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superpowereddonut · 2 months ago

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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

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superpowereddonut · 2 months ago

Text

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.

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.

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superpowereddonut · 2 months ago

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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.

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superpowereddonut · 2 months ago

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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

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superpowereddonut · 2 months ago

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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

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superpowereddonut · 2 months ago

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@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.”

#taglist

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superpowereddonut · 2 months ago

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Favour for a Friend (Sirius Black x Reader) - Part 4 (final part)

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 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-”

“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!”

To her surprise, James turned to her. “You should go talk to him,” he said softly, “he’ll listen to you.”

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.

“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’.”

Suddenly, he turned to her, his eyes immediately focusing on her own. “I could be serious, you know.”

“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.

*****

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.”

“Woah, woah, woah, back up a step!” Lily squealed, “You kissed!?”

Lily nodded for her to continue.

“What do you mean?”

“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.

*****

“Why did you want to make a fire in the first place?” she asked, shaking her head with fond exasperation.

She laughed quietly. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

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.

Those pesky butterflies were back, erupting in her stomach and clogging up her throat. “Thank you,” she breathed.

*****

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 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.

*****

“I need you to be my boyfriend,” she blurted, repeating the same words that had started this whole mess.

He blinked. “What?”

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.

“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.

She chuckled as she looked up him. “I won’t tell him he was right, if you won’t,” she whispered.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Sirius Black.”

“I’ve already fallen, mon amour.”

#harry potter #sirius black #fake dating #fluff #gryffindor #marauders #marauders era #sirius black x reader #gryffindor!reader #confessions #lily evans #james potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #mary macdonald #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #idiots in love #he fell first she fell harder

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superpowereddonut · 3 months ago

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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♥︎

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superpowereddonut · 3 months ago

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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.

#marauders #marauders era #harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans #peter pettigrew #gryffindor #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x female!reader #sirius black x gryffindor!reader #fluff #fake dating #angst

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superpowereddonut · 3 months ago

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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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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.

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superpowereddonut · 3 months ago

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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.

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superpowereddonut · 3 months ago

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Spencer's Star (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Hi! I was just re-watching Criminal Minds and had to write this short little drabble! Also, this is my first time experimenting with the use of 2nd person (ie. using 'you'), but I still didn't use Y/N. Please let me know what you think!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader / Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Episode: 5x13 'Risky Business' (end scene on the jet)

Warnings: Slight (canon) Spencer-targeted bullying by the team (but not from reader!)

Word count: 907

*****

It had been a good case. Well… good by BAU standards.

Since the team had arrived in the small rural county in Wyoming, there had been no further deaths and within only 48-hours they had caught the unsub - an EMT who goaded teenages into choking themselves to death through an online ‘game’. Still, despite the quick solve, the whole case had been disturbing. You wondered whether anyone else was still dwelling on the twisted man who had repeatedly choked his own son. Or if anyone but Hotch had noticed JJ’s seemingly personal stake in this case. Move on, you reminded yourself, tomorrow there will be another case, and then another, and another. You can’t afford to dwell on each one.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to focus on the present, just as Emily took out a wooden shape and placed it on the table between you. “What is that?” Spencer asked from the seat to your left.

"It’s called a star puzzle.” Emily replied, “It’s basically impossible to figure out.”

You watched with interest as she began to take it apart, and noted Spencer’s quick eyes tracking each of her movements. “You have to put all of the pieces back together to form a perfect star,” she explained, “but the origin of it is kind of a romantic tale.”

Emily began recounting the story, her voice soft and lilting. “There was this young prince who wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land. So, he climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and he caught a falling star for her.”

The whole plane seemed to be listening to Emily now - Rossi was watching from where he leant against the plane window next to her, and Penelope was hanging off her words as she carefully knitted what looked like a bright blue tea cosy. Even Derek, lounging on the seats behind you and Spencer, had taken off his headphones to hear better. But - as it so often did - your attention had moved to Spencer, who now had a slight crease in his brows.

“Unfortunately he was so excited that he dropped it and it smashed into all of these pieces…” Spencer reached out to pick up the now-separated pieces of the puzzle, his arm gently brushing yours as he moved. “...so, he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love for her,” Emily was saying, “and he succeeded, and they lived happily ever after.” You caught Penelope’s soft sigh from the back of the plane before Spencer spoke up, “That doesn’t make any sense.” He said, and you had to hide your smile at his adorably confused tone. “What do you mean?” Emily replied, now frowning as well.

“You can’t catch a falling star. It would burn up in the atmosphere.” It was becoming difficult to hide your fond amusement, and you almost had to physically sit on your hands to keep from reaching out to smooth his furrowed brow.

“Yeah but it’s not literal, Reid, it’s a fable.”

Spencer didn’t seem satisfied, “But there’s no moral. Fables have morals.”

“Okay, so it’s just a romantic little story,” Emily rebutted, growing exasperated, “The point is, it’s basically impossible to do because you have to take all of those pieces and fit them together exactly…”

You watched, transfixed, as Spencer’s long, nimble fingers worked quickly, slotting each piece together with precision before he gently set it down in front of you, once again in its complete shape.

“There’s a lot to hate about you Dr. Reid.” Emily said, sarcasm softening her harsh words. You heard Derek chuckle from behind you.

“Play poker with him sometime.” Rossi said with a quiet smile.

“Try playin chess with him.” Derek chimed in.

“Or Go” came Penelope’s voice from the back.

You rolled your eyes at the familiar teasing jabs, but your smile fell when you saw Spencer’s face. You knew that look. He was feeling insecure, running back over the entire interaction to see where he had missed a social cue, or messed up in his contribution to the conversation. He didn’t seem to have picked up on Emily’s sarcasm, instead taking her comment to heart.

“Don’t be fooled,” you spoke up, “he watched you take apart the star and memorised the movements. He just had to repeat the pattern in reverse.”

Emily’s eyebrows shot up before she turned to Spencer. “Did you really?” She asked, and her tone now held unmistakable awe. He just shrugged, though you noticed the set of his shoulders relax slightly and his cheeks flush pink at her admiration.

The rest of the team gradually turned their attention elsewhere, and you were about to go fishing in your bag for a book when Spencer’s arm brushed yours again. You looked up to see his dark eyes fixed on yours. Oh, those eyes. They had always reminded you of old, cosy libraries and soft caramels that melt on your tongue. It was an effort not to lean into his warmth.

“How did you know I memorised the pattern?” He asked, his voice a soft whisper as though not to draw the attention of the others.

You allowed yourself a small smirk. “I know you too well Doctor Reid,” you said, equally quiet, “you’re going to have to try harder than that to impress me.”

His answering grin made your heart skip a beat.

“Challenge accepted.”

#criminal minds #bau #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #drabble #spencer reid drabble #fluff #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner #5x13 #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x bau!reader #bau jet

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superpowereddonut · 3 months ago

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── .✦ 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 (𝐬.𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤)

sirius is so adamant to prove his hatred for what his family stands for that he ends up becoming them.

sirius black x gn!reader | 3.1k | flangst | masterlist.

CW | slytherin reader, kind of bullying (marauders to reader), lots of arguing, enemies to lovers, slow burn, just general britishness

a/n — the og request was so enthusiastic so i hope this lives up to expectations 🤞

The corridors of Hogwarts are never quiet, always filled with the chatter of students, the rustling of robes, the distant hum of magical portraits gossiping amongst themselves.

You’ve grown used to it, just as you’ve grown used to the way Gryffindors look at you—like you’re something foul stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

It doesn’t bother you, not really.

You’ve learned to wear your green and silver with pride, to ignore the muttered remarks and judgmental glances.

Except for him.

Sirius Black doesn’t just glare. He sneers. He rolls his eyes. He makes a show of stepping aside when you pass, like even sharing the same air as you is offensive.

It would almost be funny if it weren’t so pathetic. If he weren’t so Sirius Black about it—dramatic, unrelenting, determined to make sure you know what he thinks of you.

“Merlin, I think the dungeon stench is getting stronger,” he drawls loudly one afternoon, just as you’re walking past him in the Entrance Hall. James, always eager to stir up trouble, chuckles beside him. “Might need to start carrying something to ward it off. What do you reckon, Moony?”

Remus doesn’t even look up from his book, but Peter snickers anyway.

You don’t hesitate. You stop, arching a brow as you tilt your head just slightly. “If you’re that worried about foul stenches, Black, maybe start with your own ego. Smells rancid from here.”

James whistles lowly, nudging Sirius in the ribs. “You gonna take that, mate?”

Sirius scoffs. “From a Slytherin?” His grey eyes flick over you dismissively, like you’re not worth the energy. “Please,”

It’s always the same with him—cold, cruel, hypocritical. And yet, every time he opens his mouth to throw another insult, all you can think is does he even realise how much he sounds like the very people he claims to hate?

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sirius is so desperate to prove he’s not like his family that he’s swung in the other direction entirely. His rebellion is as rigid as the ideals he’s rejecting.

The way he sees it, Slytherin equals the worst parts of his family, of the wizarding world, of everything he wants to burn to the ground. And you? You just happen to wear the wrong colours.

Fine. Let him hate you. You can hate him right back.

—

You don’t know what it is about today that makes you snap. Maybe it’s the way Sirius has been especially insufferable. Maybe it’s the way James is laughing at something he’s said, or the way Peter chimes in with a snide little comment of his own. Maybe it’s because Remus, for all his supposed mediation, never actually tells them to stop.

Or maybe it’s just because you’ve had enough.

“Honestly, mate, you’d think they’d at least try to be original,” Sirius muses, staring you down across the library table as you attempt—attempt—to focus on your Transfiguration notes. “But no. Same old pureblood rubbish, same old superiority complex. Must get exhausting,”

It’s not even a direct insult. Not really. Just another offhand remark, the same tired implication that your house defines you, that you must be just like the worst of them.

Something inside you snaps.

The chair scrapes harshly against the floor as you shove it back, standing before you even fully register what you’re doing. The words spill out before you can stop them, sharp and furious and ringing through the library loud enough that even Madame Pince glances over in alarm.

"If you’re so ‘against prejudice,’ then stop assuming that every single bloody green tie you see is the mark of a blood supremacist.”

Sirius freezes.

For the first time, you watch his usual cocky, self-assured expression falter. His lips part, as if reaching for some quick-witted comeback, some clever insult to throw back at you—but nothing comes.

James blinks. Peter’s mouth is slightly open, as though waiting for Sirius to say something. Even Remus looks up from his book now, brow furrowed, sensing something different in the air.

But you don’t wait for a response. You don’t need one.

You shake your head, scoff under your breath, and turn on your heel, leaving them in stunned silence as you march out of the library.

You don’t look back.

—

The words don’t leave Sirius alone. They lodge themselves in his brain, clawing at the edges of his thoughts, forcing their way in when he least expects it.

He tells himself it’s ridiculous. That he was right, that you’re just being defensive because, deep down, you know what Slytherin stands for. That you’re just like them.

…Except, what if you’re not?

The realisation sits uncomfortably in his chest. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want to like it.

Because if you’re right—if he’s spent all these years hating you for the same kind of blind, sweeping judgements he resents in his own family for—then what does that say about him?

The Marauders notice the shift almost immediately.

“You’re brooding,” James comments, flopping down on the common room sofa beside him. “That’s a Remus thing. You’re not allowed to brood,”

“I’m not brooding,” Sirius mutters.

“You are,” Remus agrees from the armchair, not even looking up from his book. “It’s a bit unsettling, actually,”

Peter squints at him. “Did you two have a duel we don’t know about? Because if they hexed your mouth shut, I think I might actually give them a round of applause,”

Sirius scowls, throwing a cushion at him. “Piss off.”

But later, when he’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he still hears your voice.

"Stop assuming."

He hates that you might be right.

And Sirius Black is nothing if not stubborn.

Which is exactly why, the next morning, he decides to prove you wrong.

By being nice.

—

It starts small.

No insults. No remarks. No sneering looks when you pass by in the corridors. He doesn’t trip you in Potions, doesn’t scoff when Slughorn praises you for a well-brewed Draught of Living Death.

You notice, of course. But at first, you just assume he’s lost interest in his usual torment.

Then he starts doing things that make no sense.

Like defending you in conversation.

The first time, you assume you’ve misheard him. Some Gryffindor is mouthing off about Slytherins in the Great Hall—predictable—and you’ve already tuned it out when you hear Sirius scoff.

“You do realise you’re sounding exactly like my mother, right?” he says lazily, raising an eyebrow at the boy. “Or is irony just lost on you?”

The Gryffindor gapes at him. You do, too. Sirius doesn’t even look at you, just shoves another bite of toast into his mouth like he hasn’t just flipped his entire personality on its head.

Then he starts helping.

When Slughorn assigns a partnered essay in Potions, you groan inwardly as Sirius drops into the seat beside you.

"Relax, I’m not gonna hex your parchment," he says dryly, rolling his eyes. And then—worse—he actually pulls his weight.

It’s so painfully obvious that he’s overcompensating. That he’s doing this out of some ridiculous, guilt-driven need to prove a point. And it infuriates you.

Because now—after weeks of treating you like dirt—he suddenly decides to grow a conscience?

After class, you shove your books into your bag with more force than necessary and whirl on him.

“If you’re trying to make up for being an arse, don’t bother,” you snap. “It’s not an apology if you’re only doing it to make yourself feel better.”

Sirius looks taken aback for all of half a second before his jaw tightens. “That’s not—”

But you don’t wait to hear whatever half-baked excuse he’s about to come up with.

You just shake your head and walk away.

Again.

And the worst part?

This time, he actually looks frustrated about it.

—

Sirius doesn’t try to talk to you again for a while after that.

And for a moment, you think—Good. Let him stew in it. Let him realise that you’re not some guilt-induced redemption project. Let him finally get it through his thick skull that you don’t need, nor want, his forced attempts at kindness.

But then something strange happens.

He doesn’t go back to his usual ways. He doesn’t start throwing insults again, doesn’t return to sneering at you in the corridors or loudly making snide remarks whenever you’re in earshot.

Instead, he just… stops trying so hard altogether.

And that’s somehow even more infuriating.

Because now, instead of forced civility or open hostility, Sirius Black simply acts like you’re—normal. Like you’re just another person in the castle, not an enemy, not a cause for guilt, not someone to be proved wrong or right.

It’s unnerving.

You’re used to his usual extremes—hot or cold, cruel or obnoxiously overcompensating—but this new, balanced in-between? It throws you completely off.

And it gets worse.

Because the universe, apparently, hates you.

First, there’s the paired assignments—because of course McGonagall has the bright idea to randomly assign partners for an extensive Transfiguration project, and of course you end up stuck with him.

Then, there’s the detention—because James Potter and Evan Rosier just had to get into a hexing match in the middle of the corridor, and you just had to be in the splash zone when Flitwick rounded the corner. Now you’re forced to scrub cauldrons in the Potions classroom with Sirius Black, of all people.

And then—worst of all—there’s the Astronomy Tower.

It starts as another unfortunate coincidence. You head up to the tower late one night, unable to sleep, hoping for a moment of solitude beneath the stars. But as soon as you push the door open, you see a familiar figure already leaning against the stone railing.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

You could leave. Turn around, pretend you never came up here, avoid another painfully awkward interaction. But Sirius—maybe out of some residual stubbornness, maybe out of something else—just sighs and shifts slightly to the side.

Not enough to make a big deal out of it. Just enough to make room.

And against your better judgement, you take it.

Minutes pass in silence. It’s strange—peaceful, but charged in a way you can’t quite explain.

Then, in a voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it, Sirius says, “I never actually thought about it, you know,”

You frown, glancing at him. “Thought about what?”

His gaze stays fixed on the stars, but there’s something distant in it—something tired. “How I treated you,” he admits. “I just—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I was so focused on not being my family, I didn’t stop to think about what that actually meant. I thought hating everything they stood for was enough, but—I ended up doing the same thing, just in a different direction,”

You stare at him, not entirely sure what to say.

Because this is different. This isn’t him trying to prove a point. It’s not a dramatic display of guilt or some exaggerated attempt at redemption. It’s just… honest.

You lean against the railing, crossing your arms. “Took you long enough to figure that out,”

He chuckles, and—Merlin help you—you don’t hate the sound of it as much as you should. “Yeah. It did,”

Silence settles between you again, but this time, it’s comfortable.

And somewhere—between detentions and forced partnerships and nights beneath the stars—you start to realise something else.

You don’t hate him anymore.

It happens slowly. So slowly, in fact, that you don’t realise it’s happening at all.

One moment, Sirius Black is the boy who made your life miserable. The next, he’s the one you’re arguing with over which essay topic is more interesting in the library. The one who always seems to find himself sitting near you at meals, not with you, but near enough. The one who makes exasperated faces at you in class when someone says something particularly stupid.

And then—one day—he’s the one standing between you and a wand aimed at your chest.

You don’t even see who casts the spell. One second, you’re walking back from Charms; the next, someone shouts “Confringo!” and the air crackles with heat. You barely register what’s happening before a body collides with yours, knocking you out of the way as the spell slams into the stone wall behind you.

When you land, it’s hard, Sirius’s weight pressing you against the ground, shielding you before he rolls off just as quickly. The world tilts for a second before you push yourself up, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Sirius is already on his feet, wand out, furious.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice is sharp, dangerous in a way you’ve never heard before. It’s not his usual bravado—not the arrogant drawl he puts on when taunting someone. It’s real, raw anger.

Whoever cast the spell is already gone, footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Your pulse is still racing when you realise he’s turned back to you. “Are you—?” He stops, eyes scanning you quickly for any sign of injury before he shakes his head. “That was—” He cuts himself off again, pressing his lips together, looking angrier than ever.

You exhale sharply, pushing yourself fully upright. “I had it under control.”

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah? That why you were about to get set on fire?”

You glare at him. “Oh, piss off, Black—”

“I just saved your life—”

“I would’ve been fine—”

You don’t realise how close you are until the argument stops.

You’re both still breathing hard, tension thick between you, too much heat in the air that has nothing to do with the spell. His hand is still half-raised, like he wants to reach for you but thought better of it.

His grey eyes are darker than usual, scanning your face like he’s searching for something—like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to find.

And suddenly, you don’t either.

Your throat feels dry.

Why are you looking at him like that?

Worse—why is he looking at you like that?

You blink first, stepping back, shaking off the moment like it was nothing. “I’m fine,” you mutter, brushing imaginary dust off your robes. “You can stop looking at me like I’m about to drop dead,”

Sirius hesitates. Then, just as quickly, he rolls his shoulders, slipping back into something more familiar—tilting his head, raising a brow, smirking like none of it ever happened. “If you say so,”

But as you turn away, you feel his gaze linger.

And that’s when it really starts.

It’s slow, almost imperceptible at first.

Conversations that used to be sharp and barbed are now laced with something else—something softer, something almost teasing. Your insults have lost their bite; his smirks have stopped feeling like a challenge.

Then, there are the looks.

Stolen glances across classrooms. Raised eyebrows in the Great Hall when someone says something particularly idiotic. That half-smile he gives you when you say something sarcastic under your breath, like you’ve shared some private joke no one else gets.

And the touches.

His knee bumping yours under the table in the library. Fingers brushing when he hands you a quill. The way he slings an arm around James’s shoulders so often that you don’t think much of it when he does the same to you.

Until—one evening—you do.

You’re both where you always seem to end up lately—next to each other at a table, books spread out between you, quills scratching against parchment.

It’s late, and most students have already trickled back to their dorms. The candlelight flickers, casting shadows over Sirius’s face as he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head with a groan.

You’re half-asleep, scribbling something about Vanishing Spells when you feel it—his fingers, barely there, skimming against your wrist.

It’s absentminded, thoughtless. But he doesn’t move away.

And neither do you.

You should.

You really should.

But all you can think about is that moment in the corridor. The way he looked at you. The way you looked back.

“This is stupid,” he mutters.

“You’re stupid,” you reply automatically, not even looking up from your notes.

Sirius huffs a laugh. “Brilliant comeback,”

“Thanks,” You flip a page. “Took me ages to come up with it,”

There’s a pause. Not an awkward one—just the kind that’s started to feel normal between you. Easy.

Then Sirius shifts, resting his arms on the table, fingers tapping idly against the wood. “You know,” he says, voice quieter now, more thoughtful, “I don’t think I hate you anymore.”

You freeze.

Slowly, carefully, you lift your gaze from your book. Sirius isn’t smirking, isn’t making a joke of it. He’s just looking at you—calm, steady, like he’s only just realising it himself.

Your throat feels weirdly tight. You swallow. “Oh?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

You don’t know why your heart is suddenly beating too fast.

You could joke about it. Could roll your eyes, make some sarcastic remark about how long it’s taken him. Could pretend like this moment doesn’t feel like the ground shifting beneath you.

But you don’t.

Instead, after a moment, you nod back.

“I don’t think I hate you either.”

It’s quiet. Undramatic. But as Sirius’s mouth quirks up—just slightly, just enough—you realise it’s the most important thing you’ve said in a long time.

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superpowereddonut · 4 months ago

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Self Fulfilling Prophecy

Sirius Black x Potter!Reader

Summary: Potters love like it's a sport, but it seems that only a Black can challenge that.

WC: 3.6k

CW: Sexual leaning scene, Hurt Comfort right back to Hurt, background Jegulily, Alphard Black the gay.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is Sirius’s arm draped lazily over your waist, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your bare skin. The sunlight filters through the curtains, casting soft golden light across the room, turning the tousled sheets into a hazy, dreamlike mess. The scent of Sirius- smoke, cedar, and something warmer, more distinctly him- lingers in the air, wrapping around you like a second blanket.

You shift slightly, careful not to disturb the warmth around you, and feel Sirius stir behind you. His breath brushes against the back of your neck, followed by the low rumble of his voice, thick with sleep. "Morning, trouble."

A smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it. “Morning,” You mumble, voice soft and still tinged with the haze of sleep.

Sirius leaned up on his elbow, the lazy grin he always wore stretched across his face. His fingers ghosted over the faint marks he had left along your neck, brushing over them like they’re something sacred. “Look at you,” His voice dipped lower. “A proper masterpiece. I should frame you.”

You swat at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Oh, I mean it,” Sirius smirked as he dodged your half-hearted attack. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoyed last night more than you’re letting on.”

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, and you fight the urge to glance at him again. You lose. He’s already watching you, that teasing gleam in his grey eyes, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. And damn him, he probably does. Your eyes flick down, and that’s when you notice the marks on his chest- red scratches trailing down his sides, love bites peppered along his collarbone.

Your cheeks burned hotter.

Sirius noticed. Of course he does. He leaned in, his grin downright smug. “Admiring your handiwork, love?”

“I’m admiring the fact that you didn’t fall apart under pressure,” Your words were quick but locked any real bite.

“Oh, I definitely fell apart,” He murmured, his voice low and dangerously smooth, like silk sliding over bare skin. He trailed a hand down your back, pulling you just a little closer. “You made it easy.”

You laughed, soft and genuine, before gently pushing his hand away and sitting up. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” you said lightly, brushing a hand through your hair as you swung your legs off the bed. The warmth of the morning fades slightly as your feet hit the cool floor.

Sirius lets out a dramatic groan behind you, flopping onto his back like you’ve just delivered a mortal wound. “What, you’re leaving already? I thought we’d at least have breakfast. Maybe share a cigarette. Do that thing where you call me insufferable and I remind you you’re madly in love with me.”

You glance over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got a hell of a memory for something that didn’t happen.”

“Oh, but it will,” He ran his fingers through his hair, propping himself up on an elbow, his grin widened. “Mark my words, love. You’ll miss me by lunch. Or sooner.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you gather your clothes. “Whatever you say, Pads.”

“Mm, you kept a keen ear for what I said last night.” He teased in that insufferable song of his, watching you with an infuriatingly casual air as you pull on your shirt. “But you’re leaving in my favorite shirt, which means I’ll have to track you down to get it back. Convenient, isn’t it?”

You glanced down, realizing you are indeed wearing one of his threadbare band tees, and roll your eyes. “Consider it compensation. For the rabid assault one my neck I endured.”

“Oh, you wound me,” He sighed dramatically, rolling out of bed. “Stealing my shirt, leaving me all alone… You’re really a heartbreaker, trouble.”

Despite yourself, you laughed, slipping on your shoes and brushing your hair out of your face. Sirius was already pulling on his trousers, looking every bit the disheveled rogue he prides himself on. By the time you’ve straightened yourself up, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that lopsided grin that always makes you feel like he’s up to something.

“Need anything before you go?” He prodded, his tone light, almost mockingly polite. “Coffee? Another round of ego-boosting compliments? My eternal devotion?”

You shook your head, smirking. “I’m good, thanks. And as for your eternal devotion, I think James called dibs on that.”

Sirius chuckled, following you to the door. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t wear my shirts nearly as well as you do. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Pads,” You smirked, turning to look at him as you pulled the door open.

He stepped closer, brushing a lock of hair out of your face with a lazy affection that feels almost second nature. Before you said anything, he kissed you- not desperate or heavy, just Sirius, soft and familiar, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulled back, he grinned and muttered, “I love you,” that same way he always has, like it’s just another part of his vocabulary.

You smile faintly, choosing to ignore it. As you always have. “See you around, Siri.”

“Mhm,” He smiled easily, leaning against the doorframe as you step outside. “And don’t think for a second you’re keeping that shirt.”

You toss him a smirk over your shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to come and get it.”

Sirius stays in the doorway, watching you until you disappear around the corner. Whispering a soft curse as he watched you turn the corner.

~~~

In every single universe, a Potter falls for a Black.

And in every single universe, it didn't end well.

You knew it better than most. From the look in your brother's eyes in his seventh year, when you found him crying in the common room. He confessed to you then, about him. About Lily. About Regulus.

You would say you were surprised to learn about what those three had been up to together, but it only reinforced your firm belief in this messy web you were born into.

It was like a self fulfilling prophecy. Just a year earlier, you sat with your father in the kitchen, listening to stories about him and a young Alphard Black. He didn't have to tell you what he meant to him, you could see it. In the way he looked at the photo book- in the way he looked after Sirius.

Potters and Blacks would find each other in every reality, in every universe, in every bloody cliche. And every single time, it would end with someone shattered.

For your father, it ended with Alphard estranged and lost to time- the only true family he had left going to seek refuge in the arms of the man he once loved- their love buried under the weight of duty and expectations. For James, it ended with Regulus’s name carved into a cold, unforgiving wall in the Department of Mysteries, a ghost of what could have been.

And for you…

You weren’t sure yet.

You closed your eyes briefly, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you walked further from Sirius’s flat. The weight of his kiss, his touch, lingered like a brand. It wasn’t fair how easily he could pull you back in, how effortlessly he made you forget the countless reasons why this wasn’t supposed to happen.

It’ll end the same way it always does, You reminded yourself. Sirius might love endlessly, recklessly, but love alone had never been enough for the Potters and the Blacks. You knew this was temporary, just another bright, fleeting moment in a cycle destined to burn out.

But Sirius wasn’t like your father, wasn’t like James. His love wasn’t something quiet and tragic- it was loud, defiant, impossible to ignore. He loved you like he was daring the universe to try and stop him.

What terrified you more than anything was the universe usually had the last laugh.

You reminded him every time you slipped into his bed. That it wasn't love, it wasn't more than this.

And every single time he just smiled, as if he knew something you didn’t.

Sirius Black never argued when you said it wasn’t love. He never fought when you insisted it was just a fleeting thing, something to pass the time, a distraction from the war, from the scars it left on both of you. He let you tell yourself that, let you believe it, but the look in his eyes always betrayed him.

Because Sirius loved with the kind of intensity that burned everything else away, and no matter how many times you told him this wasn’t forever, he never stopped looking at you like you were.

“Whatever you need me to be, love,” He'd whisper, his voice soft but steady, as if daring you to test the limits of his patience.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Sirius never played by the universe’s rules. He’d already broken them a hundred times over- leaving the Black family, choosing James and the Marauders, standing on the side of a war that could have killed him. What was one more rebellion, one more forbidden love?

But you weren’t Sirius. You didn’t have his boundless courage or his endless defiance. You couldn’t throw yourself into love with the same reckless abandon, couldn’t let yourself believe that this time, it would be different.

So every time you left his bed, every time you pulled on one of his shirts and walked out the door, you told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself it was better this way- better to keep things simple, fleeting, to leave before it got too real.

And every time, Sirius just let you go, leaning casually against the doorframe, a half-smirk on his lips that never quite reached his eyes.

~~~

You hadn't seen Sirius since that morning. Not like you were trying particularly hard, he had The Order and you had your Auror work to busy yourself with. The next time you did see him, you were scared half to death.

The panic in James’s voice is what froze your blood. He didn't explain much over the Floo- just a frantic “Sirius is hurt. You need to come. Now.”

You didn't hesitate, heart in your throat as you grabbed your wand and Apparated to the safe house. The spinning sensation barely registered as you landed in the living room, your eyes immediately darting around for Sirius.

Instead, you saw James pacing furiously, running a hand through his hair as he muttered to himself. Lily sat nearby, trying to calm him.

“He’s going to be fine, James,” Her tone was soft- soothing but almost tired.

James didn't respond, just kept pacing, his jaw tight. Across the room, Remus and Peter were talking in low voices, but you can’t hear them over the rush of blood in your ears.

“Where is he?” You hissed- but not out of anger- it was the only tone you could take without letting the tears in your eyes spill over.

James finally stopped, turning to you with an expression that’s equal parts relief and frustration. “He’s in the other room. He took a hit, but Remus patched him up. I told him to stay in bed, but of course, he-”

Before James can finish, the door to the kitchen creaked open, and there he was.

Sirius Black.

Alive, upright, and grinning like he hasn’t just shaved years off your life.

He was shirtless, a fresh bandage wrapped diagonally across his chest, and his hair is a wild mess, but he looked fine. More than fine, in fact, because he immediately started to crack a joke.

“See, James? Told you I’d have the most dramatic scar story at the pub.” He traced the lining of the bandages with a chuckle. “Birds love scars.”

The room collectively groaned, but not you. You couldn't seem to move, standing frozen as relief crashed over you in waves so strong it almost buckled your knees.

He noticed you then, his grin softening as his grey eyes locked onto yours.

“Hey, trouble,” He whispered, as casual as ever.

You didn't think. You didn't process. You just moved.

In three quick strides, you were in front of him, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as if to confirm he was really there. And then, before you could stop yourself, you kissed him.

It was hard and desperate, your lips pressed against his with all the relief, fear, and love you’ve been holding back for years. Sirius froze for a fraction of a second before he melted into you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck and his other slipping around your waist, as he deepened the kiss.

Sirius pulled back slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his grey eyes searched your face. His hand is still cradling the back of your neck, his thumb brushing small, calming circles into your skin. He looks completely love-struck, his lips quirked into a soft smile as he takes in your tear-filled eyes.

“Don’t cry, love,” He murmured, his voice low and tender. “I’m here. Still breathing, still kicking. It’s going to take more than that to get rid of me.”

You shook your head, your hands fisted in the fabric of his trousers. You tugged him closer, as if the space between you had personally offended you; hardly able to whisper “You scared the hell out of me, Sirius. I thought- I thought-”

Your voice cracked, and Sirius pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I’m sorry,” He whispered against your skin. “I’m sorry, trouble.”

“That's not fair.” You practically croaked, leaning closer to brush your own kiss against his lips. He smiled into it, no matter how careful and quick it was. Your voice hitched at the end, as if this was all some scheme, trying to get you to understand- maybe pity the poor fool before it was too late. “You're not playing fair.”

Sirius's smile widened slightly, soft and crooked, the kind of smile that could pull you under if you weren’t careful. His thumb continued to trace gentle circles against your neck, grounding you, tethering you to him. He tilted his head, his voice low and teasing, but the affection in his gaze betrayed him.

“When have I ever played fair, love?” He murmured, the words brushing against your lips. “You should know by now, I don’t give up.”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath as tears welled in your eyes again. “You make it impossible, Sirius. You make it so damn hard to stay away.”

“Good,” He hissed softly, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. “Because I don’t want you to stay away. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll wait. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. Just… don’t walk away from me, alright?”

Your breath hitched as Sirius’s thumb brushed away a tear rolling down your cheek. His grey eyes softened as he tilted his head, his expression warm and teasing, but his voice tinged with sincerity.

“I hate you,” You whispered, your voice barely audible and cracking under the weight of your emotions.

“Yeah?” He murmured, his lips quirking upward, a hint of mischief in his grin.

“I hate you so much, Siri,” You echoed, though the words lacked venom.

“Do you, now?” Sirius teased gently, his voice soft as he slowly cradled your face in his hands. His thumbs traced light, soothing patterns along your jawline, grounding you.

And then he kissed you- soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. It wasn’t desperate or frantic. It was Sirius: steady, deliberate, and impossibly tender. You felt your knees weaken as you melted into him, his warmth washing over you like a balm to the panic still lingering in your chest.

For a moment, it was just you and him, the rest of the world fading into the background. But then-

“Ahem,” Someone cleared their throat loudly, shattering the fragile bubble. You had to remind yourself you couldn't rim anyone up by their neck today- especially after the show you just put on.

You jumped back slightly, your cheeks burning as you turned to see James standing there, arms crossed, his eyebrows raised so high they were practically disappearing into his hairline.

“Well,” James said slowly, his voice dripping with disbelief and barely concealed amusement. “This certainly explains a lot.”

“Oh, bugger off, James,” Sirius drawled, not even bothering to let go of your waist as he smirked at his best friend.

James let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, gesturing between the two of you. “How long has this been going on? And why am I only just finding out now?”

You buried your face in your hands, your mortification complete. “This is not how I wanted you to find out,” You mumbled.

Sirius, of course, was utterly unbothered. “Well, Prongs, in all fairness- I just found out myself.”

Okay, that one did earn retaliation.

You quickly hit his side and he gave a sound of dramatic pain, leaning down to steal another kiss as if that was punishment enough for your abuse.

James let out another sharp laugh, his hands on his hips now as he surveyed the scene. “Oh, you just found out, did you, Pads? That’s rich, considering the way you’ve been looking at her for years. And the rest of us have had to sit through it without saying a word.”

Lily peaked from around James, arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips. “To be fair, I think Remus had a bet going on how long it would take for this exact situation to happen.”

Remus smirked at you, looking thoroughly unimpressed but clearly amused. “I did, actually. I’m collecting later.”

“Remus!” You snapped, turning your mortified glare on him, though Sirius’s arms around your waist kept you rooted firmly in place. “You’re supposed to be the sensible one!”

“Oh, come on,” Remus replied, deadpan. “You’re lucky it wasn’t Peter. He was ready to start taking notes.”

Peter peeked out from behind Remus, his cheeks flushed but a sheepish grin on his face. “I thought it might help with… er, strategy. You know, for later.”

“Later?” Sirius grinned, ever the opportunist. “What, Pete, you planning to steal her away from me?”

“Godric, no!” Peter blurted, his hands shooting up defensively. “I’d never- she’s- you two- no!”

James threw an arm around Peter’s shoulders, laughing. “Relax, Pete. You’re not stepping on Pads’ toes anytime soon.” He turned his gaze back to you and Sirius, his expression softening just enough to let you know he was, despite his theatrics, happy for you. “You’re lucky he’s absolutely gone for you,” James muttered, the barest hint of fondness in his tone. “Otherwise, I might have had to step in.”

Sirius smirked, squeezing your waist with unmistakable pride. “Don’t worry, Prongs. She’s stuck with me now.”

You let out a groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You are all insufferable.”

Lily stepped forward, shaking her head with a grin as she took James’s hand. “Come on, James. Let’s leave them alone before Sirius starts waxing poetic.”

“Too late!” Sirius quipped, and before anyone could stop him, he pulled you closer and began reciting dramatically, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day-”

“Pads!” You hissed, trying to stifle a laugh as the others groaned and began filing out, muttering about needing stronger drinks to survive the two of you.

When the door finally closed behind them, you looked back at Sirius, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re insane.”

Sirius tilted his head, his gray eyes dancing with affection as he grinned down at you. “So, does this mean we’re official now, or do I still need to charm you with my devilish wit and roguish good looks?”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you tried to shake off the lingering warmth from his teasing. “Oh, Merlin, don’t push it, Black. I already have James to deal with. I don’t need you adding fuel to the fire.”

Sirius feigned offense, clutching his chest where the bandages wrapped tightly around him. “I’m wounded! You’re only agreeing to this to keep Prongs happy? I thought I was irresistible.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the hallway table. “You? Irresistible? That’s a stretch. I just don’t want to disappoint James- his fragile heart couldn’t take it if I broke yours.”

He stepped closer, closing the small distance between you with that stupid, lopsided grin still plastered on his face. His hands found your waist again, holding you firmly yet gently, like you might slip away if he didn’t. “Admit it, love,” He murmured, his voice low and entirely too smug. “You’d hate to disappoint me, too.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you tried to look anywhere but at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe.” Sirius leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, “Terrible, flea ridden, bug eyed, everything you could possibly think of- it's bloody maddening when all I want is to be yours.”

You sighed, shaking your head but unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “You are Sirius.”

“Good.” He kissed you again, soft and slow, as though savoring the moment. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice dropping into something quieter, more sincere. “Because I don’t care what anyone else says or bets on. I’ve been yours for a long time, and I’m not letting go.”

Your heart skipped at his words, but you played it off with a scoff, lightly smacking his arm. “You’re such a sap, Black.”

“And you love it,” He teased, his grin wide and carefree as he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew you’d already lost the battle you’d been fighting for years. The love you carried for him had consumed you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but him.

And so, you stopped fighting it. For years, you let that love pull you under, let it fill the cracks and scars you thought you’d buried too deep. It became part of you- wild, consuming, unrelenting.

Because in every single universe, a Potter falls for a Black.

And as you were reminded that October, as the leaves fell and the air grew colder, in every single universe, it doesn’t end well.

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