The Shadowsinger said, his mouth twitching to the side in a cryptic mix of a smirk and a snarl.

“You have her.” Feyre said. It wasn’t a question.

Darwynn’s eyes lit up with glee and he nodded, clapping his hands together like a child opening birthday presents.

“And what do you want for her? That is why you are here, is it not?” Feyre said once his “applause” ended.

Darwynn shook his finger at her, “It is comforting to know that since Amarantha’s trials, you’ve learned to - how shall I say this? Read between the lines.” 

“Careful.” Rhysand said, a warning trapped within that honey-laced word. Feyre’s illiteracy was hardly a concern for anyone anymore - Rhysand had seen to that - but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a subject that smarted and burned when prodded. 

Feyre’s dark red lips only turned up in a small smirk. Her mate would not allow any harm to befall her - even insults from pathetic creatures such as Darwynn.

"But I digress." Darwynn said silkily, “You should know she is uninjured-” 

“Obviously,” Cassian huffed under his breath, stealing a glance at his brother beside him. Azriel was handling this surprisingly well. If it were Nesta who’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, Cassian would not be able to school his emotions so readily. 

“And my master would like to make a trade.”

“A trade?” Rhysand said, displaying more interest in the subject than ever before. This was an opportunity to play Koschei’s hand. To gain whatever knowledge they could from the slippery sorcerer who was gaining more momentum each passing day. Koschei was still confined to his lake on the continent, but that didn’t mean he was powerless. No, not at all. 

Darwynn pointed a knowing finger at Rhysand’s belt where Ataraxia rested as silent as the death that hung over a deep winter’s night. 

“I see.” Rhysand said. 

So that’s what he wants. Feyre spoke to him through the bond, Some trace of Nesta’s power.

Y/n was right. He wants to leave the lake.

And he needs whatever power Nesta took from the Cauldron to do it.

Rhys hummed in thought, one finger lazily tracing the edge of his drink. He knew his sister, knew the power that raced through her veins, and she was not one to be trifled with. But people loved to underestimate her - the poor second child too weak and damaged to fight after losing her wings to the old High Lord of Spring. The female who rested on her brother’s strength and crown like a sapling tied to a stake. She wielded those assumptions carefully. It was perhaps one of her greatest weapons. 

Nine days. She’d been gone for nine days. Nine days since he’d sent her on a mission to the continent to spy on Koschei’s followers. Six days since anyone had heard from her. Three days since her scheduled return. 

Azriel stiffened and blinked - a movement so subtle that only Rhys, Cass, and Feyre noticed. All at once the tension left Rhysand's shoulders. Such a reaction from Az could only mean one thing - you'd arrived.

Rhysand clicked his tongue disapprovingly, taking a deep draught of his wine and muttered, “She’s late.” 

“She likes to be thorough.” Azriel said with the smallest of smiles.

“Even so. I don’t like to be kept waiting. She could’ve been captured sooner. Escaped earlier. Given us notice that she was coming.” He shook his raven black hair.

Azriel smirked, feeling the strength of the bond in his chest. Never wavering, “Maybe she finally decided to adopt your flair for the dramatic.” His golden hazel eyes flickered upward for the briefest of moments and you flashed him a quick smile from where you hid in the mountain rock above.

You’d only just opened your side of the bond, love and reassurance rolling over him like a flood. You were safe. You were whole. And you had carried out your plan beautifully.

Sorry to keep you waiting, my love. I had business to attend to. You spoke to your mate and only him.

I'd wait forever for you. You know that.

He felt your laughter through the bond like the fresh rain.

Who would've guessed the Spymaster's such a romantic.

Only for you. Only for you.

Darwynn narrowed his eyes, lips flattening into a thin line as pale as the moon. Something had changed in the air and he couldn't put his finger on it. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. He knew the Inner Circle were practiced in hiding their emotions but this… they almost looked pleased. Cassian especially was grinning like a madman, suppressing his laughter as Rhysand sent his thoughts to his mind.

“My master keeps good on his promises. But until you give me the bade, I can’t promise you what pieces of your wife there will be left to bring back.” Darwynn snarled, even as that feeling of dread grew in his stomach. He’d walked in here so confident. He needed to regain that confidence. He relaxed his shoulders. Stood up taller.

A wet thud echoed throughout the hall. Someone screamed - a female with blue-gray skin reeled backward, one hand clamped over her mouth in horror as she tripped over her blood-splattered silks. 

A decapitated head - warm, oozing, and less than a day old - lolled on the floor. Its eyes were frozen in a look of surprised horror. 

Darwynn’s heart stuttered to a stop when he recognized the bloated and bruised face. The face of one of his strongest males, left behind on the continent to watch over Koschei’s prison. 

Rhysand smirked and raised his wine glass towards Darwynn. The High Lord’s power flooded out over the room, knitting together a powerful web of magic that made it impossible for anyone to winnow in or out. Except for you of course - his darling sister who never failed to find the weak points in his magic and slip through as slyly as a cat. 

“There’s something you should know about my dear sister.” Rhysand’s voice boomed over the near-silent room without even trying.

A second head dropped from the ceiling. Then a third. Then a fourth. Laid out in a neat little arc around Darwynn.

“She never gets caught. She is always precisely where she wants to be.” 

Azriel’s eyes were trained on the slate gray arches overheard where he could just barely make out your form as you winnowed around the room, hiding in the shadows and dropping your gruesome packages in a neat circle around Darwynn’s shaking form.

The male unsheathed his sword, spinning around madly and counting every thud until all twelve of your guards were accounted for. 

All dead. 

All of them.

He growled dangerously, eyes beginning to glow a brilliant, icy blue as he aimed his power at the dais, right towards Rhysand. Azriel smiled with cruel satisfaction when you slipped out from behind Darwynn’s silhouette, bloodied and menacing. The knife glinted in the faelight, catching the curve of your arm as you spun around and drove the weapon through Darwynn’s eye. The light wrapping around him fizzled out into anything.

The male rocked on his feet, arms going slack and dropping the sword with a clatter on the ground. His legs gave out soon after, his body crumpling in on itself as easily as paper. 

You calmly rolled down the sleeves of your blood-soaked shirt, flicking a piece of gore off your shoulder in a manner so similar to Rhysand that your brother couldn't help but chuckle. 

You flashed him a grin - a stroke of white brushed across a red splattered canvas. 

“Brother.” You said, tipping your chin up in a show of greeting. 

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think, sister?” Rhysand gestured out to the Court of Nightmares. You spared them a look. Everyone looked positively sinful in their scraps of silk and exposed skin, silent and trembling as their dinners burned their way up from their stomachs to their throats.

You shrugged and winked at Rhys, “I learned from the best.” 

“Go get cleaned up.” He said. It was a clear and direct command, but you didn’t miss the warmth and hint of pride in his voice.

“As my High Lord commands.” You said, bowing deeply. 

At home. Rhysand spoke in your mind as you straightened. Get some rest. You did well.

You sighed in relief, happy that you would be free from whatever Court of Nightmare business left to attend to.

Thank you.

There was a brief pause before Rhysand continued, But next time you plan to get kidnapped, let me know. I was actually starting to worry and I’m not sure my old heart can take it.

You snorted, I’ll keep your elderly constitution in mind next time.

You dipped your head once more before winnowing to the River House. The smell of home nearly knocked you off your feet.

There would be more time to joke around with your brother - more time to tell him everything you’d learned - but right now you were in desperate need of a bath.

______________

You sank into your third bath of the night, groaning in pleasure as the hot water rolled over your aching muscles. The first two baths had purely functioned to scrub off the dried blood from your hair and skin. The majority of it wasn’t yours. But this bath, with all the fragrant oils and scents, was for enjoyment and relaxation.

It was no easy business getting kidnapped, and no easy business escaping. But like every other mission, you’d made away like a bandit in the night, carrying with you priceless pieces of knowledge and enough secrets to demolish an entire court. 

Your eyes flickered open at the feeling of shadows lacing around your arms, soothing your skin with a cool touch that was no replacement for the hands that followed. 

Finally your mate had decided to join you.

You sighed in happiness as Azriel trailed his fingers up your arms, scarred hands landing at your neck and gently tilting your head back so he could plant a firm kiss on your lips.

The bond sang within your chest more joyfully than a songbird. You didn’t like silencing this connection, you didn’t like shutting Azriel out, but sometimes your work necessitated it. It was for your safety as much as his. But no one understood that more than the Spymaster of the Night Court.

“Hello, my love.” Azriel’s voice vibrated through the air, warming your chest and shaking your bones. 

“Hello, Azriel.” You murmured, soapy hands trailing through his raven black hair so that he was completely surrounded by your scent.

“Gods, I missed you.” He said. He knelt on the tiled floor behind you, wrapping his arms around your bare chest as he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. “I missed you so much." A kiss on your neck, "So, so much.”

“I missed you too.” You murmured, pulling him around to the side of the tub so that you could see him better. You traced the faint purple bruises beneath his eyes. Not an unfamiliar sight. Azriel had never been a restful sleeper, but since mating and marrying you, he’d been spoiled rotten and now could barely sleep a wink without you curled up in his arms. 

“Sorry I messed up your hair.” You apologized, twirling the now damp strands of his hair so they curled around your fingers. 

He smiled. It was a rare sight to anyone other than you, but seeing him happy never ceased to warm your bones.

“You did well, darling.” He said, smoothing back your hair before saying more seriously, “But next time could you tell me your plans before you shut me out?” 

You winced. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t time.”

“I figured as much.” Azriel said, kissing your cheeks to show that he wasn’t upset. You leaned into his touch as he traced your cheekbones with his thumbs. 

You were the most precious thing in the world to him. More precious than his wings. More precious than his freedom. More precious than the 500 hundred years it had taken him to finally realize what you were to him. The thought of losing you was more painful than a knife to the stomach.

“You can trust me.” You said, “I know how to handle myself.” 

Azriel chuckled and shook his head, “I am very well aware of both those things,” He tilted his head in thought, “And I’m fairly certain everyone else also knows now.” 

You blushed, “Maybe it was a bit much.” 

Azriel shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is one thing.”

“And what is this one thing?” You asked, leaning forward and capturing his lips in another kiss. He tasted like cedar and rain. He tasted like home.

“That you should never be afraid of showing your power. Never. No matter what happens. No matter what people say.” 

His hand that had been cradling the back of your neck moved down, tracing the scars on your shoulder blades where your wings had once been. You shivered under his touch, but didn’t recoil. He understood. He was perhaps the only person who understood what it meant to have such a physical piece of yourself taken away. 

You kissed his hands, taking care to feel every valley beneath your lips and worship them. They were a part of him now, tied to him as much as his shadows were, and so how could you not love them? How could you not love him? This male who was your equal in every way imaginable and who made you feel happier and safer than you ever thought possible. 

He helped you out of the bathtub, drying your skin and hair before carefully brushing through all the tangles and knots. 

“I should go report to Rhys.” You said with little determination as Azriel laid you out on the bed and then crawled under the covers beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both under the protective cover of his wings.

“Let it wait until tomorrow. Let me have you tonight.” 

You smiled, “I’ve only been gone nine days.” 

His hazel eyes melted into yours. “Nine days too long, Y/n.” 

You could never deny him anything when he looked at you like that, so full of feeling and a rawness too intense for words. And it wasn’t like you were dying to leave this bed and chase after your brother. Like Azriel had said - it could wait until tomorrow. So you melted into his arms and watched as Azriel slowly fell into a deep sleep for the first time in nine days.

______________

Author's note:

A woman covered in the blood of her enemies is *chef's kisses*

That's it. That's the note.

[superpowereddonut]

My first time reading an Azris fic and BOY IT SURE DIDN'T DISAPPOINT!! Lovedddd it

I'll Be Yours (Even if I Can't Tell Anyone) Masterlist

“If you’re so intent on using that needy mouth of yours, then I’ll have to put it to good use,” Azriel snarls, and Eris glares, feigning defiance even as Azriel pushes him harshly to his knees.  But Azriel can see the hunger, the blatant desire in Eris’s gaze as his tongue darts out to swipe over his bruised lips. (aka an explanation of where Azriel went after his outburst during the High Lords' meeting and the story of Azriel & Eris navigating their mating bond)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

[superpowereddonut]

I'm such an Az girly but holy shit I LOVED THIS!!

Eris = perfection

Bryaxis = amazing

Aurelia = incredible

MYRAH = MY FAVOURITE!!

Such a good fic <3 <3

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Masterlist

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Note: Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! This fic will update every Wednesday evening starting October 25th

Prologue

Chapter One: Flame

Chapter Two: Shadow

Chapter Three: Beast I

Chapter Four: Beast II

Epilogue

[superpowereddonut]

@froggiedragon @azure-drag0ness

Thank you so much for asking to be on my taglist! Hope you enjoy the final part xxx

Favour for a Friend (Sirius Black x Reader) - Part 4 (final part)

Finally, here is the last part of Favour for a Friend! Thank you so much for all the love, especially with such a long wait between each part! It really kept me going whenever I thought about abandoning this series, lol. Special thanks to those who commented on any of my posts - if I could give each of you a big ol' smooch, I would!! I hope you enjoy the last part, it's a lot longer than the previous ones <3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader (No use of Y/N)

A/N: set at Hogwarts, fake dating trope

Warnings: swearing, kissing(?)

Word count: 3977

Read part 1, part 2, part 3

*****

She tilted her head back to the sky, soaking in the feeling of the sun on her skin after the darkness of the castle. Her hands were still trembling with excess adrenaline, but she didn’t know whether it was from the disturbing interaction with Lucas Davis, or the intense moment with Sirius. Sirius. It was like she was buzzing with awareness of the raven-haired boy who was now walking next to her. Heat radiated from where their hands were intertwined, but it was nothing compared to how her whole body had burned when they kissed less than ten minutes ago. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her waist, her cheek. Could still feel the silk of his hair curling around her fingers. Most of all, she could still feel the delicious pressure of his lips on hers, and hear his groan of pleasure echoing in her ears. 

She blanched, realising she had been staring at Sirius while lost in thought and he was now staring right back at her with a crooked smile. “Are you-”

She hid a flinch as James and Peter appeared, the former slapping a hand on Sirius’ shoulder - cutting off whatever he had been about to say. For a second, James’ large frame had looked like Davis’. She shook off her lingering unease and smiled at the two boys as they took up positions on either side of her and Sirius.

“Hello lovebirds!” James beamed. “How are we on this fine day?”

Sirius shoved him half-heartedly, “Piss off.”

“Uh oh Pete, sounds like trouble in paradise!”

Peter chuckled from beside her. “Told you he wasn’t cut out for a relationship! He’s probably mourning his bachelorhood already!”

It was innocent teasing - not unlike the usual barbs that the friends traded back and forth. In fact it was probably more tame than the insults that Sirius himself usually threw around. So it was a surprise when Sirius’ face twisted and he dropped her hand to give Peter a much more forceful push than he had given James. “I said piss off!”

Without waiting for a response, Sirius stormed off, striding down the hill towards the Black Lake. The air was thick with tension in his wake - James was scratching his head as he watched Sirius’ retreating form, and Peter’s brow was scrunched, his face clearly showing a mix of hurt and confusion. “What was that about?” he asked no one in particular.

To her surprise, James turned to her. “You should go talk to him,” he said softly, “he’ll listen to you.”

“Oh uh… okay then…I’m gonna…” she gestured vaguely in Sirius’ direction and started walking. He’ll listen to you. Since when did Sirius Black’s closest friend in the whole world think that he would listen to her?

She caught up to him in seconds - his dramatic stomping had already slowed and he came to a stop at the edge of the lake.  

“You’re in a bad mood,” she commented flatly, stepping up next to him.

“Of course I’m in a bad mood! That slimy git Lucas Davis just cornered you in a dark hallway and tried to intimidate you! He could’ve-”

“It’s not just that though,” she interrupted. She did not want to talk about Davis. “You’re still upset about what Peter said at breakfast, aren’t you?”

“I’m not upset.” he said sullenly

“Fine, annoyed then.”

He gave a non-commital grunt in response.

“Come on then Black, unload your little tantrum on me so you start smiling again.”

“Oh it’s Black now is it? That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend only gets to be called Sirius when he’s not sulking.”

He gasped in mock outrage, dramatically clutching his chest, “I do not sulk!”

She couldn’t help the giggle that he drew out of her, “Oh please, if there was a sulking competition, I think you’d at least take home silver.”

“Who’d get gold?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Snivellus, of course.” she quipped. He let out a sudden bark of laughter, his head tipping back to expose the long column of his throat. She felt herself blush and looked down at her feet, even as the rumble of his laugh travelled through her, sending the butterflies in her stomach fluttering away. When Sirius quietened, she gently bumped his shoulder with her own. 

“So,” she pressed, “which part of what Peter said pissed you off so much?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius sighed, “it’s just that… well… I know that everyone sees me as this immature guy who sleeps around and never really gets serious about anyone-”

“That’s not true!” 

He fixed her with a look. “Just the other night you said that I have a ‘reputation for fucking anything that moves’.” 

She opened her mouth to say that she had never really meant it, but he rambled on, “Most of the time it doesn’t bother me, really, but…” Sirius trailed off, staring across the lake. She just waited, content to let him sort out his thoughts before voicing them.

Suddenly, he turned to her, his eyes immediately focusing on her own. “I could be serious, you know.” 

She laughed nervously, trying to dispel some of the tension, even as she felt herself completely frozen by his intense stare. “You’re always Sirius,” she said, and was rewarded by the smallest uptick in the corner of his mouth. “I mean,” he murmured, taking a step closer, “I could commit to a relationship - a real relationship.” 

She felt the words like a stab to the gut. A real relationship. She knew, of course, that Sirius was capable of commitment - in fact, if the last couple of days were anything to go by, she could confidently say he would make a wonderful boyfriend. But that was just it - the last couple of days weren’t real. Maybe he just wanted to prove he could do it, or practice with low stakes, or maybe it really was as simple as doing a favour for a friend. But the fact remained that she wasn’t actually dating Sirius Black. Soon, Lucas Davis would take the hint and this charade would end, and then she might be forced to watch as Sirius committed to a real relationship. The thought made her feel ill.

“Yeah I know,” she said quietly. “Anyway, let’s go - it’s almost lunch and I don’t want to miss it.”

She turned and immediately started back up the slope towards the castle. Sirius followed, silently slipping his hand in hers.

*****

Lunch consisted of avoiding looking at Sirius, trying not to think about snogging him, and silently reminding herself that their relationship wasn’t real - which was made especially hard by his constant presence at her side and frequent smiles aimed only at her. Luckily, his attention was soon captured by Remus, who seemed to have spent the entirety of last period coming up with an ingenious new prank that she was sure she wanted no part in.

Unfortunately, this meant that she had no choice but to talk to her best friends, dormmates and relentless busybodies, Marlene, Mary and Lily. All of them seemed to be desperate to talk about her ‘relationship’ with Sirius, indicated by their less-than-subtle hints, but none more so than her red-haired best friend. 

It was a miracle that she made it to her next class - Potions - before Lily dropped the attempts at subtlety and began her outright ambush. 

“Alright,” she began, as they waited for Slughorn to come bustling down the corridor, “out with it.”

She thought about playing dumb, but knew it would only make a Lily Evans inquisition that much worse. It was time to summon some Gryffindor bravery and come clean. “You were right,” she confessed with a sigh, “Sirius and I kissed, and now I think I’ve made a terrible mistake with this whole ‘fake dating’ thing, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Woah, woah, woah, back up a step!” Lily squealed, “You kissed!?”

She groaned, her head hitting the stone wall behind her with a thump. “We only did it to send a message to Davis - who, by the way, has escalated from irritating to downright scary - but it was so good,” she continued, “seriously Lils, no one has ever kissed me like that before!”

Lily nodded for her to continue.

“And now every time he so much as looks at me, I feel like I’m going insane!” she whined. “I really thought I could handle this, and everything would just go back to normal afterwards, but I can’t help wishing it could be like this all the time. I can’t help thinking about what it would be like to date him for real.”

The pity she read in Lily’s face made her feel even worse. “For what it’s worth, I think Sirius really likes you,” she said softly, “But we both know he isn’t one for commitment. He’s never dated anyone seriously, and seems to have his attention on a new girl every week. Can you really imagine him changing?”

She paused. Despite his reputation as something of a ladies man, Sirius had never actually gone out with that many girls - he was just a flirt. In fact, although many girls had made their preference for his rugged good looks and bad-boy persona known, he hadn’t shown genuine interest in any that she knew of. But she couldn’t help feel that this was different somehow. He even seemed desperate to convince her that he could be in a proper relationship.

“Look,” Lily said sympathetically, “all I’m saying is that you should figure out where his head is with all of this. Maybe he is feeling the same way you are, or maybe it hasn’t even crossed his mind. But first you should also figure out what you are really feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, anyone could get caught up in playing the perfect couple. Maybe you’re only questioning all this because the kiss made you realise you��re attracted to him, and you’ve liked all the nice things he’s been doing for you lately. That doesn’t mean you suddenly want to get married and have his babies.”

She snorted, her mood lifting. Lily was right of course, as always. She was getting ahead of herself, thinking that a couple of days of hand-holding and one really good kiss meant she was suddenly falling for Sirius Black, a boy she’d known since she was eleven. Maybe she was just enjoying playing ‘girlfriend’ after being single for so long. Maybe she was just really fucking horny and Sirius was a fantastic kisser. Although deep down, she thought it had to be bigger than that.

“So what’s going on with you and James?” she asked Lily with a suggestive smile.

Lily startled, like a deer in headlights, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on, you think you get to ask me about Sirius without any consequences? It’s your turn to spill the beans!”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re on about. There’s nothing to ‘spill’!”

“Puh-lease! You think I haven’t noticed that you no longer come to quidditch training just to watch me anymore? Or that you haven’t started laughing at a certain someone’s jokes?”

Lily spluttered, her eyes darting frantically around the corridor for a distraction, but none came. Even Slughorn couldn’t save her - he was notorious for being late to class.

“I don’t- I’m not- you’re being ridiculous!” she finally got out.

“Relax, Lily. It’s me. You like James, don’t you?”

Lily dropped her head into her hands. “I think I might be starting to!” she cried.

Suppressing a grin, she slung an arm around her friends’ shoulder, guiding her into the classroom as their professor finally arrived. “Look at us,” she said affectionately, “who would’ve thought we’d be such a mess over idiots like the marauders!”

*****

Over the next few days, she constantly dwelled on her conversation with Lily. Did she really have feelings for Sirius, or was she just enjoying the intimacy of a relationship? Was he looking at her differently, or was he just as unaffected as ever? 

Unfortunately, with every gentle touch and kind deed, she was becoming more confused, not less. It didn’t help that more kisses had followed the first - although none as passionate and all-consuming as the one in the corridor. It had started when her and Sirius had gone to Hogsmeade with the rest of their friends. When the girls had separated from the marauders to do some shopping on their own, they had stood awkwardly as Peter and Dorcas snogged goodbye next to them, before Sirius suddenly leant down to press his lips to hers. But that was just out of necessity, right? They couldn’t have simply parted with a casual, platonic hug in the middle of a village filled with nosy Hogwarts students - they had to do what a real couple would do. After that it became standard for Sirius to greet her with a quick peck when she came down for breakfast, or for her to spontaneously kiss him when they separated for class. And if she did it simply because she didn’t like how a girl further down the hallway was eyeing him hopefully? Well, she was just playing her role as a jealous girlfriend. Sirius was doing the same after all - anytime they caught sight of Davis he would hold her tighter, brush his lips to her temple or use a french term of endearment that would make her blush right down to her toes. 

Still, she had made no headway in sorting out her muddled thoughts when a week later, she found herself walking to the library after dinner with Sirius as he recounted why he received his most recent detention. “It’s not like I even meant to make it explode,” he was saying as they passed the ancient librarian, “I just thought it’d make a small fire.”

“Why did you want to make a fire in the first place?” she asked, shaking her head with fond exasperation. 

“Why not?” he shot back with a lopsided grin. She didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, moving to place her books on their usual table. It was in plain view of the library doors, which they’d chosen when they first started their ‘relationship’, as a stage on which to act out their new dynamic. But Sirius kept walking further into the stacks, smoothly swiping her books off the table as he went. “I can’t focus with all the people walking in and out,” he said over his shoulder. Puzzled, she followed him to the very back of the library, where it was much quieter, and watched him take a seat at a table that was almost completely hidden inside a large alcove. Students rarely ventured this far, as it was surrounded by mostly out of date titles and reference texts. “Since when do you actually need to focus?” she asked as she settled into the seat opposite him. Their study dates usually consisted of her trying to work while he tried his best to distract her. While Sirius was undeniably brilliant, he rarely studied or did his homework. Instead he relied on his natural abilities to skate by in any assessments. She used to find it annoying, but lately she couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Remus is sick again. James usually does his homework when he’s in the hospital wing but he’s been really stressed recently so I told him I’d do it. Besides,” he snickered, “I thought he could use the opportunity to flirt with Lily without an audience. Maybe he’ll actually try talking to her instead of making an ass of himself.”

She laughed quietly. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

They worked in silence for a while, and she lost herself in an essay on the use of unicorn hair in potion-making. Every now and then she would look up, expecting to find Sirius looking lazily out the window, or making creations out of spare parchment. Instead he was laser-focused, although he did occasionally catch her eye with a smile. At some point, sick of their legs accidentally hitting each other under the table, he casually lifted her feet into his lap, ignoring her questioning look and lightly stroking his thumb over her ankle. That kind of thing was common when they sat at their usual table surrounded by other students, but here there was no one to even see it. She mentally shook herself and directed her attention back to the books in front of her. Since when was she the distracted one?

An hour later, head aching and fingers cramping, she sighed, tapping her quill on the table as she looked over at Sirius again. His tongue was sticking out slightly as he bent over the parchment in front of him, his brow furrowed in a look of rare concentration. He seemed to be copying out his notes for Remus, translating his own messy scribbles into elegant, legible paragraphs. Her heart clenched at his thoughtfullness. “Why did you agree to this?” she asked suddenly.

He rolled his eyes playfully, “I do go to the library sometimes, you know.”

“No, not to coming here. I meant why did you agree to this-” she glanced around, ensuring they were really alone, “-fake relationship.”

Sirius slowly raised his eyes to hers. “You asked me,” he said with a shrug, as though it were that simple.

“You didn’t want to though, did you? That night in the common room, you were going to say no.” She recalled how he had tried to get her to choose Remus or James instead; how he had walked away and she genuinely thought he wasn’t going to do it.

“I didn’t want to,” he admitted, and she tried to ignore the way her stomach dropped, “but then he came in and you just… froze. All it took was one word from him and you went tense all over. I hated seeing you so uncomfortable. I just couldn’t stand it.”

Those pesky butterflies were back, erupting in her stomach and clogging up her throat. “Thank you,” she breathed.

His gaze softened. “Anytime, ma chérie.” Sirius looked like he was about to say something else, but he looked at his watch and winced. “I gotta go give these to Rem before the hospital wing visiting hours finish for the night.” He stood up, gently placing her feet back on the ground and gathering his things before rounding the table to stand next to her. “I’ll see you later,” he whispered, before ducking down to kiss her, his free hand grasping the back of her neck. It wasn’t until he was long gone that she realised there was no one else there to see them. No one to perform for. No reason to pretend. It was just them.

*****

She sat in the library for another ten minutes, her lips buzzing and her thoughts running faster than a hippogriff. She thought again about what Lily had said. Figure out what you are really feeling. 

She had been an idiot. She hadn’t got caught up in the feeling of someone doting on her - she’d gotten caught up in the feeling of Sirius doting on her. Talking to him, touching him, kissing him - all of it felt so good because it was Sirius. She had always been attracted to him; This whole fake relationship had just made her see beyond his handsome, outgoing, arrogant exterior to the genuine, kindhearted person underneath. The person who made her laugh and buttered her toast the way she liked because he payed attention to those he cared about. 

She was falling for Sirius Black, and if she was honest with herself, she had been falling for a while now - since before he had even agreed to this whole stunt.

She had to tell him.

*****

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she raced through the near-empty hallways. She had checked the hospital wing, the common room, even the kitchens, but there was no sign of Sirius. Suddenly, she remembered him telling her about the astronomy tower - and how he often went there when he needed to get away from his friends for a moment to himself. Panting, she skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs, the breeze from the open balcony a relief against her flushed cheeks. 

There he was. He was standing with his back to her, his posture relaxed as he casually leant over the railing, the wind whipping his hair around his face. He turned as her footsteps stopped, and she sucked in a breath at the sight. He was so handsome with that mischievous smirk and those alluring grey eyes, flickering in the soft glow of the torches. His tie was undone, shirt rumpled, but she thought he had never looked more lovely.

“I need you to be my boyfriend,” she blurted, repeating the same words that had started this whole mess.

He blinked. “What?” 

She took a deep breath, summoning all the gryffindor courage she could. “I need you to be my boyfriend,” she repeated, taking a decisive step forward. “Not as an act, or a performance, or a way to get Lucas Davis off my back. I need you to be my boyfriend, because… well, because I want you to be my boyfriend. And because I can’t go back to being friends now that I have real feelings for you.”

Her admission hung in the air between them, echoing into the night. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, as she stood there, waiting for Sirius to react.

And then he was striding forwards, large steps eating away the space between them in mere moments. He stopped directly in front of her, chest to chest, his eyes flitting over her face as though memorising it. He watched her for all of a second before reaching up to hold her face delicately between his palms and finally leaning forward to capture her lips with his own. She returned the kiss eagerly, grasping the ends of his unfastened tie and using them to pull him even closer. He smiled onto her lips and she mirrored it, their noses brushing when they eventually pulled away, still grinning.

“I can’t believe James was right,” Sirius muttered to himself.

“Right about what?”

He sighed, but the smile on his face didn’t waver. “You remember how I said at first I didn’t want to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

She nodded, her brow furrowing.

“Well, it was because I spent the last two years crushing on you so bad I could barely think about anything else. James and the rest of the marauders knew, of course - it’s why I could never properly date anyone, although I tried flirting with other girls in the hopes that I could force myself to move on from you.” He leaned forward again to kiss her firmly, just because he could. “But I figured that pretending to be in a relationship with you would be too hard. It’d be like getting everything I wanted only for it to be ripped away whenever you decided you didn’t need my help anymore.

“That night, after I agreed to fake it, James found me practically tearing my hair out. He told me that I was looking at it all wrong and that this was my chance to see if you could like me back.”

She chuckled as she looked up him. “I won’t tell him he was right, if you won’t,” she whispered.

His grey eyes were alight and his face was so open - so happy - it made her chest tighten. She felt so safe in his warm arms as they stood entwined, high above the twinkling castle, surrounded by shadowed mountains. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Sirius Black.”

“I’ve already fallen, mon amour.”

[superpowereddonut]

Favour for a Friend (Sirius Black x Reader) - Part 4 (final part)

Finally, here is the last part of Favour for a Friend! Thank you so much for all the love, especially with such a long wait between each part! It really kept me going whenever I thought about abandoning this series, lol. Special thanks to those who commented on any of my posts - if I could give each of you a big ol' smooch, I would!! I hope you enjoy the last part, it's a lot longer than the previous ones <3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader (No use of Y/N)

A/N: set at Hogwarts, fake dating trope

Warnings: swearing, kissing(?)

Word count: 3977

Read part 1, part 2, part 3

*****

She tilted her head back to the sky, soaking in the feeling of the sun on her skin after the darkness of the castle. Her hands were still trembling with excess adrenaline, but she didn’t know whether it was from the disturbing interaction with Lucas Davis, or the intense moment with Sirius. Sirius. It was like she was buzzing with awareness of the raven-haired boy who was now walking next to her. Heat radiated from where their hands were intertwined, but it was nothing compared to how her whole body had burned when they kissed less than ten minutes ago. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her waist, her cheek. Could still feel the silk of his hair curling around her fingers. Most of all, she could still feel the delicious pressure of his lips on hers, and hear his groan of pleasure echoing in her ears. 

She blanched, realising she had been staring at Sirius while lost in thought and he was now staring right back at her with a crooked smile. “Are you-”

She hid a flinch as James and Peter appeared, the former slapping a hand on Sirius’ shoulder - cutting off whatever he had been about to say. For a second, James’ large frame had looked like Davis’. She shook off her lingering unease and smiled at the two boys as they took up positions on either side of her and Sirius.

“Hello lovebirds!” James beamed. “How are we on this fine day?”

Sirius shoved him half-heartedly, “Piss off.”

“Uh oh Pete, sounds like trouble in paradise!”

Peter chuckled from beside her. “Told you he wasn’t cut out for a relationship! He’s probably mourning his bachelorhood already!”

It was innocent teasing - not unlike the usual barbs that the friends traded back and forth. In fact it was probably more tame than the insults that Sirius himself usually threw around. So it was a surprise when Sirius’ face twisted and he dropped her hand to give Peter a much more forceful push than he had given James. “I said piss off!”

Without waiting for a response, Sirius stormed off, striding down the hill towards the Black Lake. The air was thick with tension in his wake - James was scratching his head as he watched Sirius’ retreating form, and Peter’s brow was scrunched, his face clearly showing a mix of hurt and confusion. “What was that about?” he asked no one in particular.

To her surprise, James turned to her. “You should go talk to him,” he said softly, “he’ll listen to you.”

“Oh uh… okay then…I’m gonna…” she gestured vaguely in Sirius’ direction and started walking. He’ll listen to you. Since when did Sirius Black’s closest friend in the whole world think that he would listen to her?

She caught up to him in seconds - his dramatic stomping had already slowed and he came to a stop at the edge of the lake.  

“You’re in a bad mood,” she commented flatly, stepping up next to him.

“Of course I’m in a bad mood! That slimy git Lucas Davis just cornered you in a dark hallway and tried to intimidate you! He could’ve-”

“It’s not just that though,” she interrupted. She did not want to talk about Davis. “You’re still upset about what Peter said at breakfast, aren’t you?”

“I’m not upset.” he said sullenly

“Fine, annoyed then.”

He gave a non-commital grunt in response.

“Come on then Black, unload your little tantrum on me so you start smiling again.”

“Oh it’s Black now is it? That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend only gets to be called Sirius when he’s not sulking.”

He gasped in mock outrage, dramatically clutching his chest, “I do not sulk!”

She couldn’t help the giggle that he drew out of her, “Oh please, if there was a sulking competition, I think you’d at least take home silver.”

“Who’d get gold?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Snivellus, of course.” she quipped. He let out a sudden bark of laughter, his head tipping back to expose the long column of his throat. She felt herself blush and looked down at her feet, even as the rumble of his laugh travelled through her, sending the butterflies in her stomach fluttering away. When Sirius quietened, she gently bumped his shoulder with her own. 

“So,” she pressed, “which part of what Peter said pissed you off so much?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius sighed, “it’s just that… well… I know that everyone sees me as this immature guy who sleeps around and never really gets serious about anyone-”

“That’s not true!” 

He fixed her with a look. “Just the other night you said that I have a ‘reputation for fucking anything that moves’.” 

She opened her mouth to say that she had never really meant it, but he rambled on, “Most of the time it doesn’t bother me, really, but…” Sirius trailed off, staring across the lake. She just waited, content to let him sort out his thoughts before voicing them.

Suddenly, he turned to her, his eyes immediately focusing on her own. “I could be serious, you know.” 

She laughed nervously, trying to dispel some of the tension, even as she felt herself completely frozen by his intense stare. “You’re always Sirius,” she said, and was rewarded by the smallest uptick in the corner of his mouth. “I mean,” he murmured, taking a step closer, “I could commit to a relationship - a real relationship.” 

She felt the words like a stab to the gut. A real relationship. She knew, of course, that Sirius was capable of commitment - in fact, if the last couple of days were anything to go by, she could confidently say he would make a wonderful boyfriend. But that was just it - the last couple of days weren’t real. Maybe he just wanted to prove he could do it, or practice with low stakes, or maybe it really was as simple as doing a favour for a friend. But the fact remained that she wasn’t actually dating Sirius Black. Soon, Lucas Davis would take the hint and this charade would end, and then she might be forced to watch as Sirius committed to a real relationship. The thought made her feel ill.

“Yeah I know,” she said quietly. “Anyway, let’s go - it’s almost lunch and I don’t want to miss it.”

She turned and immediately started back up the slope towards the castle. Sirius followed, silently slipping his hand in hers.

*****

Lunch consisted of avoiding looking at Sirius, trying not to think about snogging him, and silently reminding herself that their relationship wasn’t real - which was made especially hard by his constant presence at her side and frequent smiles aimed only at her. Luckily, his attention was soon captured by Remus, who seemed to have spent the entirety of last period coming up with an ingenious new prank that she was sure she wanted no part in.

Unfortunately, this meant that she had no choice but to talk to her best friends, dormmates and relentless busybodies, Marlene, Mary and Lily. All of them seemed to be desperate to talk about her ‘relationship’ with Sirius, indicated by their less-than-subtle hints, but none more so than her red-haired best friend. 

It was a miracle that she made it to her next class - Potions - before Lily dropped the attempts at subtlety and began her outright ambush. 

“Alright,” she began, as they waited for Slughorn to come bustling down the corridor, “out with it.”

She thought about playing dumb, but knew it would only make a Lily Evans inquisition that much worse. It was time to summon some Gryffindor bravery and come clean. “You were right,” she confessed with a sigh, “Sirius and I kissed, and now I think I’ve made a terrible mistake with this whole ‘fake dating’ thing, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Woah, woah, woah, back up a step!” Lily squealed, “You kissed!?”

She groaned, her head hitting the stone wall behind her with a thump. “We only did it to send a message to Davis - who, by the way, has escalated from irritating to downright scary - but it was so good,” she continued, “seriously Lils, no one has ever kissed me like that before!”

Lily nodded for her to continue.

“And now every time he so much as looks at me, I feel like I’m going insane!” she whined. “I really thought I could handle this, and everything would just go back to normal afterwards, but I can’t help wishing it could be like this all the time. I can’t help thinking about what it would be like to date him for real.”

The pity she read in Lily’s face made her feel even worse. “For what it’s worth, I think Sirius really likes you,” she said softly, “But we both know he isn’t one for commitment. He’s never dated anyone seriously, and seems to have his attention on a new girl every week. Can you really imagine him changing?”

She paused. Despite his reputation as something of a ladies man, Sirius had never actually gone out with that many girls - he was just a flirt. In fact, although many girls had made their preference for his rugged good looks and bad-boy persona known, he hadn’t shown genuine interest in any that she knew of. But she couldn’t help feel that this was different somehow. He even seemed desperate to convince her that he could be in a proper relationship.

“Look,” Lily said sympathetically, “all I’m saying is that you should figure out where his head is with all of this. Maybe he is feeling the same way you are, or maybe it hasn’t even crossed his mind. But first you should also figure out what you are really feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, anyone could get caught up in playing the perfect couple. Maybe you’re only questioning all this because the kiss made you realise you’re attracted to him, and you’ve liked all the nice things he’s been doing for you lately. That doesn’t mean you suddenly want to get married and have his babies.”

She snorted, her mood lifting. Lily was right of course, as always. She was getting ahead of herself, thinking that a couple of days of hand-holding and one really good kiss meant she was suddenly falling for Sirius Black, a boy she’d known since she was eleven. Maybe she was just enjoying playing ‘girlfriend’ after being single for so long. Maybe she was just really fucking horny and Sirius was a fantastic kisser. Although deep down, she thought it had to be bigger than that.

“So what’s going on with you and James?” she asked Lily with a suggestive smile.

Lily startled, like a deer in headlights, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on, you think you get to ask me about Sirius without any consequences? It’s your turn to spill the beans!”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re on about. There’s nothing to ‘spill’!”

“Puh-lease! You think I haven’t noticed that you no longer come to quidditch training just to watch me anymore? Or that you haven’t started laughing at a certain someone’s jokes?”

Lily spluttered, her eyes darting frantically around the corridor for a distraction, but none came. Even Slughorn couldn’t save her - he was notorious for being late to class.

“I don’t- I’m not- you’re being ridiculous!” she finally got out.

“Relax, Lily. It’s me. You like James, don’t you?”

Lily dropped her head into her hands. “I think I might be starting to!” she cried.

Suppressing a grin, she slung an arm around her friends’ shoulder, guiding her into the classroom as their professor finally arrived. “Look at us,” she said affectionately, “who would’ve thought we’d be such a mess over idiots like the marauders!”

*****

Over the next few days, she constantly dwelled on her conversation with Lily. Did she really have feelings for Sirius, or was she just enjoying the intimacy of a relationship? Was he looking at her differently, or was he just as unaffected as ever? 

Unfortunately, with every gentle touch and kind deed, she was becoming more confused, not less. It didn’t help that more kisses had followed the first - although none as passionate and all-consuming as the one in the corridor. It had started when her and Sirius had gone to Hogsmeade with the rest of their friends. When the girls had separated from the marauders to do some shopping on their own, they had stood awkwardly as Peter and Dorcas snogged goodbye next to them, before Sirius suddenly leant down to press his lips to hers. But that was just out of necessity, right? They couldn’t have simply parted with a casual, platonic hug in the middle of a village filled with nosy Hogwarts students - they had to do what a real couple would do. After that it became standard for Sirius to greet her with a quick peck when she came down for breakfast, or for her to spontaneously kiss him when they separated for class. And if she did it simply because she didn’t like how a girl further down the hallway was eyeing him hopefully? Well, she was just playing her role as a jealous girlfriend. Sirius was doing the same after all - anytime they caught sight of Davis he would hold her tighter, brush his lips to her temple or use a french term of endearment that would make her blush right down to her toes. 

Still, she had made no headway in sorting out her muddled thoughts when a week later, she found herself walking to the library after dinner with Sirius as he recounted why he received his most recent detention. “It’s not like I even meant to make it explode,” he was saying as they passed the ancient librarian, “I just thought it’d make a small fire.”

“Why did you want to make a fire in the first place?” she asked, shaking her head with fond exasperation. 

“Why not?” he shot back with a lopsided grin. She didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, moving to place her books on their usual table. It was in plain view of the library doors, which they’d chosen when they first started their ‘relationship’, as a stage on which to act out their new dynamic. But Sirius kept walking further into the stacks, smoothly swiping her books off the table as he went. “I can’t focus with all the people walking in and out,” he said over his shoulder. Puzzled, she followed him to the very back of the library, where it was much quieter, and watched him take a seat at a table that was almost completely hidden inside a large alcove. Students rarely ventured this far, as it was surrounded by mostly out of date titles and reference texts. “Since when do you actually need to focus?” she asked as she settled into the seat opposite him. Their study dates usually consisted of her trying to work while he tried his best to distract her. While Sirius was undeniably brilliant, he rarely studied or did his homework. Instead he relied on his natural abilities to skate by in any assessments. She used to find it annoying, but lately she couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Remus is sick again. James usually does his homework when he’s in the hospital wing but he’s been really stressed recently so I told him I’d do it. Besides,” he snickered, “I thought he could use the opportunity to flirt with Lily without an audience. Maybe he’ll actually try talking to her instead of making an ass of himself.”

She laughed quietly. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

They worked in silence for a while, and she lost herself in an essay on the use of unicorn hair in potion-making. Every now and then she would look up, expecting to find Sirius looking lazily out the window, or making creations out of spare parchment. Instead he was laser-focused, although he did occasionally catch her eye with a smile. At some point, sick of their legs accidentally hitting each other under the table, he casually lifted her feet into his lap, ignoring her questioning look and lightly stroking his thumb over her ankle. That kind of thing was common when they sat at their usual table surrounded by other students, but here there was no one to even see it. She mentally shook herself and directed her attention back to the books in front of her. Since when was she the distracted one?

An hour later, head aching and fingers cramping, she sighed, tapping her quill on the table as she looked over at Sirius again. His tongue was sticking out slightly as he bent over the parchment in front of him, his brow furrowed in a look of rare concentration. He seemed to be copying out his notes for Remus, translating his own messy scribbles into elegant, legible paragraphs. Her heart clenched at his thoughtfullness. “Why did you agree to this?” she asked suddenly.

He rolled his eyes playfully, “I do go to the library sometimes, you know.”

“No, not to coming here. I meant why did you agree to this-” she glanced around, ensuring they were really alone, “-fake relationship.”

Sirius slowly raised his eyes to hers. “You asked me,” he said with a shrug, as though it were that simple.

“You didn’t want to though, did you? That night in the common room, you were going to say no.” She recalled how he had tried to get her to choose Remus or James instead; how he had walked away and she genuinely thought he wasn’t going to do it.

“I didn’t want to,” he admitted, and she tried to ignore the way her stomach dropped, “but then he came in and you just… froze. All it took was one word from him and you went tense all over. I hated seeing you so uncomfortable. I just couldn’t stand it.”

Those pesky butterflies were back, erupting in her stomach and clogging up her throat. “Thank you,” she breathed.

His gaze softened. “Anytime, ma chérie.” Sirius looked like he was about to say something else, but he looked at his watch and winced. “I gotta go give these to Rem before the hospital wing visiting hours finish for the night.” He stood up, gently placing her feet back on the ground and gathering his things before rounding the table to stand next to her. “I’ll see you later,” he whispered, before ducking down to kiss her, his free hand grasping the back of her neck. It wasn’t until he was long gone that she realised there was no one else there to see them. No one to perform for. No reason to pretend. It was just them.

*****

She sat in the library for another ten minutes, her lips buzzing and her thoughts running faster than a hippogriff. She thought again about what Lily had said. Figure out what you are really feeling. 

She had been an idiot. She hadn’t got caught up in the feeling of someone doting on her - she’d gotten caught up in the feeling of Sirius doting on her. Talking to him, touching him, kissing him - all of it felt so good because it was Sirius. She had always been attracted to him; This whole fake relationship had just made her see beyond his handsome, outgoing, arrogant exterior to the genuine, kindhearted person underneath. The person who made her laugh and buttered her toast the way she liked because he payed attention to those he cared about. 

She was falling for Sirius Black, and if she was honest with herself, she had been falling for a while now - since before he had even agreed to this whole stunt.

She had to tell him.

*****

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she raced through the near-empty hallways. She had checked the hospital wing, the common room, even the kitchens, but there was no sign of Sirius. Suddenly, she remembered him telling her about the astronomy tower - and how he often went there when he needed to get away from his friends for a moment to himself. Panting, she skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs, the breeze from the open balcony a relief against her flushed cheeks. 

There he was. He was standing with his back to her, his posture relaxed as he casually leant over the railing, the wind whipping his hair around his face. He turned as her footsteps stopped, and she sucked in a breath at the sight. He was so handsome with that mischievous smirk and those alluring grey eyes, flickering in the soft glow of the torches. His tie was undone, shirt rumpled, but she thought he had never looked more lovely.

“I need you to be my boyfriend,” she blurted, repeating the same words that had started this whole mess.

He blinked. “What?” 

She took a deep breath, summoning all the gryffindor courage she could. “I need you to be my boyfriend,” she repeated, taking a decisive step forward. “Not as an act, or a performance, or a way to get Lucas Davis off my back. I need you to be my boyfriend, because… well, because I want you to be my boyfriend. And because I can’t go back to being friends now that I have real feelings for you.”

Her admission hung in the air between them, echoing into the night. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, as she stood there, waiting for Sirius to react.

And then he was striding forwards, large steps eating away the space between them in mere moments. He stopped directly in front of her, chest to chest, his eyes flitting over her face as though memorising it. He watched her for all of a second before reaching up to hold her face delicately between his palms and finally leaning forward to capture her lips with his own. She returned the kiss eagerly, grasping the ends of his unfastened tie and using them to pull him even closer. He smiled onto her lips and she mirrored it, their noses brushing when they eventually pulled away, still grinning.

“I can’t believe James was right,” Sirius muttered to himself.

“Right about what?”

He sighed, but the smile on his face didn’t waver. “You remember how I said at first I didn’t want to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

She nodded, her brow furrowing.

“Well, it was because I spent the last two years crushing on you so bad I could barely think about anything else. James and the rest of the marauders knew, of course - it’s why I could never properly date anyone, although I tried flirting with other girls in the hopes that I could force myself to move on from you.” He leaned forward again to kiss her firmly, just because he could. “But I figured that pretending to be in a relationship with you would be too hard. It’d be like getting everything I wanted only for it to be ripped away whenever you decided you didn’t need my help anymore.

“That night, after I agreed to fake it, James found me practically tearing my hair out. He told me that I was looking at it all wrong and that this was my chance to see if you could like me back.”

She chuckled as she looked up him. “I won’t tell him he was right, if you won’t,” she whispered.

His grey eyes were alight and his face was so open - so happy - it made her chest tighten. She felt so safe in his warm arms as they stood entwined, high above the twinkling castle, surrounded by shadowed mountains. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Sirius Black.”

“I’ve already fallen, mon amour.”

[superpowereddonut]

The BEST fic I've read recently! Literally felt my 16-year-old self possess me as I stayed up until 3am to read the last instalment.

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? SERIES MASTERLIST

─────── · · STATUS: COMPLETED 2/19!

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You and Azriel have been best friends for centuries.

So when he found someone new, a female named Selene, you wanted to be happy for him. But something felt… off. And when you finally voiced your concerns, it didn’t go the way you expected.

An emotional argument. A messy fallout. And now, Azriel is doing everything he can to make things right. But something between you has changed—something unspoken and impossible to ignore.

Overview: friends to lovers, miscommunication trope, some grudge holding and petty remarks, angst , groveling az, some serious yearning and longing, inner circle & friendship dynamics. HEA! check specific part warnings for more!

♥︎ Part One ┃5k

Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

♥︎ Part Two┃5.2k

You and Azriel are struggling with the aftermath of your heated argument. Unfortunately, you both cope in very different ways.

♥︎ Part Three┃8.5k

Azriel’s attempts at an apology fall short, Cassian’s advice backfires, and confrontations force both you and Azriel to face uncomfortable truths—though not the same ones.

♥︎ Part Four┃7.3k+

You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

♥︎ Part Five┃7k

A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

♥︎ Part Six┃12.6k

The night of the gratitude banquet arrives. Your life will never be the same after it.

Final Word Count: 45,665 

Bonus Content:

Coming soon

Asks, Discussions, and Thoughts: #awsf? tag!

Art:

Adrin Selene

taglists are currently full♥︎

[superpowereddonut]

Favour for a Friend (Sirius Black x Reader) - Part 3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader (No use of Y/N or a name)

A/N: set at Hogwarts, fake dating trope

Warnings: Male character verbally intimidating reader

Word count: 1892

Read Part 1 here. Read part 2 here. Read part 4 here.

*****

The following morning at breakfast, she once again sat next to Sirius, who just gave her a sleepy smile and wordlessly filled her goblet with orange juice. Her heart fluttered at the sight, and she couldn’t have stopped her answering grin if she wanted to. His silken black hair was loose, reaching his shoulders in messy waves that - unlike James’ - managed to look charming rather than unruly. His storm-grey eyes had brightened when he looked at her, though they were still slightly clouded by tiredness. He had never been a morning person. She fondly remembered a time during their third year when James had tried to convince all of the marauders to try out for the Gryffindor quidditch team and Sirius had waxed poetic about his love of lie-ins and vehement hate for anything that disturbed them. She let her gaze wander, taking in his rumpled shirt, loosely-done tie, and the heavy silver signet ring he wore on his left pinky - glinting slightly in the morning sunlight as he spread a thin layer of honey on a piece of toast and placed it carefully on her plate. She blinked, snapping her gaze back to his face in surprise. He just winked back at her. “How did you know I liked honey on toast?” She asked. 

He shrugged, “You’ve had the same breakfast everyday since first year. You’re a creature of habit.” His tone was casual but she noted a slight pink tint to his cheeks. She bit back another smile as she turned to her plate, feeling her own cheeks heat. Sirius knew her well enough to make her favourite breakfast? He had even taken the care to cut the corners off, obviously having noticed that she never ate them. She felt her chest tighten as she realised that he had been paying so much attention to her, even though until yesterday they had been sitting two seats apart. 

She took a bite of the toast, relishing the sweet honey coating her tongue as she looked up, only to freeze as she met Lily’s sharp stare from across the table. It was obvious from her pointed expression that Lily had witnessed the entire interaction - and clearly had something to say about it. Luckily she was spared any shrewd remarks as James’ voice suddenly cut through the morning chatter,“Wormtail! How nice of you to finally remember that your friends exist!”. Peter smiled good-naturedly as he strode towards their group and sat on the other side of Sirius. “Morning all,” he called down the table, ignoring James’ comment.

Remus smirked at him, “Oh come on Wormtail, you can’t disappear for three days and then act like nothing happened!”

“I didn’t disappear! I’ve been in class!” Peter cried indignantly.

“And yet outside of class we haven’t seen you at all, mate,” James pointed out. 

“I’ve been… busy.” 

“Yeah, busy trailing after Dorcas like a lovesick puppy,” Sirius sniggered.

Peter whipped around to glare at him. “You’re just jealous of our relationship!” he said pompously, “It isn’t my fault I’ve found someone who loves me while you're still stuck in your immature bachelor phase!”

She felt, rather than saw, Sirius stiffen as the words seem to find their mark. Despite his swaggering demeanor, she knew Sirius was always better at dishing out snark than receiving it, - especially from his friends. “Au contraire, my pathetic, infatuated friend,” Sirius drawled, swinging an arm around her shoulders, “I’m in an incredibly mature relationship with our very own Gryffindor prefect.” She leaned forward then to catch Peter’s eye, wincing apologetically. To his credit, while quick to lash out, Peter was also quick to move on, and Sirius’ announcement had seemed to distract him from his defensiveness immediately. “Really?” He asked, mouth agape, “You two are dating?”. She looked to Sirius, but he didn’t seem inclined to explain the ‘fake’ aspect of their relationship, still stung by Peter’s earlier remark. Peter seemed to take her silence as confirmation though, and a large smile lit up his round face. “Well congratulations!” he exclaimed earnestly, “Though I must say, it’s about time. You two have been dancing around each other for ages.” Sirius was taut as a bowstring beside her, and she shifted uncomfortably. A quick glance around the table showed that their friends were all in varying states of surprised amusement, particularly Remus, who caught her eye and grinned. Peter, however, ploughed on, oblivious to the tension around him as he began helping himself to tea. “I mean, we all knew it would happen sooner or later, but I for one doubted Sirius’ ability to - well - be serious, if you’ll pardon the pun.” 

Sirius had begun to look a bit panicked, and she thought for a second that he might actually hit Peter just to get him to shut-up, but before he could, James - possibly thinking the same thing - smoothly cut in, redirecting Peter by asking whether he would be taking Dorcas to Hogsmeade that weekend. She loosed a breath as the conversation shifted and flowed around her, before looking up at Sirius. She nudged him gently with her elbow and he blinked, turning toward her. “You okay?” she asked quietly, “You know Peter, he’s always completely ridiculous with that imagination of his. Last week I heard him bragging to Dorcas that he’d come face to face with a real werewolf in the forbidden forest.”

Her words didn’t seem to comfort him much, and he remained moody through breakfast. She reached up to where his arm was still draped over her shoulder and absentmindedly played with his fingers, alternating between twisting his signet ring and running her thumb along his. She could feel Lily’s gaze like a brand on the side of her face, but ignored her and focused instead on the tension slowly melting out of Sirius as she fiddled with his hand.

*****

After breakfast, she hadn’t seen much of Sirius, as he had a double period of transfiguration while she had divination. But he had still walked her all the way to her classroom on the opposite side of the castle from his own, and carried her books the entire way. She had been grateful that he had seemed lost in his own thoughts, or he might have noticed the way she kept sneaking glances at him throughout their trek up and down the moving staircases. She was certain Lily would’ve noticed and probably tried to talk to her about it, but thankfully her best friend had headed straight to her own class in the dungeons. She was putting off that lecture as long as possible.

After being choked by thick, perfumed fog in the divination classroom for the better part of two hours, nothing sounded better than spending her free period in the sunshine by the black lake. So, while her classmates hurried off to the library or their next class, she ducked behind a tapestry to take her favourite shortcut to the grounds. Before she could even get outside, however, a brash voice echoed through the corridor behind her. 

“Hiya sweetheart! Bin hopin’ to run into ya!” She bit back a groan and turned around, her teeth grinding together at the sight of Lucas Davis swaggering down the hallway toward her. 

“What do you want?” she ground out. 

He tsked. “Aww come on gorgeous, that’s no way to say hello. I feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages.” It had been less than 48 hours since he had last harassed her. But up until then, his passing comments in the hallways between classes and imposing presence in any moment of peace had been near-constant. Honestly, she should have been expecting him to corner her soon, but with Sirius flirting and doting on her, Davis had slipped her mind completely.

“I’ve been busy,” she dismissed, “you know, spending time with my boyfriend and all.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw but he continued smiling confidently, moving even closer, “Yes I’ve seen Black glued to your side recently.” He made a show of looking around the empty hallway. “But I ain’t seeing your overprotective shadow now.” 

She backed up a step, but he didn’t seem to notice, still striding forward. His intense gaze was now locked on her like a predator sizing up prey, and she fought the urge to pull out her wand. “Yeah, well, he’s meeting me here soon,” she bluffed, “and he’d be pretty pissed off to see you talking to me, so I suggest you clear off before he gets here.” 

Davis just scoffed, now crowding her against the stone wall behind her. He was too close, barely a foot away, and her every muscle locked up as dread settled in her gut.

“Just because you have a boyfriend now, don’t mean we can’t be friends.” he crooned, his voice dropping into what he probably thought was a seductive tone. It made her skin crawl.

“I’m not interested in being friends with you, Davis, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made that abundantly clear. I’m dating Sirius, and that’s that.” He simply continued leering down at her in that predatory way. God it’s like he can’t even hear me, she thought, patience waning. She sucked in a deep breath and pushed him backwards.

“I. Don’t. Want. You.” she clipped. 

His cocky grin was replaced by a look of pure rage and she felt her heart jump to her throat. Up until now she had always been careful not to piss Davis off, always keeping her rejections just shy of harsh. Some part of her had known that underneath all that ego, he had a darker fury that she didn’t want to tempt.

“Listen here you little-”

“There you are, mon cœur!” a booming voice cut through the moment, making Davis jump back as though burned. “I’ve been waiting for you outside!”

Relief swept through her so suddenly she could’ve wept. There was Sirius, strutting towards them from the other end of the hall, dark eyes fixed on her. His charming grin turned sharp as he looked at Davis but she didn’t even spare the creep a glance as she rushed to Sirius’ waiting arms. As she reached him, one of his hands immediately sought out her waist and the other settled gently on her cheek. He leaned forward ever-so-slowly, his eyes darting between hers as though searching for a hint of doubt. Finding none, he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers. She melted into the kiss without hesitation, sighing slightly when he pulled her more firmly into him. He used the opportunity to sweep his tongue into her mouth, and she went boneless, barely aware of her hands reaching up to thread through his silky black hair and scratch lightly at his scalp. A deep groan rumbled through his chest at the movement, and the sound had goosebumps appearing all over her skin. Everything beyond Sirius faded away, until there was only his warm body and his mouth, tender against her own. When they finally separated, Sirius’ pupils were blown wide and he was breathing hard, air hitting her aching lips with every harsh exhale. “I thought the situation called for it.” He rasped, low enough that she would have missed it if he hadn’t practically said it against her mouth.

“Definitely.” She breathed.

They turned in unison to where Davis had been standing, but the hallway was now completely empty.

[superpowereddonut]

THE ENDING??? HOLY FUCK IM GONNA BE HAUNTED BY THIS ONE FOR A WHILE

loved the writing though hahaha <3

𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: each of you—especially spencer—knew that the words let's split up never ended well. yet, they still escaped his lips, something he would regret for the rest of his days. now, held captive, you must decide whether to place your hope in being rescued by the team or to start a psychological game with the unsub and escape on your own.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x bau!female reader, kidnapping, psychological and physical torture, captivity, bloodletting, reader attempting to commit s (to end their suffering), split narrative, performing a ritual, mention of sexual abuse, everything being broadcasted live by the unsub, incestous relationship, sad but not tragic ending

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

𝐚/𝐧: i admit, there’s not much romance in this, and yep, probably the freakiest shit i've written so far. a slightly modified request from an anon—really hope you like it. i hate how i described this investigation. please overlook the absolute lack of logic at times (especially in the beginning) (in my defense i've never kidnapped anyone lol). oh, almost forgot, happy valentine's day (to those who celebrate) <3

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/ˌmetəˈmɔːfəsɪs/ a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one

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You took a step back when your friend threw herself at you with a joyful squeal, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Happy, happy birthday, my dearest!" Penelope exclaimed.

"My dearest?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. A wide smile stretched across your face as you remained in her firm embrace, breathing in the pleasant scent of her sweet perfume. "Wait till Morgan hears that..."

"I heard," a deep voice sounded behind you. "But just for today, I'll let it slide. Happy birthday, kid."

Turning around, you spotted Morgan and Prentiss stepping out of the office elevator, each holding an identical cup of coffee. Both had smiles on their faces, and both pulled you into tight hugs while Garcia and Rossi were providing a cappella, completely off-key performance of Happy Birthday 

In seconds your hands were full—two gift bags and a box, and you hadn’t even managed to take off your coat yet. You thanked everyone with genuine warmth and gratitude but didn’t want to drag out the moment too long. It was still morning before work officially started, and you were already running later than usual. JJ had practically begged you to stop by first thing because your godson, Henry, simply couldn’t wait to give you his gift and wish you a happy birthday.

Either way, you had already been hugged by everyone—except…

“Come back in five minutes,” Hotch instructed the two of you, nodding at the rest of the team. “We need to get started on the case.”

And just like that, you and Reid were left alone—a surprisingly thoughtful decision from your boss. You were just friends, of course. Just like the rest of the team…okay, maybe a little closer than that.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, watching with a soft smile as Garcia’s massive gift nearly slipped from your grasp. True to his word, he carefully took it from you and placed it on your desk with the kind of caution usually reserved for handling evidence.

“Are you doing this because you’re an altruist,” you teased, “or because you’re afraid Pen would murder you if her present got damaged on your watch?”

“Why do you assume she’d only murder me?”

“Because I have a birthday,” you said matter-of-factly. “It’s weird to hurt someone on their birthday, don’t you think? Pretty sure even savoir vivre has something to say about that.”

Reid let out a short laugh, but whatever he was about to say next seemed to get caught in his throat. Under different circumstances, he probably would have kept talking, but time wasn’t on your side. In five minutes, you’d both have to return to a world filled with kidnappings, murders, and violence.

“So…” he started, briefly glancing down at his shoes before slowly reaching into the pocket of his blazer. “Oh—first and foremost, happy birthday. I know you’ve already heard that about a hundred times today, but…”

“But not from you.”

“Happy birthday,” he exhaled, almost nervously.

You frowned slightly, wondering why he seemed so worked up over this.

“Sorry, I just…I spent a lot of time trying to figure out if you’d like this gift, and I really wanted to see your reaction. So much so that I kind of forgot to actually say happy birthday.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Anyway, I hope that…”

He stopped short at the look on your face.

For a moment, you just stared at what he was holding, lips slightly parted, completely silent. Then, slowly, a delighted smile spread across your face.

“You hope I’ll like it?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “Tickets to Heathers? Spence, of course I love it! You know how much I love musicals, and oh my god, I wanted to see this so badly…”

You opened your arms to hug him—but then hesitated.

You knew he was one of those people who tended to avoid physical contact, and his comfort had always been your priority. Even after all these years of friendship, you had only truly hugged a handful of times. And by truly, you meant something more than the brief, passing embraces that came with birthdays or other celebrations.

Spencer caught your gaze, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something. But instead, he simply gave a small nod—and wrapped his arms around you. The corners of your lips lifted again—though, honestly, you weren’t sure they’d ever really dropped. Not that he could see it, not with your hands resting against the fabric of his sweater and his chin lightly hovering over your shoulder.

You let out a soft sigh as you pulled away, reluctant but aware that time was chasing you both. Besides, you had something to show him.

There was a quiet tension in the air as you slowly stepped back, just barely out of his arms. Spencer watched intently as you reached into your coat pocket.

“Henry gave me this this morning,” you said, handing him the homemade card your godson had made. A small, knowing smile tugged at Spencer’s lips even before he took it, his gaze dropping to the stick figure that was supposed to be you. “He said I’m his favorite aunt in the whole world,” you added, a playful lilt in your voice. “But I’m not supposed to tell Uncle Spence because it might make him sad.”

He placed a dramatic hand on his chest, his eyes flickering between the card and you, back and forth.

"That would have really hurt my feelings," he began, "if he hadn't told me the exact same thing on my birthday."

You burst into laughter. With a small nod, you gestured that you should head back to the rest of the team. Walking side by side, you made your way in the right direction.

"Should we tell JJ that there's a little liar growing up under her roof?" you asked along the way.

"Well, the lying phase is actually a natural stage of child development," he mused. "A lack of distinction between fantasy and reality, a desire to please adults—there are various reasons. So I think we can spare her that particular worry. At least he's empathetic."

You had already reached the door to the briefing room, but before either of you could grab the handle, Spencer stepped forward slightly, stopping you in your tracks. You looked at him, a bit surprised by the gesture.

"And by the way..." he began, his tone drastically different from the one you'd been using just moments ago. You saw him swallow, carefully choosing his words. "Are...are you okay? The case we're working on...it seems to be affecting you a lot. You have dark circles under your eyes."

You had the urge to scoff defensively and sarcastically thank him for the compliment. You probably would have with anyone else—but with him, you never felt the need to hide your worries. It was easier to admit to them. Easier, but not easy.

You took a deep breath, lowering your gaze as you nodded.

"I just really want to catch these people," you admitted quietly, truthfully. "It's been going on for too long. They've hurt too many girls..." You clenched your eyes shut, avoiding his gaze, which was filled with concern. You nodded toward the door in front of you. "Come on."

He watched you for a brief moment before sighing and stepping aside to let you go first.

Soon all of you were seated around the long table, noses buried in the case files. Penelope was briefing you on a new discovery related to the case you were working on—the one that, as Reid had noted, had been keeping you up at night. She kept her gaze averted from the image on the screen, never able to handle such sights well. And the body of a young woman, drained of every last drop of blood, was particularly disturbing.

"Just like in the previous cases, abandoned seven days after the abduction," she announced, clasping her hands at stomach level. "I’ve been tracking them—I mean, really staring at my screen for hours, even more than usual—but our twins haven’t streamed a single broadcast since then."

"We've entered the transition phase," Hotch said quietly, though his rough voice, as always, carried enough weight to reach even you and Reid, seated farthest from him. "Their ritual failed. They disposed of the body and now need time to prepare for the next one. Restocking supplies, medications, medical equipment."

"This is when we should strike," Prentiss said, leaning both elbows on the table. "They're out of their hideout, likely making transactions, meeting with suppliers. It's all illegal, of course, but the underground market, or at least part of it is under our surveillance…"

This case was difficult.

Usually, you followed a certain pattern. First, there was the crime. Then, piece by piece, you uncovered the missing fragments of a complex puzzle, eventually identifying the unsub. Or unsubs, as in this case. When dealing with an abduction, the final step was typically locating the victim’s holding site.

And that was exactly where you were stuck—on this fucking last step—for yet another week.

In the meantime, one of the unsubs had launched a career as a streamer, broadcasting their actions—at least fragments of them—on the dark web. The streams started at irregular hours, lasted for inconsistent amounts of time, and seemed almost spontaneous. He had to believe that he would attract psychos like himself and his sister—people who would be fascinated by the process.

As strange as it sounded, moving the crime online had actually filled you with a twisted sense of hope.

You thought it would make everything simple. Garcia would trace their location, or maybe, by watching the streams, you’d catch some clue that would lead you right to them.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

He only ever showed you that one room—a space resembling a hospital ward that could have been anywhere. It could have been hidden in the basement of any house in the country, inside some abandoned warehouse, on a remote farm miles away from civilization. Anywhere.

The only thing that had changed was that now you could see the victims' faces. You could watch the hope drain from their eyes as they realized no one was coming to save them.

And that thought drove you to madness.

How you even uncovered their identities and names was an even more complicated story. It all started with an offhand theory Reid had muttered under his breath—one that no one had paid much attention to at first, but which later escalated into the truth.

You had already known there were two unsubs. Their names were Lavinia and Leon Schuyler—thirty-three-year-old twins. Well, technically, triplets.

Piecing together fragments of their lives, you discovered they had another sister, Lydia. The three of them had spent their childhood deeply bonded, drifting from one dysfunctional foster home to another. Since the third sibling wasn’t involved in their crimes, you concluded she had recently died. That theory was reinforced by the fact that their victims all resembled her—and that during the streams, Leon addressed them by one name Lydia.

And, once again, through analysis, you realized what all of this was leading to.

The twins believed they could bring their sister back to life.

You had all of this. But until you had their location, it was as if you had nothing at all.

"Prentiss is right," Derek announced, his hand tightening around his coffee cup. "Our best chance is to track them now, while they’re searching for their next victim. Because we all agree there will be another, right?"

He wasn’t looking for confirmation—everyone knew cases like this didn’t just end.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "That’s our job for today," he began. "Not just today—we keep looking until we find them. We need to reach out to our informants, track down their supplier for drugs and medical equipment. And we need to pinpoint the location where the transaction might take place."

With a quiet sigh, you rubbed your forehead, fully aware that the next few hours would be pure informational chaos. But you were completely prepared to dive into it—anything to finally bring this case, the one that had been keeping you up at night, to an end.

In a perfect scenario, that would happen before another victim was taken.

♊︎

"Guess this isn’t how you planned to spend your birthday evening?" Reid asked.

With your hands resting on the steering wheel, you gave a small shrug. He might not have even seen the gesture in the dimly lit car, the empty road ahead reflecting the brief flashes of headlights cutting through the night.

"I wasn't in the mood to celebrate anyway," you admitted.

Under different circumstances, you might have let your teammates drag you to a bar or invited them over, picking up a cheap cake from the first bakery you passed on the way home. But from the moment you came across the information about a human blood sale taking place that night in an abandoned ruin—once a shopping mall—you all knew there would be no chance to catch your breath anytime soon.

You were almost certain that the twins would be one of the parties involved in the transaction.

At first, it filled you with doubt. Human blood? Why would they need to buy it when they were kidnapping all these women for that very purpose? Every body had been drained of it—whatever ritual they believed they were performing revolved entirely around blood.

"Maybe it's a form of experimentation," Reid had tried to explain a few hours earlier at the office, his furrowed gaze fixed on the board cluttered with all the data you'd been compiling. He paused, thinking. "Our unsubs are deeply delusional. They believe their actions will bring their sister back to life. So far, they've tried twice and failed. But instead of admitting that what they're doing is utterly irrational and illogical—because, of course, a blood transfusion into a dead body won't resurrect it—they'd rather blame the process itself, look for errors in their methods. Buying blood allows them to practice, to refine their approach without wasting what they truly desire—the blood of their victims."

"Actually, the fact that I'll finally get to see Heathers soon totally makes up for having to do... this on my birthday," you added after a moment of silence, gesturing toward your bulletproof vest.

Spencer didn’t respond—he was listening intently to Hotch’s voice coming through the car radio. A brief summary of what was unfolding at the ambush site.

You had your doubts about it, ones you kept to yourself. This was your best shot; you had to believe it would work. There hadn’t been enough time to prepare. You didn’t even have up-to-date blueprints of the place.

The abandoned building was in such a state of decay that most people driving past probably had no idea it had once been a shopping mall. The floor was coated in dust and shards of shattered storefront glass. Water from a leaking roof had seeped into the walls, leaving behind dark stains. Plastic tables from the long-defunct food court lay overturned and filthy. From what you’d managed to gather, a lot of people from the local underworld—mostly dealers—had passed through here at least once in their careers.

You didn’t feel that you were properly prepared, nor did you like your role in all of this. Your job was to circle the area in an unmarked car, providing backup in case your unsub somehow managed to slip away. That meant you had no direct view of the ambush and had to rely entirely on the descriptions and updates from your teammates. So far, though, no one had shown up.

"Hm, Spence?" you suddenly said into the space between you, a little uncertain. You kept your eyes on the road as you drove, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head questioningly. You fell silent for a moment, trying to keep your tone casual. "I got two tickets from you…and, you know, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to, well…see it with me?"

You had no idea why you suddenly felt so tense. After all, you were friends, and friends went places together sometimes. Just the two of them.

"Are you sure?" Reid asked, making you shift in surprise. Was he going to say no? He quickly added, "I mean, I don’t want you to think I expected you to invite me just because I gave you the tickets…It’s a gift, and if you’d rather take someone else, a friend or…"

"I want to take you," you interrupted, shifting your gaze to him.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the glint of your eyes visible in the dark car. Spencer gave a small, gentle smile.

"She's here. Alone. We're waiting in position until she goes inside," Morgan's voice informed you.

You both straightened up, as if brought back down to earth. The sense of satisfaction, even excitement, that had grown within you after he agreed suddenly took a backseat. You remained silent, listening for further instructions. Sitting there in the car, you felt utterly useless. She’s here. Just Lavinia? What about her brother? Did she come alone? Had they suspected something was off and decided not to risk being caught together? Your breath caught in your chest for several long minutes, stretching into a quarter of an hour.

“Fuck” 

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Fuck! She got away. She was alone, and she still managed to slip through…there must be a hidden exit in the warehouse…”

Reid brought the radio to his lips.

“We’re nearby—we might be able to catch her. Did she come on foot? If so, her car could be parked somewhere close, maybe with her brother waiting. She’s probably heading straight there.” A faint crease formed between his brows, the mark of complete focus. “Garcia, you got me? Check the maps. Find anywhere they might have stopped…”

“How the fuck did she slip through?” you hissed under your breath, your heart hammering against your bulletproof vest.

You weren’t there—you had no right to judge. But for god’s sake, it was one woman against a trained FBI team!

“Guys, I think I’ve got something!” Penelope’s tense whisper crackled through the radio. “An abandoned parking lot, I’ll guide you there…”

You shoved your anger and confusion aside for the moment, yanking the wheel sharply as you turned toward the location Garcia had given. Cracks in the concrete had been overtaken by tufts of grass, something you noticed the moment you stepped out of the car, the door slamming shut behind you. It was nighttime, and darkness sprawled between the trees ahead, swallowing up what little visibility you had. The entire area was unlit, making it hard to see much—except for the single parked car standing out in the gloom.

You and Reid didn’t need to discuss your next move. A brief exchange of glances was enough—a silent reminder to stay cautious. Weapons drawn, you approached the vehicle from opposite sides, moving in sync without a word. You expected to see the face of the man you had been staring at endlessly over the past few days of the investigation. You hoped to find him in the driver’s seat, to yank him out with a firm pull, slam him against the hood, and cuff his wrists as his face met the cold metal.

But the car’s interior was empty.

“Damn it,” you muttered, lowering your gun. “Is this even their car? Maybe we came here for nothing…”

“Let’s find out,” Reid murmured, scanning the area cautiously before tugging on the surprisingly unlocked front door. His brows lifted—he seemed just as surprised as you.

You circled around the vehicle to join him on the same side, resting a hand on the open door as you watched him pull on a pair of gloves. He reached for the glove compartment, likely expecting to find some documents inside.

“Nothing,” he sighed after a long moment, disappointment lacing his voice.

He turned his face toward you, his tense jaw easing as he parted his lips to say something else. 

Then everything was drowned out by the sharp crack of gunfire. One shot. Then another. Bullets slammed into the hood of the car with a metallic clang.

It all happened too fast.

You spun around, your flashlight beam cutting through the darkness—and landing on her. Blonde hair wild around her face, cheeks flushed from a desperate sprint.

Her gun was raised. Her finger tight on the trigger.

And you.

Most of your body shielded behind the open car door.

Most of it.

But not your head.

Then—Reid’s hands gripping your waist. Yanking you down.

The bullet shattered the window, glass exploding around you. Instinctively, you both ducked, heads low as sharp fragments rained down.

Curled up together, arms tangled, you locked eyes—both of you breathing hard, lips parted in shock. It had only been seconds, but in his gaze, that raw flash of fear stretched endlessly.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of his vest, gripping onto the solid warmth of his body as the world tilted. The ringing in your ears was deafening, the gunshot echoing in your skull, stretching time unbearably—like a warning of the next shot to come.

But it didn’t.

And when another second passed. Then another—

You moved.

Ignoring Reid’s sharp inhale, his hand reaching to hold you back, you pushed up onto your feet. The flashlight beam managed to catch Lavinia for a brief moment before she disappeared entirely into the stretch of trees between you. You couldn't let her escape and make it back to their hideout, the one you had been struggling to locate for so long.

Following her trail, you shot across the parking lot like an arrow. Reid was a fraction slower to react, but he wasn’t about to let you go after her alone. You could hear his footsteps behind you as you ran forward with determination, nearly tripping more than once over scattered rocks and branches along the forest path. You knew the flashlight was giving away your position, but you kept it on, scanning the surroundings for one of the unsubs.

It was as if she had vanished into thin air. As if the trees had swallowed her whole, even though the narrow, mostly overgrown path led only forward. You stopped, desperately looking around. You had no idea how far you had run, but your breath had become uneven, despite your excellent physical condition as an FBI agent.  You couldn't accept the fact that she had slipped away from you twice, that she would soon meet up with her brother and together start planning the abduction of another victim…

Reid's hands reached for yours to turn off the flashlight you were clutching. In one moment, his face was right in front of yours, perfectly lit with squinted eyes, and in the next, it disappeared. You could still sense his presence just in front of you, his heavy breathing when he spoke.

"We have to..." he started in a slightly hoarse, quiet voice.

"We have to catch her," you interrupted through clenched teeth. You pulled away, moving forward again, but then he grabbed your wrist tightly.

"This is pointless," he replied, to which you immediately snorted in response. You wanted to argue, but then his finger landed on your lips, stopping you from speaking. "It's pointless for both of us to chase her like this," he explained, finally calming his breath. "Give me the flashlight, I'll go on alone. You head back to the car and take the other route. The forest is small; she'll have to come out on the other side soon. And above all, notify the team about everything."

His hand pulled back only after he finished explaining the plan. At that point, you no longer had the desire to protest. Everything he said made sense, even though something deep inside you screamed that you shouldn’t split up. You ignored it and forced yourself to nod. You handed him your flashlight and, after a last exchange of glances, you jogged back.

“Spence,” you turned suddenly after taking only a couple of steps. He also looked at you, clearly surprised. “Be careful.”

 Reid nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured you. “Be careful too. We’ll meet up in a bit.”

It was only when you were running back to the car that you realized just how far your pursuit had gone. Anxiety clung to your back and didn’t let go, even as you emerged from between the gnarly trees. You gripped your gun tightly and tucked it back into your waistband as you sat behind the wheel of your car, not even pausing to catch your breath. Without hesitation, you leaned over to the radio, but before you could get a word out, something flashed in the corner of your eye.

You froze at the sight of the gun aimed at the driver’s side window.

You didn’t even fully turn to the side, you didn’t wait. You knew what was expected of you. With slow, almost rigid movements, you opened the door and stepped outside. You dragged out the process, analyzing the stance of the man, the second of your unsub suspects. He wasn’t a tall man, and after reviewing his history, you knew he had no significant experience with weapons or combat skills you had mastered long ago.

You almost smiled when you managed to use the element of surprise, grabbing his hand and redirecting the gun to the side. The shot rang out.

Leon Schuyler hissed with satisfaction, as if he had expected it all along. Then, before you could slam your knee into his groin, another sound escaped his lips. It was possible you had misheard it, but it sounded very much like a goodnight.

And after that, a sharp needle of a syringe pierced your neck with precision.

♊︎

It wasn’t until morning that Spencer began to grasp what had actually happened.

And even then, not fully. He felt as if he were blankly staring at the script of a play—one whose plot and themes filled him with such deep discomfort that he wanted nothing more than to leave the theater without so much as murmuring an apology to the people he passed. Yet at the same time, his entire body was nailed to that rough seat, his head immobilized, unable to look away. He wanted to run onto the stage and shout, enough, to put an end to it all—but he had no such power.

Who did?

The ambush for the twins had been set around midnight. About an hour later, they had both taken off after the fleeing woman. Then they had split up.

He didn’t remember much after that—not until five in the morning, when the entire team finally stopped scouring the area, clinging to the desperate hope that they might stumble upon the unsub by sheer accident. For the first time, Spencer felt so detached from the passage of time that even when he looked at his watch, the position of the hands made no real sense to him.

Hotch had announced that they needed to return to the office. To regroup. To think carefully about their next move.

They were the first to arrive—Spencer trailing behind Hotch more like a shadow than an actual participant in events. Others followed, one by one. Shaken. Furious. Devastated. But most of all, still bewildered, still unable to accept what had happened.

The sun had begun to rise, but even that seemed slower than usual, reluctant to banish the wretched darkness still clinging to these walls.

Spencer realized he was staring blankly out the window instead of using his so-called genius to find a solution. His mind felt empty, and the shame of it hit him like a physical blow, followed by something even more tangible.

A pair of hands shoved against his chest, forcing him backward.

“JJ…”

Derek was between them in an instant, stepping in to hold her back.

She froze, staring at her own hands as if surprised by what they had just done. Then she clenched them tightly across her chest, her gaze locked onto Spencer, raw and overflowing with emotion.

“How could you…how could you even suggest splitting up?” Her voice trembled, her head shaking in disbelief. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. She had been the last to arrive, the one who stayed out searching the longest—desperate, frantic, chasing down any possible lead that could tell her where they had taken her best friend, the godmother of her son. “You know this never ends well, Spencer. You know that. You should have known that…”

"Enough" Emily appeared beside them, gently wrapping her arms around JJ’s shoulders.

JJ slumped, a single tear glistening in her eye for the first time.

"This isn’t helping," Emily said softly. "We need to focus on finding her as quickly as possible. They… they don’t kill their victims. Not right away. We still have a chance…"

"They don’t kill their victims," JJ repeated blankly, wiping her eye with a stiff movement. She didn’t look at any of them. "They just keep them locked up for days, drain their blood, and throw them away like garbage."

She took a breath.

"I need to see Penelope."

She tore herself from Emily’s grasp and walked away without looking back.

Her words lingered, filling the space, stretching the silence into something unbearable.

Spencer felt like he might throw up if he even tried to swallow

By accident, his gaze met Emily’s. Her brown eyes were surprisingly gentle.

He looked away.

Facing JJ’s fury had been easier—it was just a fraction of the hatred he felt toward himself. But he couldn’t stand any attempt to soften just how badly he had fucked up. He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, before realizing just how meaningless it would be. What would his apology change? The only thing he could do at that moment was pull himself together and find her.

“I need to focus,” he said, his throat so dry the words barely made it out. He wanted to leave the room, to be back among the case files, to lose himself in analysis and overlapping thought patterns, to check everything—literally everything.

But then Penelope appeared in the doorway, the color drained completely from her face.

“Guys, you need to see this…” she choked out.

For a second, everyone froze—until, led by Spencer, they rushed toward her office.

"Just like in the previous cases, I can’t trace this transmission," Penelope explained frantically, nearly running beside him on her high heels. They burst into the dimly lit room full of screens, where JJ was already inside—motionless. She was biting her thumb, staring at one of the monitors in a trance. "They’re using satellite internet, masking the signal, and constantly jumping between servers..."

Behind them, Prentiss let out a strangled sound.

The whole thing was being streamed via a handheld camera, mostly fixed on one point—the face of their teammate. It seemed to be set down on something, maybe a table, because if someone were holding it, the frame would be shaking.

Hotch stepped in as close as possible, his eyes shutting for a brief moment. He was reliving it all over again. Once more, one of them had been taken, and the rest were forced to watch, helpless.

But if Tobias Hankel had left behind anything remotely useful, it was that they knew how to handle this.

Silently, painfully, they all gathered around Garcia, absorbing the footage—no, the live feed.

"Is recording this really fucking necessary?" a woman's voice snapped—it belonged to Lavinia.

Spencer's mind flickered with the image of her face—those empty green eyes staring down the barrel of a gun aimed directly at them. Her brow furrowed. She had no visible injuries on her face. She was lying on a stark white bed, the kind that looked like it belonged in a hospital, covered by an equally white blanket up to her waist. She wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest anymore—just a loose nightgown that ended at her elbows. Her eyes were half-lidded, blinking slowly—probably just waking up.

"We already talked about this. It is," her brother replied. "What are you doing?"

Lavinia stepped into the frame. They weren’t wearing masks, weren’t bothering to hide their identities—fully aware that law enforcement already knew their names.

One of her hands clamped down on the captive’s, pulling it toward her with little care before pricking the tip of one finger.

Confusion rippled through everyone watching. Spencer might have rushed to explain if not for the fact that he couldn’t force a single word out. He couldn��t even look away.

"I'm checking her blood type, what else?" she scoffed. "You kidnapped her without running it by me, and you should know that if this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her."

"Pay attention to the way they speak to each other," Hotch started, bracing a hand against the desk. "There's tension—some kind of conflict…"

"Hotch," Spencer cut in, his eyes shut tightly. Nausea churned in his stomach. Keeping his eyes closed was the only way to stay on his feet.

Lavinia's words pounded against his skull on repeat. If this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her.

"…That's a good thing. It means they're less coordinated, and it's more likely they'll make a mistake..."

"Hotch," he tried again.

This time, it was almost a plea.

"…We should—"

"She’s AB Rh+."

Hotch finally turned to look at him. So did the rest.

They froze—silent, motionless—not because they didn’t understand what it meant, but because they refused to accept it.

AB Rh+, a blood type that could only be transfused to someone with the same.

All the previous victims had type A blood.

I’m not wasting our time on her.

Prentiss sank into the nearest chair, as if her knees had simply given out beneath her.

So this was how it was going to end?

Before they could do anything to help her? Before he could even come up with a single idea on how to save her?

A single tear slipped down Penelope’s cheek. She didn’t even try to wipe it away.

“Let me check,” Leon, the male unsub, suddenly offered. “Go turn the heat up. Even I’m cold, and I’ve got a jacket on.”

His sister hesitated for a moment before she agreed.

Spencer finally opened his eyes—not to torture himself with the helplessness on his colleagues’ faces, but to force his gaze onto the screen. He fixed his eyes on her half-conscious face, searching for any sign of understanding. Did she get it? Had she already connected the dots?

Breathing started to hurt.

He wanted so badly to apologize. It wouldn’t fix anything, but maybe—maybe—it would dull the ache.

Him. Spencer Reid. And his stupid idea to split up.

He had sent her back to the car.

He had sent her to die.

That thought was dangerous, but maybe it was a good thing that the end was so close. That she wouldn’t have to endure days of suffering, uncertainty, and fear. He knew that feeling. He knew it all too well—praying for his own death when the pain became unbearable when fear and exhaustion drained the last of his strength. He didn’t want her to go through that.

He didn’t want her to go through any of this.

But that…that especially.

"And?" Lavinia returned to the room after a long moment.

"Well, what can I say? I’ve got a good eye," her brother said lightly. "O Rh-, a universal donor. We couldn’t have asked for a better match. You know what this means? That this time, we might finally succeed."

Everyone exchanged glances, utterly confused.

“Spencer…” JJ looked at him for the first time since their argument. “You said…you yourself said that she—”

“Because she is,” he interrupted. “He lied.”

Prentiss snapped her head up, a spark of hope flickering in her eyes. Spencer didn’t share her optimism. He did feel some relief, that much was true. But he was painfully aware that this wasn’t over. The nightmare was only beginning, and it was up to them to end it—before it was too late.

♊︎

You were afraid to be afraid. 

Absurd—you were well aware of that. But ever since you woke up in that hospital-like room, hooked up to an EEG and an IV, with a pulse oximeter clipped to your finger, your thoughts had focused solely on one thing. Not panicking. Calmness gave you a sense of control. Of course, you had none whatsoever—you were entirely at the mercy of two lunatics who believed they could bring someone back to life. But if they could be delusional, then so could you.

You knew this room from the recordings. For the longest time, you couldn’t determine where exactly it might be located. Was it a repurposed basement? A cabin in the middle of nowhere? Even now, being here in person, you couldn’t say for sure.

The moment you were left alone, you seized the opportunity to unhook yourself from all the machines and pressed your ear against the wall.

Once, your team had found a victim’s location by identifying the sound of a plane taking off in the background of a ransom call. You hoped for something similar to happen now. But you quickly realized the grey walls were lined with  soundproofing foam. The floor, covered in rubber, absorbed footsteps completely. You didn’t even hear anyone approaching until a flat palm struck you across the face so hard that you collapsed back onto the bed.

Lavinia was ridiculously strong.

“If you get up without permission again, I’ll cuff you to the damn bed,” she said, tossing a bottle of water onto the mattress beside you. “Drink. You’ll get food when you do something for me.” 

"As if I have anywhere to run," you muttered under your breath, reluctantly reaching for the water. "What do you want me to do? What time is it?"

Every time one of the twins visited you, you asked for the time. You needed to know how long you had been there. But with the constant doses of sedatives they were giving you, you couldn’t even estimate it.

Deep inside, you felt like it had been no more than a day.

The others had been kept for seven days before…

You shook your head. You couldn’t think about the others if you wanted to hold on to what was left of your sanity.

“Good night,” Lavinia muttered, messing with the IV drip.

“But you said I had to do something…” You frowned in confusion.

The blonde shrugged. She was wearing a green coat with fur on the hood. Both she and her brother always came to see you dressed warmly, even though the temperature in your little prison was relatively comfortable.

They had changed you into a thin nightgown that ended just above your knees and at your elbows, but curled up under the blanket, you were relatively warm.

That led you to one conclusion—wherever you were, the rest of the building wasn’t as well-heated. It was cold enough that they needed extra layers.

Whatever was in the IV worked.

You woke up on the floor. And freezing. Oh God, it was so cold. Your entire body immediately started shaking.

When you tried to push yourself up at your own sluggish pace, someone simply yanked you upright, like pulling a vegetable from the ground. You hissed in pain, instinctively trying to push the woman away, but all that did was earn you another hit.

Lavinia didn’t hold back.

The previous victims hadn’t been beaten this badly, so you assumed she particularly disliked the fact that her brother had chosen to kidnap you.

Leon, unlike her, didn’t hit you.

He just kept shoving the camera in your face.

Honestly, you preferred a busted lip and bruises over the fact that your team was seeing what was happening to you.

That awareness hurt a thousand times more than any torture ever could.

You managed to take a look around this new room before you were shoved toward the bed.

Unlike yours, it didn’t look like a mad doctor’s operating room but rather an ordinary, slightly old-fashioned bedroom. Dark wooden floors, a wardrobe with ornate handles in the corner, no windows—just like your room. Bottle-green walls.

Your gaze finally fell on the bed, and you barely managed to choke back a scream.

Suddenly, you understood why it was so unbearably cold in the room.

In front of you lay the body of a woman, her eyes closed, but her face was so unnaturally blue that you could never have believed she was merely sleeping. If not for the fact that she had been dead for—what you estimated to be—several weeks, she would have been identical to Lavinia.

Only after the initial shock of the sight wore off did her name come back to you.

Lydia.

The last of the triplets. The one who had died. The one they were trying to bring back with their…ritual.

As an FBI agent and profiler, you were accustomed to seeing dead bodies—but this one unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite rationalize.

Lavinia approached the corpse and smiled down at it with an affection so genuine, so reverent, that it sent a shiver down your spine. It was the kind of smile only mothers gave their children. Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lydia’s cold, gray cheek.

The dead woman’s short blonde hair fanned out across the pillow like a halo. Her hands were folded neatly atop the blanket, eerily reminiscent of someone in prayer. You were shaking, and it probably wasn’t just because of the cold.

"From now on, you will take care of our sister twice a day," Lavinia began, opening the drawer of the bedside table. She took out a hair comb, a bottle of some liquid, and a silk cloth. "Brush her hair and wipe her body."

As she spoke, she demonstratively rolled up one of Lydia’s sleeves. She was dressed in a nightgown similar to yours, but with lace at the collar and long sleeves reaching down to her wrists. You couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sight of her exposed skin. You were trembling too much from the cold for Lavinia to notice.

Lydia’s veins were dark. The blood transfusions into her lifeless body had caused it to clot. Small lumps had formed where the blood had thickened, and her arms were covered in scars and puncture marks.

“W-why do I have to do this?” you asked, clenching your teeth to stop them from chattering.

Lavinia shrugged as she wiped her sister’s skin with the cloth.

“Someone has to take care of her,” she said. “By doing this, you’re building a bond with her. Here, try it. Just be gentle.”

For a moment, you just stared at her. You were now certain—absolutely certain—that both Lavinia and Leon had crossed the threshold of madness and were living in a world where logic held no place.

Her gaze hardened as she shoved the cloth into your hands. It almost slipped from your trembling fingers.

You looked down at the body and hesitantly wiped its surface…a violent gag reflex hit you so hard that you staggered.

You heard a contemptuous scoff.

“If you throw up on her, you have no idea what I’ll do to you,” she warned.

This was sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Your breath caught in your chest—you couldn’t look at Lydia, laid out in bed as if merely asleep. Taking care of her as if she were alive. But another warning glance and the flash of a weapon beneath Lavinia’s coat forced you to keep going. You started wiping down each of her limbs, one by one.

She was a small woman, barely any weight to her, and yet it felt like the task stretched into eternity.

Sick, sick, sick.

When you were done, a comb was shoved into your hand. Its teeth were wide-set, meant to avoid damaging the delicate hair of a corpse. Lavinia kept hissing softer through gritted teeth every few seconds.

Sick.

You forced yourself to set the comb down calmly instead of flinging it away like it burned you. Following instructions, you reached for Lydia’s hands, gently folding them back into the same position as before. As you did, your gaze lingered on her wrists for a long, drawn-out moment. The deep, jagged wounds. So that’s how she died? Suicide?

Lavinia stabbed you with a syringe.

♊︎

You lay in bed, your body still trembling.

You weren’t cold anymore, yet you curled up under the blanket. Just as Lavinia had warned, she forced you to do it again a few hours later. Taking care of Lydia’s body now dictated when morning came and when night fell. Not once had you fallen asleep on your own—there were always the drugs, injected mostly when they needed to move you to another room. You wondered why you couldn’t just walk there yourself.

Not that you would have been able to sleep anyway. You made sure not to close your eyes. When you did, your mind conjured sick visions—of the corpse lying right beside you, feeding off your blood, slowly consuming you the way mold devours fresh fruit.

You were afraid to be afraid, yet fear was beginning to take hold of you.

You were still searching for a way out of all this… You knew the team was looking for you too, doing everything they could, but you couldn’t just sit and wait. You had to find a way to gain some sort of advantage over the unsubs. There was no use trying with Lavinia, but Leon…

He was the weaker link in this duo.

He had lied about your blood type, which meant he wanted to keep you here.

You heard him enter the room. They usually took turns coming to see you, rarely together. His arrival was always preceded by the small wheeled table carrying all the electronic equipment and streaming cables. If only Garcia could trace it…

“How are you feeling?” Leon asked, sitting on the edge of your bed, keeping his distance, the camera aimed directly at your face. You tried to turn your head so the bruise under your eye—courtesy of his sister—was out of view. A poor attempt. Your lip was swollen too. “You look weak. My sister told me to bring you something to eat, but… you know, Lydia is smaller than you.”

You raised your eyebrows. So what, was he planning to starve you until you resembled his sister’s corpse? You didn’t even try to understand it anymore. It wasn’t worth the effort for your exhausted mind. You didn’t answer, unsure of what you even should say. But you wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Why…why are you even recording all of this?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing directly into the camera. It was impossible that the whole team was watching the stream. You hoped as few of them as possible were seeing you like this. Especially not Penelope—she wasn’t built for this. Not JJ, your best friend. And definitely not Spencer.

On second thought, you didn’t want any of them to be watching.

Leon cleared his throat.

“Well, we’re doing something incredible. People want to see it. They’re curious if we’ll succeed.”

You’re doing something sick. Freaks want to watch it. They’re fascinated by it, you corrected him in your head.

“So, I have fans?” You tried to sound playful, friendly.

Leon was surprised by the warmth in your voice. Pleasantly surprised. His pale face, green eyes brightened slightly.

“Yes. I guess you do,” he admitted. He almost seemed shy, as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. “Can I…can I talk to you? Maybe they’d like to know something about you. The previous ones…the previous ones didn’t really want to say much. Mostly, they just screamed.”

You used all your strength not to flinch.

“Sure,” you replied, forcing a soft smile. It was just a game, a mask. You tried to observe the conversation from the outside, detached, clear-headed—while pretending you didn’t hate him. “What do you want to know?”

He didn’t move closer, but he shifted slightly to make sure the camera captured as much of you as possible.

“I know you’re a fed,” he began. “I even looked you up. I know your name. How old you are. But nowhere did it say what you like. You know, what you do. In your free time.”

You hesitated for a moment. You were kidnapped. If it were someone else in your position, you’d tell them to be as human as possible—honest, even. Make your captor see you as a person with feelings, desires, dreams.

So you took a breath and tried to answer truthfully, even though it hurt.

“I love musicals,” you finally said.

You thought about the two tickets—Spencer’s gift.

It hurt unbelievably much.

You prayed he wasn’t watching. That he wouldn’t hear this.

You told Leon a little about the last musical you had seen. It had been a long time—your job left you no time for such things. You looked him straight in the eyes as you spoke, because the sheer disgust you felt toward him was the only thing keeping your tears from spilling over. You felt so fragile, talking about something you loved to a man who, in just a few days, planned to drain you of blood.

You didn’t want to die like this. You refused to.

“Do you want kids?” he asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that you didn’t even have time to think.

"I guess…I guess so," you said.

But your surprised mind quickly sharpened, pulling up information from their biography. You knew that the twins' mother had died in childbirth. You didn't know what was driving him to ask this question, but you preferred to be cautious.

"I mean, no. I don’t know, actually. Maybe. To continue the species."

Or to have a loving family, but of course, you weren’t about to say something so personal out loud.

Leon remained still for a moment, then suddenly laughed. You pretended to laugh along, but you couldn’t stop the sharp flinch when he suddenly moved closer, touching your cheek with his hand. He lowered the camera—it was now pointing at the floor.

"You're so funny," he said with strange tenderness. "Just like Lydia. She…she was the same way."

For the first time, he referred to her in the past tense instead of the present. Was he starting to realize that she was gone?

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Another question.

"No."

"Have you ever loved someone?"

"What…what really happened to Lydia?"

The team had never found that out. But you had seen the wounds on her wrists and figured it out yourself. Still, you wanted to hear what he had to say about it. Because by now, you were starting to suspect.

"She passed away because of an illness," he said shortly, enigmatically, cutting off any further questions. Then, he repeated himself. "Have you ever loved?"

"In what way? Romantically, like a sibling, like family…?"

"It doesn’t matter."

Your posture became more alert, analytical. Leon withdrew his hand from your face, but he didn’t point the camera back at you, as if he had forgotten he was even holding it.

"Of course, I’ve loved," you said quietly. "And I still do. And you loved Lydia, right?"

The man nodded, a certain longing filling his green eyes.

"It’s late," he announced after a moment of silence. "I should go."

But before he even moved to stand, he leaned in. His lips brushed the top of your head, hesitant. You fought the urge to push him away. You had to keep up the act, continue this game. Wrap him around your finger, so that the very thought of hurting you would terrify him.

"Goodnight, Lydia."

♊︎

A certain force kept him bound to that chair, watching each broadcast over and over again.

He believed that, eventually, he would spot some previously overlooked detail—one that would immediately allow him to pinpoint the location. But in part, he also wanted to punish himself. Because what could hurt more than watching the face of one of the most important women in his life grow paler and more bruised with each passing moment?

A woman he himself had condemned to this fate.

But he didn’t stay in the office for another night just to drown in his own guilt. He was capable of multitasking, so while the weight of it pressed down on him, he poured everything that came to mind onto paper.

He noted the exact moments the streams began, measured their precise duration, wrote down every single word spoken, and searched for any hidden meaning.

Maybe, somewhere in one of those conversations, she had hidden a message meant for their team—a clue to help them find her.

Three days had passed. Logically, it made sense to assume they were following the same pattern as in previous cases. And that meant nearly half of their time was already gone.

Spencer kept thinking about Leon’s cryptic words—that his sister had supposedly died of an illness. He wondered if that was true or if the twins had chosen to live in denial. Maybe it was easier for them to accept that fate, a cruel and indifferent universe, had taken her—rather than the possibility that she had done it to herself.

He rubbed his tired eyes and let out a heavy sigh when he realized he was getting nowhere.

Garcia had allowed him to stay in her office alone—something that, under any other circumstances, would have gotten him killed. She hated when anyone touched her keyboard.

But time was relentlessly moving forward, and they all had to sleep at some point. Usually, only one or two of them were assigned to monitoring the broadcasts at a time, while the rest focused on other search efforts. They worked nonstop.

They had already experienced a moment of sheer terror at the very start, forced to confront the brutal reality that she could die. And they were determined not to let that happen.

Especially Spencer.

Not just because he owed it to her. It wasn’t only about guilt—the fact that he had been the one to suggest they split up. Even if he had nothing to do with her current situation, he would still be glued to this chair in the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the glow of the screens, a single desk lamp, and the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

Because she was his friend. Because she was an inseparable part of his life.

Because she was someone he could say, without a doubt, that he loved.

Whether that love was purely platonic or something more didn’t matter right now.

The only thing that mattered was the silent promise in his mind—that he would make sure they watched that musical together.

Hundreds of them, if she wanted.

He drank surprisingly little coffee. What kept him on his feet and his mind sharp weren’t the stimulants but the occasional glances at the drawing Henry had made—a gift she had left in the office, intending to take it home after work. To pin it to her fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Of course, Henry had no idea what had happened to the best aunt in the world. 

He drifted off in thought for a moment, only to be pulled back by movement on the screen.

The stream was starting.

Spencer immediately straightened in his seat, giving his cheek a light slap to wake himself up, to force himself into absolute focus.

Like every time, something clenched painfully in his chest.

He barely recognized her, even though the light in her room was on.

Several details hit him all at once.

First, the wound on her cheek—one that hadn’t been there before. Second, her hair. It had been cut to the exact same length Lydia’s had been in the photos he’d seen of her. The association filled his mind in an instant, vivid and unshakable. Third… the bandages wrapped around her wrists. Both of them. His hand shot toward his phone to alert the team, to wake everyone up. Or maybe someone else had already done it—he wasn’t entirely present in his own body.

But before he could move, before he could do anything at all, his breath caught in his throat. A thought began to scroll across his mind like a news ticker.

Metamorphosis had already begun.

♊︎

When Leon cut your hair, you took advantage of his momentary distraction—his mind entirely consumed by memories of his sister—and stole the scissors, slipping them under your pillow.

You wished you could say it was part of some greater plan. But in reality, you were exhausted, your strength fading more and more—not just physically, but mentally too. If your calculations were right, at least three days had passed. Twice a day, they drugged you and moved you to a room so cold that you lost all feeling in your limbs for hours, forced to care for a dead body. Staring into Lydia’s empty eyes, at the bluish veins beneath her lifeless skin, you couldn’t stop imagining yourself the same way—discarded by the roadside, drained of every last drop of blood.

You didn’t want to go like that. You wanted to go on your own terms.

You seized your chance that evening, when they left you alone without sedatives. You hesitated. But what if the team had finally tracked you down? What if they were already on their way? Wait or don’t wait? They would understand. You knew that. You were relieved that the camera hadn’t been on you 24/7. You had at least spared them from witnessing this, the desperation and terror slipping from your wrists along with your blood.

It was Leon who found you. He collapsed to his knees beside you, consumed by sheer panic, screaming Lydia’s name over and over, begging her not to leave him again. His cries alerted Lavinia. You had hoped that despite her medical experience as a nurse, she wouldn’t reach you in time.

You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting their faces to be the last thing you saw before death. With the last remnants of your strength, you struggled against their grasp as they tried to lift you from the floor.

Then, everything faded away.

"Leon, this is a waste of time."

The blurred words drifted into your consciousness, floating there like debris on the surface of water. You observed them with closed eyelids, seeing nothing, feeling little, barely understanding anything.

"She…maybe we should just get rid of her. Find a new one."

"We can’t," her brother responded firmly. You had never heard him speak in such a commanding tone before. "We can’t take that risk. They’re on our tail. Police…FBI. If we try again…this is our last chance. She is our last chance, and this time, it will work. I can feel it"

He paused.

"She’s just like Lydia."

His twin remained silent for a moment before letting out a weary, resigned sigh.

"I guess you're right," she finally replied. "I'll go refill the boat's fuel. Keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. And when she wakes up, take her to Lydia. They need to…they need to bond. A stronger bond. Right now, she's too weak."

"Be careful," her brother warned her gently.

You opened your eyes only after Lavinia left the room. The light stabbed at them painfully. For a moment, the helplessness consuming you was utterly devastating. You wanted to scream, to wail—it took everything in you not to beg the man to put you to sleep again. If even death couldn’t save you from this fate, then what could? 

Leon didn’t say a word to you. After a while, he simply helped you up, touching your body as if it were made of fragile porcelain, then guided you into the hallway, offering light support. You were weak, horribly weak, but the moment you left your room, a flicker of strength began to return.

For the first time, they allowed you to walk to Lydia on your own instead of carrying you there unconscious. That gave you a chance to take in your surroundings more clearly. You were so surprised by this newfound freedom that, for a moment, you forgot how unsteady your legs were.

You stepped into what seemed like a corridor. Instead of soundproof foam, the walls were lined with metal, rust creeping along some of the panels. The air carried a certain chill—not the biting cold of Lydia’s room, but something more natural, like a draft seeping through an imperfect structure. And then there was another sound, layered beneath the whisper of wind slipping through the cracks—a faint, steady noise.

Rushing water.

Leon kept leading you forward. You crossed a threshold, and that was when you saw it—an old window at the end of the corridor. Something inside you surged forward, an instinctual pull. You wanted—needed—to press yourself against the glass, to look outside, to at least see where you were. The unfamiliar sounds and the stark change in environment stirred something deep within you.

The will to survive.

You thought it had died back there, on the floor, when you miraculously lived. But it hadn’t. It had only been waiting.

Leon pulled you along more forcefully. For the first time, you thought about hurting him. He wasn’t as strong as his sister—if you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck at just the right angle…You were alone there, Lavnia had gone… You tried to recall her blurred words. Refill the fuel in the boat? A boat? So your intuition had been right—you were somewhere on the water.

You had done this so many times that he didn’t need to hand you the cloth or the comb; you already knew where to find them. As you opened the drawer, you could feel Leon’s gaze on your back. You moved slowly, hoping to find something sharp. Anything. Even the comb would do…

You turned around and saw Leon sitting on the table by the bed, his forehead resting on his sister’s lifeless hands.

A perfect opportunity. Perfect circumstances. He was distracted, not paying attention to you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t fully focused either. His sobbing…

"My beautiful Lydia," he wept softly into his sister’s body, burying his face in it as if hoping she would embrace him, stroke his head. "My dear Lydia. I loved her, you know. I love her."

You didn’t move, clutching the comb in your hands. You barely felt the cold, even though your body registered it perfectly, making you shiver. And although rage filled you—a wild, feral madness—you wanted to lunge at him. Yet somehow, you found a sense of calm, a sliver of reason.

You remembered your previous strategy. Leon, the weakest link.

Leaning in, you gently ran your fingers through his blond hair.

“I love you too,” you replied with difficulty.

The man stopped sobbing, remaining still for a moment. With a slow inhale, he straightened up, his wide-open eyes locking onto your face. A slight shiver ran down your spine.

It was possible that you had just made the worst mistake imaginable.

But there was no turning back now. You held his gaze, refusing to look away. You couldn’t tell what emotions were flickering behind his stare. Was it shock? Suddenly, he stood up abruptly. Instinctively, you flinched, raising your hands to shield yourself, bracing for the kind of blow his twin sister had delivered so many times before.

But it never came.

Instead, without a word, he simply turned on his heel and left. He didn’t call for you to follow. He didn’t say anything at all.  For a moment, you stood motionless before slowly setting the comb back onto the table. Your feet barely lifted off the ground as you moved toward the door, only to freeze once you reached it. Seconds passed. Then minutes.

You pushed it. And it opened.

A strange wave rolled through your chest.You were alone at the threshold of an open door. Alone on your own feet, not tethered to anything that could put you to sleep at a moment’s notice. You didn’t think long.

You ran.

The world spun violently from the sudden movement, your weak body barely managing to stop in time to avoid crashing into the window. Your heart pounded furiously, drowning out your thoughts.

You would regret it. In fact, you already did a second later.

Your gaze had barely locked onto the space outside the window when strong arms seized your clothes, yanking you back and slamming you to the ground. You landed hard on your elbow, too disoriented to even feel the pain. Lavinia stood over you, clad in a jacket, her hands clenched into fists. But before she could take a step toward you, her brother moved between you, shaking his head.

"Don't hurt her," he pleaded.

He reached out to touch her, but she slapped his hand away, redirecting her fury toward him instead.

"Don't hurt her?" she echoed mockingly. "And how else is she supposed to learn that she can't just go running off? Why did you even let her?"

"Sorry, it's my fault. I forgot to lock the door," he said.

You didn’t even care whether he was telling the truth. Your mind was spinning too much, especially as you tried to push yourself up.

"But she's our sister, and you can't keep hitting her."

At those words, both you and Lavinia froze.

You looked at her face—pure shock, trembling lips. You were surprised too, but… the corners of your mouth twitched. You masked it quickly, pretending there wasn’t even a trace of satisfaction in you. That your plan wasn’t starting to fall into place.

“Get her out of my sight,” Lavinia said coldly, her voice devoid of emotion.

You watched as Leon slowly stepped toward you, helping you to your feet. As he led you back to your room, you caught a glimpse of Lavinia hiding her face in her hands. You stayed silent for a long time, watching him carefully. It hit you—this was the first time you were with him when he didn’t have his camera.

Slowly, you sat down on the bed, waiting to see if he would sit next to you. And he did.

You swallowed. You couldn’t let yourself feel too confident yet—you still had to be careful, still had to watch every step you took.

“You defended me,” you noted gently.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked just as bewildered as you felt. You hoped he wasn’t starting to regret calling you that. You hoped his own delusions were wreaking havoc in his mind—to your advantage.

“Thank you,” you added.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. He straightened up, turning his head toward you. There was a strange devotion in his green eyes. “You’re my sister. Of course, I have to protect you.”

You nodded gently.

"I am your sister," you repeated clearly, locking eyes with him, willing these words to sink deep into his very core. "I am already your sister, Leon. Lydia. But… our other sister wants to hurt me."

As you spoke, you reached out your bandaged hand, lightly touching his arm. He stiffened under your touch, staring at you with growing astonishment. In fact, he looked almost in awe. As if you had just descended from the heavens. You took that as a good sign.

"You know what she wants to do to me. To drain my blood. How many days do I have left?"

His breathing grew heavier.

"Tomorrow," he answered. "Tomorrow at midnight."

"Tomorrow…" you trailed off, shaking your head. You forced panic to take hold of you. You must have been unconscious longer than you'd thought. "But I am already her. Can't you see?" You ran your fingers through your hair, smiling brightly. "We’re together again. We love each other again. And she wants to tear us apart."

You saw hesitation creeping onto his face, the subtle furrow of his brow betraying his uncertainty. You had forgotten—Lavinia was his sister too. He loved her as well. Turning him against her wouldn’t be that simple.

Swallowing your nerves, you spoke again.

"We have to convince her that I have truly become Lydia. But for that to happen…you know, there’s something still holding me back. An anchor. Two anchors, actually. They keep me from letting go of who I used to be."

He gazed at you with growing intrigue. A metaphor like that had to be especially stimulating for his deranged mind.

"What are these anchors?" he asked, a readiness in his voice, as if he was already prepared to rid you of them.

"One of them," you began slowly, carefully choosing your words—mostly because you hadn't fully thought this through yet. "One of them is…I need to say goodbye. One last farewell that will sever all ties to my previous life. I wish I could let go without it, but…Leon, I’m afraid it’s necessary. It’s holding me back against my will."

You could see him absorbing everything you were saying.

"Say goodbye…to whom?"

There were many names you could have given him. But you chose the one that would strike straight at his orphaned heart.

"To Mom. I don’t need to see her. Just…just a short phone call would be enough."

The silence between you was so heavy, you genuinely feared he might hear your heartbeat. And it was raging in your chest, pounding so fiercely that your limbs trembled. You waited. Everything depended on his answer.

Leon averted his gaze, staring blankly into the distance. You prayed you had reached him. That his desire to have Lydia back was strong enough.

"Tomorrow, I will bring you a phone. One that can't be traced," he finally said.

Okay, that was not part of the plan.

"But tomorrow, Lavinia will…"

"She won't," he cut you off. "I won’t let her… We’ll get rid of the anchor, and she’ll understand that you’re already here."

You could have argued, but you were too afraid of accidentally undoing everything you had achieved so far. So, you agreed. Even an untraceable call was better than nothing. Especially since, in that brief moment you had stood by the window, an idea had begun to form in your mind.

Leaning in, you pressed a grateful kiss to Leon’s cheek. He allowed himself a brief smile.

"And what is the second anchor?"

You told him.

♊︎

When you woke up, you knew it was morning.

Lavinia had dragged you to Lydia’s room the old way—while you were unconscious. At the same time, she had announced that this was the last time and that you had better start getting it right. So, you wiped the woman’s body with as much care as possible. For the first time, you were able to look directly into her eyes.

This was going to end soon.

She would finally end up in a grave, those two would be in prison, and you…

You tried not to fantasize too much. You had to stay focused.

You slowly combed through Lydia’s short hair. Time passed, but Lavinia did not return. You had grown somewhat accustomed to the fridge-like cold, but you had never stayed here longer than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. You waited for someone to come, but when the chill became unbearable, you approached the door and started pounding on it. Your frozen hands didn’t even register the pain.

"I’m still here!" you shouted.

Had they forgotten about you?

"And that’s where you’ll stay," Lavinia’s voice answered from the other side.

You frowned, hugging your trembling body.

"You’ll stay there until the ritual. I’ll come for you before midnight."

"But it’s morning!" you screamed.

No response.

You slammed your fists against the door again. Harder. Again and again, until blood coated your knuckles and your lungs burned from breathing in the freezing air. One moment, you had everything—a plan to keep yourself alive. The next, you doubted you’d survive the next few hours in this cold.

Had the previous victims gone through the same? Or were you the exception because Lavinia wanted to make sure you never made it out?

You paced around the room, hoping that movement would warm you up. Meanwhile, thoughts of hypothermia and its fatal consequences circled in your mind. You wavered between determination to survive and pure despair, convinced that you wouldn’t make it. You had no idea how many minutes had passed before your gaze landed on the wardrobe that had been standing in the corner of the room the entire time.

With almost blissful relief, you layered on piece after piece of clothing found inside. You knew you would make it until nightfall. 

What came next remained uncertain.

♊︎

Leon found you curled up inside the wardrobe, so accustomed to trembling that it felt like a natural state for your body.

“Come on, we have to hurry,” he said, offering his hand to help you out.

You clung to him tightly, as your legs refused to support you.

“What…where…Lavinia…the phone…” you mumbled, your frozen body unable to form coherent sentences.

“I have the phone, but we need to move fast. I got here just before her to give it to you. Come on.”

He led you out of the room. You turned your head toward Lydia lying on the bed, wondering if this was the last time you would see her.

When you were back in your own room, you wrapped yourself tightly in the blanket, leaving only your head and hand exposed—the hand in which Leon pressed the phone. Your body slowly began returning to its optimal temperature. You couldn’t believe this was really happening.

Leon crossed his arms over his chest. He had no intention of leaving you alone with the phone—he was going to listen to the call. But you were prepared for that possibility.

Instead of frantically dialing, you looked at him. He didn’t have his camera with him.

“Don’t you want to show… this moment to your fans?” Your voice still trembled slightly, your tongue struggling to cooperate. He frowned, not seeming to understand what you meant. You had always avoided the camera before. “Well, you k-know…the final moment before my complete metamorphosis. They’ve followed you for so long…I’d think they…they’d want to see it.”

"You're right. Absolutely right. Wait here."

Not that you had anywhere to go.

He returned, as always, pushing his small table along and clutching his camera in his hand. His fingers trembled slightly. Acting behind his sister’s back must have been stressing him out, but his desire to get Lydia back was too strong. At that moment, you were certain he would do whatever you told him to. With stiff fingers, you dialed the number twice before getting it right. You were calling your mother to say goodbye. That was the official version.

There weren’t many numbers you knew by heart, but Spencer’s was one of them.

Under Leon's watchful eye, you pressed the phone tightly against your ear to make sure he wouldn't hear a male voice—one that was definitely not maternal. The camera was aimed straight at your face, and you stared into it without blinking, as if challenging it to a contest of who would break first.

If the team wasn’t watching this, you might as well smash the phone against the floor.

"Hi, Mom," you said the moment the call connected.

You didn’t breathe. The fear of ruining everything made your throat tighten, and you swallowed hard against the lump. For a moment, there was only silence on the other end.

You didn’t look away from the camera, your senses sharpening from the sheer intensity of your focus. The adrenaline burning through you kept you warm.

Still, no response.

"Hi, sweetheart," a woman’s voice finally said—JJ’s voice.

Tears stung at your eyes, and you worried they would give you away in front of Leon. You made a mistake while blinking and you bit down hard on your tongue as punishment.

JJ was pretending to be your mother.

"I don't have much time, Mom," you began. "I'm just calling... just to ask how you're doing. Is everything okay?"

"Garcia, can you trace where this call is coming from?"

Spencer’s voice.

Another mistake.

Your next breath felt like choking, and you had to steady yourself. You needed to do one more thing—just in case this didn’t work.

"That's great," you threw in a random half-sentence to make the conversation sound real for Leon. "Uh-huh...I'm glad everything's fine. Yes, I'm okay too, don’t worry"

You fell silent for a second, too long. Leon raised an eyebrow. You were supposed to be saying goodbye.

"I...I...Mom, do you remember my favorite mug? The one you accidentally broke last time?"

You swallowed hard, never breaking eye contact with the camera. You couldn't come up with any other cover story besides the mug, so it had to be enough.

"I...I kinda yelled at you back then. Sorry. It was my favorite, but now I...I know it wasn’t your fault."

Your voice grew weaker as you spoke.

Don't cry, you warned yourself.

"It wasn’t your fault, Mom. Not your fault, S—Mom."

Terrified, you glanced at Leon, hoping he hadn't caught it. But he only waved his hand impatiently, urging you to hurry.

You swallowed hard, and before anyone on the team could say anything else, you spoke your final words.

"I love you. Goodbye."

Then you hung up.

For a moment, you stared at each other without moving, until he turned off the camera and you handed the phone back to him. Hearing their voices—possibly for the last time—tightened something in your chest, a pressure you struggled to release.

"Thank you, brother," you said softly. You nodded slightly, grounding yourself, pulling yourself back to the plan. You had to act, to keep moving before Lavinia returned. "You know what we have to do now, right?"

Leon nodded.

♊︎

“What was that about the mug?” Prentiss asked as the call ended.

JJ closed her eyes for a long moment. The rest of the team, gathered around the computer where the stream had played just moments ago, looked utterly confused.

“You think she was trying to send a message? A hidden clue?”

“Garcia, can you play it from the beginning?” Spencer cut in, leaning toward the screen.

The first time he watched it, emotions had taken control, clouding his focus. He had been stupid, so incredibly stupid. Most of his attention had latched onto the repeated words it’s not your fault which only deepened the devastation in his mind. But a small part of him had registered the way her eyes moved.

“Sure, just a sec…” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard, and soon the footage played again.

“Do you understand what she was trying to say?” Rossi asked.

Spencer shook his head. A rush of adrenaline, almost intoxicating, coursed through him.

“She didn’t hide a message in her words,” he explained, straightening up. His gaze darted around Garcia’s desk, searching for something to write with. He grabbed a notebook with a pink, glittery cover and a pencil topped with a fluffy pom-pom. “Look at the way she’s blinking. It’s Morse code.”

Everyone fixed their eyes on the screen, trying to see it for themselves.

Everyone except JJ.

She was looking at Spencer, no trace of anger in her expression—just hope.

Reid wrote down the message she had sent.

Oil rig.

♊︎

The cold was almost liberating.

You stood with Leon at the edge of the oil rig. Ever since you managed to reach the window, you'd been trying to figure out where they had kept you. The realization had come to you slowly. The sound of water surrounded you both, and the wind played with your freshly cut hair. It felt so good that, for a brief moment, you closed your eyes.

But only for a moment.

You couldn't celebrate victory when you hadn't won yet.

Your gaze shifted to the man beside you, then to Lydia’s body, wrapped in a bedsheet and lying just a few steps away. This was the last anchor—the one you had convinced him needed to go.

Lavinia would be back any second. It had to happen now.

Of course, it was never really about anchors. The whole story about your mother had been nothing more than a way to send a message—one you hoped your team had understood and was already acting on. And the one about Lydia? That was just to bring Leon to the edge of the oil rig. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said, nodding slightly and exhaling as his eyes lingered on his sister’s body.

You pushed him.

When you planned this, you hadn’t accounted for how weak you would be.

Leon staggered, yes—but he didn’t disappear beneath the waves. Instead, his hand caught the thin fabric of your nightgown, and with a short, startled yell, he yanked you both down onto the floor. 

You groaned as your body slammed against the hard surface.

“You… bitch,” he said, almost in despair, realizing you had been lying to him all along.

You kicked him in the face with your bare foot and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. He let out a sharp gasp of pain—you heard the crunch of his nose breaking—and for a fleeting second, you thought you were on the fast track to escape.

But then his hand clamped around your ankle, yanking you down again.

You let out a frustrated sound as his knee pinned you to the ground. You struggled to shove him off. He wasn’t like Lavinia, but he also wasn’t as weak as a starved woman who had spent nearly an entire day in a freezer.

Right. He wasn’t like her.

He was fucked up, but not enough. Not enough madness in him.

Your nails clawed blindly at his skin while your other hand fumbled against the surface, searching for anything. You felt like you could kill him with a feather if you had to. But you found something far more practical than a feather. 

A brick.

Leon collapsed when it struck his temple. But that wasn’t enough. With a pained breath, you pushed yourself up over him and swung again. You kept swinging, not caring that your fingers were sticky with blood and the brick was beginning to slip from your grip. You kept striking longer than necessary.

Leon had been dead for a while.

You threw the brick aside, gasping for air. Everything felt so unreal, so distant. For a moment, you closed your eyes, still kneeling over his motionless body. When you opened them, ready to face the sight before you, your gaze accidentally met someone else's.

Lavinia stood a few steps away, disbelief and slowly growing fury in her eyes.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, neither of you fully grasping what had just happened.

Then it hit her—you had killed her brother.

And it hit you—that you were absolutely screwed.

Well, that thought only truly settled in once she tackled you to the ground. Punch after punch rained down on your face, so relentless that you couldn’t think, couldn’t come up with an escape plan. Was there even one? Your hands fell limply to your sides, no longer attempting to fight back. The ends of her blonde hair mixed with yours, strands stained red from the blood streaming down your face.

When she stopped, for a brief moment, you thought you were dead.

You had always imagined death as a very quiet experience. Peaceful.

But instead, you could hear her ragged, frantic breathing, a sound almost like a sob, and barely intelligible words cutting through the air.

"I’ll finish this."

During your entire time in that place, she had always moved you from one location to another by knocking you out with sedatives first. But this time, it wasn’t necessary. Your body was so battered that all she had to do was grab you by the leg and drag you along, not caring that your skin scraped against the rough surface.

When your vision finally sharpened and you realized you were back in that same cursed room where it had all begun, for a moment, you thought the recent events had been nothing more than a dream.

But then—

One glance at your bloodstained hands.

One glance to the side, at the neighboring bed and the lifeless body of Lydia resting upon it.

One glance at the IV lines piercing the crooks of your elbows, the slow, steady flow of liquid passing through them.

Your blood.

The only thing that brought you solace was the slowly creeping realization that, at the very least, you had managed to say goodbye to those closest to you. They had seen your face, the raw pain and love in your eyes as you whispered your final goodbye. At least you had assured Spencer that none of this was his fault. You could only hope that, in time, he would start to believe it. At least partially.

You had long drifted off when the door to the room burst open with a bang. 

♊︎

She was saved by the fact that she was a universal recipient.

Still, by the time they found her—after Garcia had finally tracked down the illegally sold oil rig through a bankrupt extraction company—she was already weak. Very weak. So much so that the following hours were filled with even greater fear than the past few days.

She couldn’t slip away from them now that she had been rescued. Or rather, now that she had rescued herself. Spencer had no intention of taking credit—nor letting anyone else take credit—for her brilliant moves and meticulous plan.

He sat in the hospital corridor, while JJ rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. Her leg trembled, and with it, her entire body. Emily held her other hand tightly.

"Spence," she finally said. Her gaze had been fixed on the floor, and it took effort to lift it to him. But it was necessary for what she was about to say. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For how I reacted, for how I treated you these past few days."

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he just gave a small nod.

“She’s your friend. It’s normal that—”

“She’s your friend too. Ours. We should have been supporting each other this whole time instead of yelling at one another.”

“You were the one yelling.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. JJ opened her mouth but said nothing.He hadn’t meant to throw it in her face—he didn’t even feel angry. Back then, he had only cared about one thing. One person. But before he could add, retract, or clarify his words, a nurse approached them, informing them that someone could go inside. The entire team stirred in their seats, but only two people were allowed in at a time.

Spencer sat back down, nodding toward JJ and Emily.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Reid. Of course, it has to be you.”

Although he had been ready to step aside, a faint, grateful smile crossed his lips.

He followed JJ into the hospital room, his steps slowing as they approached her bed. Unpleasant flashbacks flooded his mind—seeing her like this on a screen, the helplessness that had gripped him then. It took him a moment to shake off the feeling, to ground himself in the realization that he was here now. That she was right in front of him.

A sudden chill of panic ran down his spine. What was he supposed to say to her? Was he even capable of opening his mouth without turning into a pathetic, guilt-ridden mess, mumbling endless apologies and self-deprecating confessions? JJ spoke first, sparing him from his spiraling thoughts. She started with something simple—a quiet whisper of her name.

She said it again, and slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. Spencer felt something tighten in his chest. A relief so immense it almost hurt.

She murmured something weakly.

Both he and JJ stepped closer, and this time, he was the one to say her name.

“Don’t call me that,” she rasped. Her eyes shut again, and she turned her head to the side, as if refusing to look at them. Shutting them out. “That’s not my name,” she whispered.

“I’m Lydia.”

post-reading author’s note:

if you survived reading such a long fic—CONGRATULATIONS and THANK YOU and also im SORRY. i know there wasn’t much reid not much of the team and honestly it had very little to do with canon—it was mostly just a product of my imagination. i hope you’re not disappointed.

if any topic in this fic triggered you, i apologize. i tried to include everything in the tw but i might have missed something.

[superpowereddonut]

social media has got twenty year old women thinking they have to be a "clean girl" at university with a morning routine and face masks and expensive water bottles and a 9pm bedtime. I am begging the world to let young women go through a crucial developmental stage of being disgusting messy little rats. for feminism.