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xxwitchylanexx · 7 months ago

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Glories in Gunpowder and Parades- Cloud x Reader

Rebirth Retold Chapter 7

Spoilers for Junon chapter on rebirth but no important event spoilers

I really hate how they didn't put Reno in Junon in rebirth so I added him in a little. Next chapter will be a little shorter but will hopefully be up in the next week or so. Hope you enjoy!!

Minors DNI

Chapter 8

Masterlist

*~*

The day for Shinra’s inauguration parade had finally come. When you woke from a restful sleep that morning in Under Junon you could almost feel the restless chatter from the citizen under the plate. The elevator had double the amount of security it usually did so there was no way your comrades would be able to slip up undetected.

The six of you stood huddled outside the inn brainstorming a way to get inside the fortress. Barret, being himself, suggested you just storm the elevator and force your way in, and as you can imagine no one agreed with him. You were about to suggest a plan using morph materia when Priscilla, that ninja girl’s friend, approached the group with a solution.

It must have been your lucky day. If you were under any other circumstances you’d never have the chance to see tough guy Cloud sitting upon Mr. Dolphin’s back as the took a lap around the lagoon. You were wildly amused along with the rest of the gang. Tifa whooped and cheered him in front of you; waving her arms enthusiastically in the air, shouting ‘you can do it’ and so on. Your inner war with the brunette finally disbanded. The conversation with Cloud in the bar allowing you to let go of the unwanted festering feelings.

Aerith was beside you clapped excitedly at the show and giggling away at the way his spiky hair flattened against his face as the drooped under the weight of the water. Barret was yelling to get in with it just behind you, you swore he was only crabby because he secretly wanted to storm the elevator. Red sat the furthest away from the water his tail standing rigid in a hook, the flickering flame causing little red dots in your vision before you looked back to Cloud’s skillful performance.

In truth, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Your e/c orbs dragged over the hard lines of his body that his wet clothing enhanced. His broad shoulders were deliciously on display, and the hard planes of muscle rippled along his back as he stroked through the water. Aerith nudged you in the soft spot between your hip and rips with her elbow leaning. She leaned in just close enough to whisper in your ear followed by a giggle at your expense. “You like what you see?” Your face flushed as you glared down at her, without any real heat. You watched your feet intently as you considered jumping into the sea yourself to cool you off.

You missed his final flourish trying to make a point that you weren’t ogling the man to Aerith. Moments after the rest of you rowed out to the boat he lowered, your makeshift elevator, and ascended into the winding halls of the Upper Junon fortress. Aerith volunteered to you to stay behind to wait for Cloud, another ploy to keep the two of you together. You grumbled about it but honestly at least you’d have a break from the perky girl’s pestering.

Five or six minutes later he emerged from the next room over. You waved your arm above your head lazily to capture his attention. You greeted him with a simple ‘hey’ as he approached you.

“Hey.” He shifted his weight from one side to the other.

“Thanks for the lift. They went this way.” You pointed your thumb behind to emphasize where the others went.

“Let’s get a move on.” You waved your arm to beckon him onward. With a huff at your insistence he trudged forward.

You kept your pace even and measured not too slow to lose him, but not fast enough to think you were eager. You didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention as you walked down the enemy’s halls. You eyed him up and down taking in the way his clothes and hair already appeared to be mostly dry already. The quiet was never uncomfortable around him, but you wouldn’t really be you if you didn’t poke some fun here and there. “So… do you ride on dolphins often, or are you just a natural?”

He faltered in his step before correcting the chip in his facade casting a glimpse over his shoulder before staring ahead once more. “It was…” He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nothing to it.”

You rolled your eyes at his sense of bravado. “Always the showman.” At the end of the hallway the walls widened up into a square archway with subtle peeks of the great blue sky outdoors. “Up there.” As you neared the opening you could see your friends spread out along the steel platform gawking at the view.

You’ve seen The Sister Ray before but never this close, or from this angle. You leaned onto the metal fencing to get a good look you at it. You could see all the grooves and braces along its metal barrel looming out over the sea. The sun glared down onto its length making it hard to look at it long term, but it was a sight to behold. For a weapon of mass destruction, that is.

Cloud gripped at the railing next to you, leaning over it to look at the floor below. “Less security than I thought.”

“More worried about the parade?” Aerith asked from your side.

“Guess thing have changed.” You turned and leaned your back against the fence to see him properly. “They got higher priorities.” Barret replied.

“Personally, I think that’s a good thing.” Tifa said, and you’d have to agree. It was nice to see them focus more on spirit than war. Even if it was just to boost the newly appointed president’s ego.

Red padded up to side and sat back on his haunches rubbing against your leg in the process. “The city’s size on the other hand… the robed men won’t be easy to find.”

“Well they’re definitely not here.” Cloud concluded. “Let’s head into town.” He wasted no time as he started his climb up the number of staircases ahead of you, even taking two or three at a time. You waited for the others to go first except for Barret who insisted on taking the rear.

You climbed the steps just behind Aerith, the girl looking over her arm at you every so often. “Have you been here before?”

“A couple of times. Though I was only passing through.” You grabbed the smooth railing.

“Have you traveled a lot?” Tifa asked from her position a few steps higher than Aerith.

“Yeah, mostly just this continent and the next one over. Most of my clients don’t go farther than the saucer, though I have visited the ranches farther out.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting the top floor to look like, but you hadn’t expected it to be out in the open. The roof was wide and flat. Long enough to fit multiple airstrips. A few planes were stationed here and there near with a few designated pilots expecting each air craft. The whole place was packed with soldiers all lined up in rows and columns for practice drills. Each commanding officer stood at the forefront of their squad to give out orders.

You realize that the parade was a huge televised event, however you found it pretty odd that not one trooper noticed your not so subtle group wandering around in a restricted area. Were they just negligent in their duties or was your group expected to be here you wondered.

“Any idea what that is?” Tifa inquired. You shifted to see what she was referring to. An aircraft, far larger than any plane, ship, or truck you’ve ever seen, sat proudly at the front of the airway. Its wings spread wide across the surface, and the Shinra logo painted along its massive side. The sheer strength in its propellers, as they rotated rapidly along its axis, disturbed the natural force of the wind around the airstrip. along with may elite forces gathered around it.

“The Highwind.” Cloud explained. “Shinra’s pride and joy. The fastest, most advanced, airship in the fleet.”

“That explains the elite troops.” You added as you counted five, no six elite security officers circling around the vessel.

“Screw the boat.” Barret said. “Let’s take that.” Tifa nudged his sides as if to say ‘shut up’.

“Less you got a trained crew and piloting skills we don’t know about… we’re stickin’ with the boat.”

“That’s too bad. Would’ve been perfect.” Tifa sighed, clearly disappointed. You shared her sentiment. You preferred to travel by plane a hell of a lot more than boat. Planes were faster and less shaky. The constant swaying and creaking of sea travel reeked havoc on your stomach.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Cloud replied, his statement the end of the conversation as the six of you searched for a way down to the city.

You admired the layout and design as you walked. Every path was lined with royal red runners with a simple pattern embroidered along the edges in gold. Flags, with the Shinra crest printed on each one, of the same color waved around in the breeze. An army of soldiers, regular foot soldiers that is, covered every inch of this place. You could hear the cheerful laughter, and the fumbling of their rifles as they practiced their drills. A few commanders were berating their officers for stupid mistakes, or tardiness, each one on the receiving end all just answered with ‘sir, yes, sir’. You don’t think you’d would ever make it in a job like this. Blindly following orders wasn’t your style, and the disrespect each one puts up with under the guise of ‘discipline’ pissed you off. Whether your rank is at the bottom or near the top no one has a right to disrespect another human being. You line of sight quickly shifted to the back of the person in front of you, now face to face with the dark fabric of Cloud’s at the base of his neck. At one time was Cloud at the bottom of he barrel too, or did he qualify to start higher on the totem pole? It was hard for you to picture him in a trooper’s uniform taking the verbal assault from a higher officer.

What really didn’t make sense to you was why was every individual was okay with being treated this way. Why was it worth it to lay their lives down for a company that was willing to throw those very lives away to make money or regain control or simply to make a statement. You couldn’t possibly believe the salary was good considering all the officials of the company were scheming assholes. Did they truly think Shinra was a just employer or was it fear?

Cloud approached a terminal amongst a few consoles along a large wall and typed in a bunch of stuff like it was second nature. Once it lurched forward you realized the platform everyone was on was an elevator that led to the city. You stared at the terminal dumbfounded that it was so easily accessible. Sure, a soldier probably has access to most things in every facility, but can you imagine the sheer arrogance they have not to change any codes or procedures. Especially since they are highly aware that one left their employment, and is actively working against them. In your opinion that was a huge security liability.

“So Cloud, what can you tell us about Junon?” Aerith asked as the elevator churned downwards.

“It’s a key military outpost with its own offshore reactor. A critical line of defense against any seaborne assault. When needed, it can transform into an armed fortress. It’s strategic location, along with its air and seaport, make it second only to Midgar as the company’s most vital city.” He listed off the facts as if he was reading a menu.

“Huh, neat. Any good restaurants? Sights to see?” she asked.

“Uh.. maybe? I dunno.” You smiled. Of course he’d never sightsee. All business, this one.

“Ah, right. You’re not the touristy type.” She shuffled from one foot to the other as she looked out to what was beneath you.

“If you’re looking for great landscapes, you’ll like the bridge.” You answered in his stead, everyone turning to look at you while you talked. “Otherwise the main drag has lots of different stalls and vendors.”

“It’s so cool you know this stuff.” Aerith gushed.

You shrugged, “I pass through here often.”

Barret grunted from his corner of the elevator. “Hey just to be clear, you do realize we’re not here on vacation, right?”

“Of course I do!” Aerith huffed, annoyed he even thought she was slacking off. “Hey, look! What’s that about?”

You shuffled closer to the railing between where she was and where Cloud was settled in the corner, and peered over the ledge. The sharp instructions you overhead making more sense now that you were looking at the squad lined up beneath you. It didn’t pertain to you nor did interest you so you straightened once again and wait for the lift to finally reach the bottom. The elevator began to grind against the track as it came to a stop, and you all quickly shuffled off.

“Those troopers looked pretty psyched for the parade, huh?” Tifa pointed out.

“More like eager to prance around for their new paymaster.” Barret quipped. “Now I know what y’all are gonna say, but I gotta ask.”

“What?” Cloud asked flatly.

“If Rufus is in town, are we really gonna let this opportunity pass us by? Hell, I’m not sayin’ we kill the man- but we oughta at least give him a talkin’ to. Rough him up a little maybe, y’know?”

“Actually,” Aerith spoke up, “I’m gonna have to agree. First the turks say, ‘Do whatever-we’re not after you.’ but then Cloud’s biker buddy rolls up and says he is. We gotta straighten this out.” You recalled her discussion with Tifa on the way to Crow’s Nest pertaining this topic. It was a valid concern, though you wondered if Rufus cared about her at all. I mean think about it; they were following the robes too there’s no denying that. You had a hunch that it might be Hojo that wanted her back so desperately.

“Okay, but how?” Tifa asked, one hand perched on her hip. “We can’t just walk up to the president in the street.” That’s true. This group didn’t exactly blend in with a crowd.

Perhaps you could, but you weren’t so eager to paint a target on your back as well. After all you’d be on your own again eventually. “Or maybe we can.” Cloud said.

Barret bounced on his heels as he practically skipped closer. “We bust up his parade!”

Cloud pushed him back. “No, that’s how we die in a hail of bullets like a bunch if dumbasses. The city is crawling with Shinra’s troopers.” He paused before continuing. “We join the parade. Hide in plain sight. Get in, get close, get answers.”

“Seriously?” Tifa asked.

He between Aerith and Tifa. “Sure.”

“Wow, that’s good!” Aerith said with her finger pressed to her cheek.

“No argument here.” Barret crossed his arms, or well arm and his newest attachment.

“Barret, Red you guys find a route to the port; see what security is like. And keep an eye out for the black robes while you’re at it. Y/n, since they’re not looking for you, why don’t you try to get information in town.”

You nodded in agreement while Barret bullied himself into Cloud space once again. “Now hold up!”

“Fatigues won’t be enough to disguise you two.”

“True enough.” Red agreed.

Barret resigned with a mumbled ‘shuddup’ as Cloud looked over to you once again. “See you in a bit. I gotta go find a uniform.” You gave him a half hearted wave as he walked off with the other two. Aerith playfully pushing him on the arm and Tifa following after with her arm clasped behind her back. Barret and Red also quickly faded into the crowd of pedestrians wandering the great streets of the bustling city, leaving you there all alone.

*~*

The upper city Junon was generally a quiet and peaceful town to visit, though not everyone has had the privilege to see it. First and fore most Junon was a military outpost, like Cloud had said, so it had a smaller population than most places in Gaia. It’s residents made up of mostly army staff, researchers, sailors, and airmen to employ Shinra’s monopoly of transportation. Any others that wished to visit the city or sail to the next continent had to shell out a hefty sum for tickets and a permit to proceed through the fortress. However today, the narrow streets and winding alleys were jam packed festive tourists and plastered in tacky patriotic propaganda.

Royal red pennants, emblazoned with the Shinra crest, flapped with every salty sea breeze, identical banners hung at the entrance to nearly every establishment you’ve seen so far, signs and posters were on display across every billboard in town, and every single shop (conveniently owned by Shinra affiliates) had some kind of a promotions, featuring the guest of honor, to sucker their consumers into thinking they were getting a decent purchase or rate for their hotel accommodations. You’ve nearly spent half the day weaving through waves of frolicking tourists between the pop up stores and street attractions, and shrugging off the sloppy drunks trying to pick up anyone willing to go back to their room.

Everywhere you looked there was something special for the occasion: colorful face paint adorning the faces of passerby, life size Rufus Shinra cutouts around every corner, signed autograph cards from the open stalls along the streets, vouchers you could win in a raffle for a tour of the Shinra building in Midgar, and the list went on and on. If you hadn’t been given a task you’d have holed yourself up by now to escape the frivolity of the entire celebration. Nothing like an inauguration of a communist to really get people going.

Not that you’ve learned anything useful. The docks were off limit for the time being and even if you wanted to sneak in, every nook and cranny was heavily guarded. Even cruise ticket holders were restricted until after the ceremony. The few troopers that were actually on duty were unwilling to share anything of value. They just urged you to find a spot along the parade route or settle somewhere with a TV to watch the televised program with promises that you would see the president present the award to the best preforming squad.

With no leads elsewhere, you found yourself at a quiet little food truck along the seawall. It was old and clunky but disguised as ‘Rufus’s favorite street meat’ as if anyone would actually believe that the president himself waltz along the streets looking for foot cart dishes. The gaudy decor draped across it’s flat surfaces did succeed in matching the excitement of the event. Honestly you’d think it came right from the train graveyard in the slums. The spinning hot dog on the roof swiveled around slowly as it played some distorted whimsical tune like the vehicle had spent a lot of time under water. Red and gold garland wrapped around the top concealing little bullet holes along the roof. An oversized banner, as tall as you, was plastered over the window hiding the cracks in the glass that advertised their signature rainbow slushies and a ‘Rufus dog’, which was just a fancy hot dog with Rufus Shinra’s, or so they claim, favorite toppings.

Your stomach growled as an array of delicious smells wafting through the air from the surrounding stalls assaulted your nostrils. After a small debate on whether this place would kill you or not you caved and got into line just behind the one other customer. As you waited a steady trail of people trailed behind you all creating a wall from your position to the small stage where an event was about to begin.

Honestly, you should’ve known better than trying to find the attraction. You perched on the tops of your toes trying to see over the wave of celebrators, your balance near perfect, but your reaction time delayed. You heard the girl sniffling long before you saw her backing up your way and before your flats of your feet touched the ground again it was too late to get step out of her path.

So there you are being pushed backwards, your arms out to catch your upper body as your ass landed harshly against the pavement, and that wasn’t even the worst part. You only seen a brief flash of color and a plastic cup before you squeezed your eyes shut and prepared for the chilly beverages to splatter across your face before soaking into your clothes. You swallowed the shriek that caught in your throat on contact, and a shiver rippled down your spine as you exhaled deeply through your nose and slowly rose to your feet wiping some of the frozen slush off your chest.

“OHMYGODS! OHMYGODS!” Her hands frantically waving in front of her, her bracelet clinking against itself as she moved. “I am SOO sorry! I wasn’t looking. I am so so sorry.” You wiped a bit of the melting slush from your cheek before studying your assailant.

Her rose hair was what stood out to you first. Each lock curled in a perfect ringlet and framing her face nicely. Then there were her eyes: oval pools of grey, wide in shock and glassy with unshed tears. Once perfectly applied makeup now streaked towards the corners like she’d been wiping the few drops that made it past her lash line. She was shorter than you by a few inches and her frame was small, and lithe. Her shoulders were curled inward, and hands clenched around the once full beverages and trembled at her sides.

She swiped furiously the new tears that slipped free. “I have a room a-at the hotel across the street if you want to freshen up and change. I-I really really am sorry.” Her head hung in shame. Her bottom lip shook between her teeth.

“It’s okay. It was an accident.” You leaned down to peer at her face. “I actually don’t have anything else to wear. I’m just passing through.” She lifted her head, just slightly, to meet your eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry. Besides, it looks like you have somewhere else to be.”

She straightened entirely, the tension between the blades of her shoulders easing, before dropping the plastic cups to clatter on the pavement and swiftly grabbing your hand to tug you along behind her. “Don’t you worry! I have extras!” Your dominant hand twisted behind your back to grab the hilt of your weapon as your limbic system trying to trigger the part of your brain into into fight mode. She must’ve seen you reaching for it cause she released your wrist as if you’re skin burned her. She hugged her arms weekly one palm rubbing at her bicep. “Sorry… I’m not trying to kidnap you. I mean look at you,” she gestured at all of you, “I hardly doubt I’d even be a threat to you.” You loosened your hold on the sword and let your arm fall back to your side. “Look,” she said. “I was stood up. I’m not busy. So please let me at least give you something to wear.”

“Well,” your nose wrinkled in disgust at the overly sweet smell permeating your clothes. “I do hate wet clothes.” You shrugged. Her despondent aura quickly transformed into something much lighter and outgoing. Her smile nearly stretched from ear to ear, her pearly white teeth capable of brightening a cloudy sky, as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Okay, this way.” Without wasting another second, she resumed her quick pace through the crowd, this time with you close behind. As she led you she babbled on about how she’s from Kalm, and came to see the parade before she traveled to Costa Del Sol tomorrow for a new job. You nodded along as you took mental notes on noticeable landmarks to find your way back later. Your ears trained on any distressing sounds while half heartedly listening to this woman’s story.

You marveled at the size and clarity of the glass doors of whatever hotel she brought you too, stretching at least fifteen feet taller than you. Large glass windows were on either side of the door and you nearly gasped when you turned. In the center of the lobby surrounded by curved wooden benches sat a proud replica of the Sister Ray. The thing was enormous! Nearly the size of an actual tank, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a functioning model.

The young woman zig zagged through the lingering guests trying to check in. Once again, you quickly scanned for possible exits and dangers that may be lurking in the dim corners. Just because you weren’t a fugitive like your companions didn’t mean you were safe. Anyone could have seen you with them, and it only took one onlooker to put you in danger. Caution and contingency plans are essential.

You gripped onto one of the railings as the two of you set walked up the stairs. She told you about the guy she was suppose to meet. They had met at the gate of the city when they were waited to acquired a travel permit. They hit it off, and had a lot in common so thinking that that might have been the beginning of something she asked if he wanted to meet up later. He seemed to be on the same page and agreed telling her to meet him at the seaway. He never turned up. She waited a couple hours after the time they agreed on before she finally gave up and quite literally stumbled into you. She feet came to a stop in front of room 304 and she quickly produced a keycard and held it to the sensor before she pushed the door open, and pulled you in behind her with a ‘tada!’.

“I’m Riza, by the way.” She waved her hand towards the extravagant king size bed, a silent invitation to make yourself comfortable. You ran your hands along the smooth red silk as she trotted over to the closet. Your eyes skimmed along the beautifully detailed painting of the flora and fauna of Junon that used to grow around the area before moving on to the pristinely crafted golden sconces and wooden paneled walls. The place was certainly one of the higher tier hotels in the city. You could only imagine the small fortune one must have to stay here. “I hope a sundress is okay. I packed for the beach.” Riza called out to you from the other side of the closet doors.

“Anything is fine. I really appreciate it.” Riza stepped back and closed the door, returning with a lovely blue chiffon fabric folded over her forearm.

“I think this one will look amazing on you. Go try it on!” She practically shoved the material into your hands before you awkwardly shuffled into the bathroom just behind her. “Feel free to use the hairbrush, make up, or well anything!”

“Thank you!” You called over your shoulder before shutting the door with a click and locking the door behind you. You blew a lock of hair out of your face as you stared at your reflection. You looked like you’d just robbed a circus with the various colors staining your clothes.

Some purple and blue tones had dried on your face, and most of your hair had escaped the tight braid you had put it in. You reached behind you to pull the tie free only to discover that it was no longer there. It must've fallen off when you fell earlier. You sighed. You hoped Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith were faring better than you.

Fifteen minutes later you emerged from the bathroom in a simple pale blue off the shoulder sundress with sheer batwing sleeves that flowed till just above your elbows round the entire breast line which accented the are nicely making your s/c really glow. The high waist pinched just at the divot between your ribs and hips then the sheer material cascaded around your calves in a tent silhouette. The lining under the flowy fabric was short and fitted to your form and stopped mid thigh. You brushed out the snarls at the ends of your hair prior to tucking a few locks behind your ears. You normally didn’t let it free, being mid back length it often got in your way, but you'd manage for now. You clipped and fastened the leather strap of your equipment at the waist line and fidgeted with a skirt for a moment before speaking up. “It fits great. Are you sure this is okay? We probably won’t meet again so I won’t be able to return it.”

She did a lap around you to take in every detail of your appearance, her irises dragging from head to toe, before she leaned against a cabinet near the bed. “Girl, don’t worry about it. It looks WAY better on you than me. Though it’d be better without that bag and sword.” She pointed at your equipment that you had secured it to its proper place.

You ignored the statement, not one to forego safety for fashion. “Look, I hate to just change and run, but I do have somewhere to be.”

“No worries! Sorry again.”

You stuffed your wet clothes into your pack and slipped your socks and boots back on before saying your goodbyes. “It was nice to meet you Riza. Good luck on your new position, and enjoy the beach.” You reached to pull the door open before you paused and turned to address her one more time. “That guy, by the way, is an idiot. You’re a gorgeous girl and I don’t come across truly kind people anymore. Don't settle for someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

You opened the door and slipped back into the hallway before she could respond. Each footstep muffled against the carpeted halls as you weaved yourself back into the bustling streets.

*~*

Time was running out and you still hadn’t learned anything that might have given your group an edge. You spent another hour and a half soaking in the whispered rumors, but none knew anything of value. What you needed was to find a middle to high level employee off duty and relaxing, preferably a man so you could charm some info right out of him, but you would settle for anyone at this point. Now if you a valuable employee that had time to spare where would you kill time?

In the barracks you chatted with a nice drill sergeant that showed you some of the routines they planned to perform so maybe Cloud could use that to come up with a better one. You ran into a middle class manager that you learned was leaving for vacation tomorrow since the cruise ships weren’t leaving the harbor until tomorrow. So that really put a wrench in making a getaway plan. You did run into a rather interesting establishment that you swore that bald turk escaped into, but you weren’t granted access unless you shave your head. A bald bar? Really? Eventually you happened by a lounge that looked promising.

The le Sourie, the brick side of the building read. You admired the large purple flowers that decorated the floor to ceiling entrance. The were even more impressive when you realized they were real and well maintained. Definitely a costly expense in this region. Two men stood guard on either side of the tinted glass door, one broad and nearly six feet tall and the other more lanky and around five-two-the second holding a clipboard and scanning what you guessed was a list. You readied your permit, ready to show them and possibly flirt your way in when the second man eyed you up and down before nodding to the towering man who firmly grabbed the handle and pulled it open for you. You weren’t naive you knew you were conventionally attractive, but you were surprised that they were so willing to let any and all beautiful women pass through.

You were immediately bathed in a faint blue light as you walked in. You looked up briefly to see the flower shape light fixtures above you before following the walkway illuminated by more blue faintly glowing floor runners on each side of the deep dark wooden planks. It was a beautiful place: smooth and sleek features, both table and booth seating arrangements, the counter at the bar was up a platform. A TV was mounted on each wall so everyone could view the parade, or there were two or three private booths with a partition to make it feel secluded- VIP section you imagine. Most tables were occupied with patrons engaged in intimate conversations whereas the bar was mostly open.

You took a seat on one of the plush bar stools toward the end of the counter closest to a screen and signaled for the bartender. You gazed at the long list of assorted liquors and asked the woman for something sweet and would go down easy. You didn’t often partake in drinking. You preferred to stay sharp, usually only participating when you're accompanying a client or target. You tended to be looser, and you certainly made seducing a target easier if you arent attracted to them. Your eyes flicked to the screen while the server went to make your poison of choice. You were quickly uninterested as soon as you seen the reporter interviewing a foot soldier. Nothing of interest.

You turned your attention to the far wall, looking for the source of music you kept hearing, where they had a small group of musicians playing. You’ve always had a love for the piano and you played a bit yourself from time to time though that night with Cloud was the first time you played in a few years. Time truly did get away from you when you stayed so busy. The instruments all harmonized nicely with the clean notes of the piano to the smooth brassy tones of the sax. You were a bit surprised that they had a full drum set in such a compact space, but the musician played in a way that was soft and gave the piece a nice low beat.

You sipped at your drink and eyes slowly trailed back to the TV. The reporter was still interviewing the same soldiers about their upcoming performance. They were asking if the troop could share some of the moves they were going to do when the low timbre of someone familiar filtered through the speakers, and shot of excitement rippled down your spine. Your eyes were now glued to the screen above you looking for him. You nearly gave up, convinced you were hearing things, until the camera honed in on the newest soldier in the interview and those bold blue eyes stared back at you through the screen. You’d know those eyes anywhere. A breathy laugh emanated from your mouth as his signature features show through his clever disguise. He looked uncomfortable under the reporter’s attention and stumbled at her aggressive questioning.

“How do you plan to set your team from the rest?” She asked as she shoved the microphone to his face.

“We… Uh…” He snaked his hand behind his head to scratch at his neck, something you’ve come to notice he does when he’s nervous, but the hand fell back to his side when the tips felt the metal of the helmet. Curious that his was different than the rest if them.

“Whoa… Right!” An eager trooper beside him came forward. “I see what you mean, captain.” Oh… Captain? You smiled. That’s cute. “We can’t go spilling our secrets to anyone who asks- especially on camera!”

His flustered and stuttering nervousness changed into the more stern and brusk part of him that was familiar to you. Confident, like he’s done this many many times before. “Break time’s over, people. The parade’s about to begin. Follow me!”

All the troopers jumped to attention before yelling out “Sir!” and the whole group, Cloud included, rushed out of whatever building they had been in. The camera followed after them for a moment before the camera swiveled and then cut off all together and the station switched into some Shinra infomercial.

You shook your head. He always seemed to tell everyone to lay low and out of sight so why was it that he was always the one to somehow stand out the most? You knew they were going to join the parade, but you hadn’t expected to get himself promoted.

“What’s a cute girl like you, doing in a bar, all alone?” You turned to look at the man who slid into the stool next to you. His wild flaming red spikes tied in a low pony was the first thing to catch your eye. The looks looked soft to the touch the front of it pushed up out of his face by the pair of black goggles he wore along his hairline. Then it was his eyes. The turquoise orbs crackled with sparks of mischief that reminded you of a strikes of lightning on a stormy day. You didn’t miss the underlying fire that smoldered back at you just waiting for a chance to light you up.

You made a show of raking your eyes over his slanted brows and further down to his sharp straight nose. You let a small coy smile spread before bringing your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes settled on his cocky smirk across one half of his mouth. His tidy black suit, if not a little unprofessional, was left open to reveal the toned muscle on his chest underneath. A turk, and one that hadn’t met you in the mines. You could work with this.

“Shouldn’t you be on duty today?” you asked as you turned in your chair to face him. You propped your elbow onto the bar, delicately set your chin into your palm, and crossed one leg over the other which cause the edge of your dress drag down to your thigh.

“Man, I wish.” He sprawled out on the chair with his upper body angled towards you. “Bosses got me on vacation instead of chasing bad guys.” he took a swig from his own drink before signally the bartender for another round.

“Ah, that’s too bad.” You said with faux sympathy. “Would’ve loved to see you in action.” your sultry tone felt foreign on your tongue. You polished off your own drink needing a boost of liquid courage to rid yourself of the get over the tension. You hadn’t needed to do this since you left Midgar, and the fact that it comes so easy to you was unsettling. He drug his chair closer to yours, the legs scratching against the floor, as the bartender brought over the next round. You acted surprised when they set a second one down in front of you too. “Oh, thank you.”

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be buying her own drinks. Names Reno.” He stood on the bottom rungs of the stool to look down the bar then returned to his seat. He leaned close enough to your ear that you could feel the hot breath fan over the appendage as he spoke. “And between you and me, I heard that terrorist group’s in town. ‘M pretty pissed not to be chasing after ’em.” You twirled a lock of hair around your index finger as you listened to every syllable he said every once in a while flicking your eyes down to his parted lips. He leaned back, but only a little. “But, don’t worry! I may be takin’ a breather but I’ll protect you.”

“I must be lucky.” You took another sip. “Tell me though, why are you spending your vacation in a bar? A man in your position must be able to go wherever.”

He put one arm on the bar right next to yours, the light skin contact making your skin crawl, and the other on one of the rungs of the stool behind you. You scootched to the edge of your seat just enough that he thought you were interested. Conveniently from this angle you could see all the way to his belt buckle, and you noted the bandages wrapped around his defined abs. So out on injury then. “Heading to Costa Del Sol tomorrow.”

You looked back up at him through your lashes, and tilted your head slightly. “Why not today?” You asked hoping he’d provide an alternative to the closed port.

“Coulda, but only the Shinra-8 is sailing today. I’m waiting for the Shinra-10. Private cabins.” He winked. “Sure could use some company.” The hand behind you coming up to smooth along the skin of your exposed thigh.

You let out a breathy sigh to mask the repulsion that coursed through you. Despite the urge to break his hand you returned the gesture by running your hand down the length of his arm in response. “Perhaps I’ll see you on the ship.” Your gaze flicked towards the door for a second, to search for thee streak that you caught in your peripheral, before quickly taking a second glance. The blood pounding in your ears droned out whatever Reno was saying as you looked the shadows outside the window. Even under that red dingy helmet you’d know Cloud Strife anywhere.

Your heart stopped, if only for a moment, when your hazy eyes met his. Unlike any other time he’s looked at you his harsh stare was molten, hardened, and angry. Maybe it was the two cocktails coursing through your blood or just the desire you kept locked away, but right then and there you wished it was him touching you right now. Your core throbbing at the mere idea of his bare hands sliding up your thigh and under your dress. How you wished for his skin to press against yours.

His expression was blank, guarded, but his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You didn’t want to turn your attention back to the Turk next to you, but you had a job to do. You only hoped he’d understand what he saw was a ruse, but you wouldn’t blame him if he was angry. You had just joined the group and now your practically in the lap of his enemy. You peered up at Reno through the fallen locks of your bangs, batting your lashes a few times to make you seem daft, before taking a long look at the palm on your thigh.

“What wrong, princess?” Of course he’d notice, he was a Turk after all. You learned enough you supposed.

“Nothing. I just saw the friend I was meeting.” You retreated from his hold and smoothed down your dress. You wanted to clear up the misunderstanding before the parade started. “Thank you so much for the drink, Reno, and hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You gave his arm one more lingering touch before you turned from him and sauntered towards the exit.

“Hey! What’s your name?” He called after you.

You offered no answer. Your only farewell was the wave over your shoulder as he was, without a doubt, watching you leave. Your hands trembled slightly in anticipation, but not nervous and more importantly not afraid as you set your sights on one man. Yeah, it’s definitely the alcohol.

*~*

Cloud was electrified the moment he saw you sitting there. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. The world around him suddenly didn’t seem to matter as he shamelessly drank you in. It never occurred to him that you could look so delicate, so lady-like, after reveling in the way you struck down fiend after fiend without hesitation. The smooth skin of your shoulders captivated him, and his heart nearly burst through his chest as his eyes dipped lower down your chest. Heat surged through him as all the blood once again rushed to his dick. One smooth leg, all the way up to your thigh, on display through the slit of this new sundress. He barely registered the was the pale blue of the dress complemented your skin tone.

Then he realized exactly what he was watching. It was like someone poured ice water down his back in the middle of summer and lit a fire hotter than Ifrit’s flame deep in his belly. He jaw clenched together as he ground his teeth almost painfully as that asshole touched you so brazenly the way he should be touching you. He was really pissed he hadn’t killed him back in Midgar.

However, it was the way your hand trailed down his bicep and settled gently against his forearm, that turned the rage into nausea. The taste of bile on his tongue growing sharper as your lashes fluttered as he talked to you. His hands clench at the way you laughed at whatever ridiculous thing he said. The whole encounter set of a cocktail of emotions in the pit of his stomach that Cloud didn’t have the tools to deal with so instead he focused on the blood lust that clouded his brain. His posture became rigid as he tried to keep himself on this side of the glass as Reno leaned into you, the gap between the two of you becoming way to slim for his liking.

Part of him knew there must be a logical explanation; you didn’t seem like the type to go finding guys in bars let alone that fucker. He wanted to look away, but he was physically unable to tear his eyes away. He wished to be anywhere but here. Maybe the Gods took pity on him, or maybe you had a sixth sense that told you when he stared at you for to long because the moment your eyes met his across the building and through the glass Cloud couldn’t breathe.

His heart pounded relentlessly against his ribcage at the prospect of being caught, and for a moment the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. He couldn't grasp the initial plea your eyes conveyed, but moments after they lit up in recognition before glazing over in a heated stare. The heat returned between his legs like molten lava. His entire body lurched forward towards you, wanting nothing than to be slotted between your thighs, before he caught himself, and when you finally looked away he hightailed it out of there.

What the hell was that? He hadn’t done anything wrong so why the hell did he feel guilty? He fucking knew why he just didn't want to acknowledge the hardness between his legs that twitched to life under your sweltering e/c orbs like some kind of closet pervert. A tiny part of him, perhaps the debauchee that kept surfacing, swelled with a pinch of pride and a dash of smugness. You hadn’t looked at Reno like that.

He stomped down the stairs to the main road where he left Tifa and Aerith behind. He chose to ignore their inquiries, instead he stalked across the road to put as much distance between you and him as possible. He was ready to get this shit over with.

He nearly made it to the troops of Midgar’s Seventh Infantry before he heard his name echo above the useless chatter of the far too crowded street. He thinks that he’d always hear your voice calling out to him no matter the distance much like Aerith could hear the Planet. His feet faltered for a moment as he debated if he was going to ignore you or not, but he just didn’t have it in him to walk away from you.

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder and sure as shit there you were chasing after him with your skirt clenched in one hand to keep yourself from tripping over it as you ran after him.

“Told you it involved her.” Aerith said under her breath, his enhanced hearing picking it up despite her efforts to keep quiet.

“Guess I owe you.” Tifa replied.

“Shut up.” He snapped. He stalked towards you to meet you in the middle, leaving the two gossiping girls at the edge of the road.

“Hey.” You took in a few deep breaths. “Nice uniform, captain.”

He groaned. He had somehow forgotten that detail in the last past few minutes. “How’d you-”

“I seen your interview. You play the part well. And you two-” you peered around him. “Look fantastic.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied you as you appeared to be normal not like you had just shared- well whatever that was. “You’re one to talk, y/n.” Aerith said.

“Really, y/n, you look stunning.” Tifa chimed in. He thought so too. He suddenly felt shy with you next to him like this.

“Yeah, well long, story. Anyway, after you the parade find the Shinra-8. It’s the only boat leaving port today, and it leaves soon after the event. It’s the perfect getaway.”

“Got it!” Aerith said. The girls looked towards the main drag when the rest of the squadron all called out for their captain as they finally spotted Cloud’s helmet in the crowd. “Oh! They’re coming this way!”

You looked up at him with those big shining eyes of yours, “Out of time it looks like.”

“We’ll go stall.” Tifa said with a wink before Aerith grabbed her arm and dragged Tifa along with her as she went to distract the incoming hoards of men.

“Uh, thanks.” He said lamely as he scratched at the hairs along his nape.

“The turks know you’re here.” So you did know who Reno was. The residual flickers of fire in his gut subsided when he understood the nature of your encounter. “So be careful, okay?”

“No promises.”

The corner of your mouth quirked upwards, as you peered up at him through your lashes. The strands behind your ears fell around your jawline before you tucked it away once more. His pulse thumped rhymically in his throat as the silence stretched between you. Should he say anything? Should he ask you about what happened? You chewed on your lower lip, perhaps in the same internal battle as him, as the two of you just looked at one another before your eyes settled on his neckline.

You hands reach out for him. Your fingers moving slowly towards his collar pausing to give him time to back away if he so desired. Every instinct told him do so, but there was an ache in the hollow gut that yearned for your touch. He nearly flinched as the tips of your fingers ghosted along his neck, but forced his body to relax under the warm pads of your fingertips. It was brief, no longer than a second or two while you straightened the collar of his uniform, but it was enough for an army of goosebumps to erupt across his sensitive flesh. “Good luck out there. I’ll be watching.”

He swallowed thickly around the thump that formed in the back of his throat and nodded dumbly in confirmation. You smoothed your hands down his shoulders and onto his upper chest before withdrawing from him completely. You jutted your thumb behind you to signal your departure as you stepped backwards into the crowd once again. He heaved in relief when he watched your figured trailing away from the bar.

“You’re right, Aerith. He’s totally in love with her.” He groaned. Just what he needed; another thorn in his side to poke, prodd, and tease.

“Let’s go.” He redirected. “We have a parade to win.”

#ff7 rebirth #fluff #ff7 cloud x reader #cloud strife x reader #eventual smut #ff7 fanfic #slow burn #slight reno x reader #cloud x reader #cloud strife #cloud is jealous #brief mention of sa #reader is smooth #mutual attraction #reader wants cloud bad #reader is hot #cloud wants her bad #its cool its mutual #spice

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anonbinaryweirdo · 1 year ago

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I'm yapping feel free to ignore

I'm coming out when I move out because of how religious my family is (fucking Catholics)

and my moms like a hypocritical ally (as my brother puts it)

because my mom supports lgbtq kinda, but she flat out refuses to acknowledge her children as someone who likes the same sex

but I can't help but wonder if she'll accept me for who I am, because I'm mostly attracted to women because of trauma I received at a VERY young age

not just like. sexual trauma, but the stuff I was exposed to starting at seven

I know that both men and women can cause equal harm to people, but I was explicitly exposed to men being the evil people growing up, and most of that evilness was inflicted onto me

like I cant help but wonder if she'll understand, because she was raised on religion, and believes in the "gay is a sin" bullshit

like "hey mom, I like girls" "no you don't." what happens if it goes like this?? will I lose my mother just because of something completely harmless?? I don't get it

she accepts my brother for being trans and gay (mostly because he's (not yet legally) adopted) but still

choose a side and stick with it; you're either an ally, or youre phobic

I think about this a lot dawg

#tws; brief mention of sa (like if you squint)‚ talk about religion #i wanted to add more regarding the religion stuff but decided not too #im gonna exPLODE

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sporkberries · 2 years ago

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heads up btw im gonna be posting a lil essay type thing that talks about some really heavy subjects in a couple minutes. namely rape and SA. if those things bother you and you dont have those terms blocked I’d recommend doing so

#I normally wouldnt post a warning like this but #most the time those topics have came up its been brief and not gone into #i go into it here #and i wanted to give a heads up #rape mention #tw sa #<- tags i will be using #love u mutuals stay safe muah

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averagedettlaffenjoyer · 2 years ago

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i am a raging feminist with a little bit of misandry going on but i will protect sapkowski’s writing with my very own life

#the booktok girlies shitting on him will turn around and absolutely eat up ACOTAR #i get it there’s brief mention of SA in the books but man y’all are not ready to hear abou GoT #the witcher #witcher

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truckfreaks · 2 years ago

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i am turning 32 in a few days and i have thoughts about it

here's the thing yall. i'm so much happier just being an unhinged weirdo 100% of the time as opposed to making myself palatable and code switching and all of that bullshit. it's SO TIRING. you know what isn't, though? literally just not giving a fuck anymore and just. doing what makes sense in the moment.

that doesn't mean "live without consideration of others", or "live with no filter", or "be insufferable 24/7". like, there are still times where i need to be professional and shit. but what i mean is, instead of making myself smaller - it is so much better to just stick to my guns when you KNOW you know something, and to be honest but unapologetic when you don't.

stick up for yourself. if something feels wrong in your gut, say so. if something feels right, celebrate it. pursue the weird shit you aren't sure if you're gonna like or not. wasted time is time you spent saying "man i wish i did [insert new experience here] today" instead of actually just going out and doing the thing. man, my depression was SO bad for the last, whatever, three years - between being assaulted *again* and stalked and being a nurse at a research hospital throughout the roughest waves of covid, having to resuscitate my neighbors son literally like a week after moving into a new place... fuck, idk. it was just blow after blow after blow after blow and i just felt like, so super hollow.

I literally would come home, crawl in bed, shut off my phone, and talk to no one until I had to go back into work again. friends, family, didn't matter. I hid from EVERYONE and everything and tried to just muscle through it all by myself. and it was the fucking WORST. like, the darkest place I've ever been in, without question.

(real life human company brought me NO joy at all. opposite, even. i would just dread seeing or interacting with anybody at all. most of the time if i talked to anyone, it was to ?people? that weren't there. not like i was hallucinating, or delusional, i knew nobody was really there, i just. idk. it's hard to explain, but i guess if i had to give it a label ... maladaptive daydreaming?)

and now i'm at a place in my life where... yeah, i still have those days where i wake up feeling like "damn. i can't believe i have to probably keep doing this shit for another thirty to fifty goddamn years." not like, suicidal but just exhausted at the very concept of how long and arduous life is and how you just have to keep going for the sake of other people and how fucking *tiring* that is. but, i also have a lot of days where even though i feel terrible, i force myself to get up and do what i need to do no matter how i'm feeling, because if i didn't, i'd literally just sit in bed and say to myself, man, wish i had gone and done that thing today. and i guess that even if life is long and exhausting and tiring, i'd rather be exhausted for a good fucking reason.

so that's why it's so important to me these days to be all in on just pursuing ... idk. whatever seems worthwhile, even if it's hard. there's still this really unbearable, heavy sadness that i grapple with every fuckin day - but you know what makes the sadness a little duller? thinking that i did some good for someone else today, or that i made someone laugh, or feel good about themselves. and the other thing that helps is just allowing myself to feel good, even if other people don't "get" it. i will unabashedly declare my love for a fictional skeleton on main, or i will show up to the function wearing my hair like fucking Misa Amane, or i will talk to cool looking bugs i find on my walks to tell them they look pretty even if they don't know what the fuck I'm saying and I dont!!!! care anymore!!!!! doing these things make me happy! and you know what? i know, FOR A FACT, that being open and honest about how much these things make me happy... makes *other people happy too*. and also empowers them to be able to be more true to themselves!

and there's something else to that, too. the more i like myself and allow myself to be happy, the more self respect i gain - which means suddenly, taking up space in the world doesn't feel like something inherently bad or undeserved.

if you actually read through this fucking novel, thanks, but no hard feelings if you couldn't make it, lmao. i just needed a place to get all of this down.

#sams undertale #tw under the cut #tw sa #tw abuse #brief mention only but just want to be mindful #venting as well but yeah

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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

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hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn’t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #margot's requests #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort

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shyfrog-says · 2 years ago

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Hey, idk who needs to hear this, but life is uncomfortable and triggering. Do what you can to make it less so, but do not deem a stranger evil or despicable for not catering specifically to your desires, which are unknown to them.

Learn the difference between discomfort and offense. It is your job to manage whatever comfort you can find for yourself. Do not assume it is everyone else's responsibility to do it for you.

There are cases where it is common decency to accommodate others, such as warning someone before they show certain themes and visuals that people can theoretically go their entire lives without seeing first-hand (gore, body horror, sexual assault, slavery), or visuals and effects that are known to cause harm to a fairly large group of people (flashing lights, loud noises).

But if you have a trigger that is not just uncommon but also very commonly not a trigger for most other people, that is something that you need to accommodate for yourself.

The former is offense, and the latter is discomfort.

If food is a trigger for you, if water is a trigger for you, if sickness is a trigger for you, if social interaction is a trigger for you, if animals are a trigger for you - make the changes you need to make for yourself, which could include going to see a therapist.

((There are even cases where I've seen people try to use "having a trigger" as an excuse to be offensive themselves, or even just flat out cruel, like requesting that certain gender identities or sexual orientations or religions (not "discussion of religious trauma or negative experiences," just the religion) or cultures have trigger warnings before them.))

Think of it like an allergy.

If someone offers you food free of charge, and it has something you're allergic to in it, what do you do? Do you berate them and accuse them of trying to poison you? Or do you politely decline and go on with your day? Hopefully the latter, right?

Or what if it's cedar season and you have a cedar allergy? I mean, yeah, it's annoying, but you can live with it, and if it's extreme enough, you might take some medicine, or stay inside, or go somewhere else.

And just like with the more extreme triggers, there are extreme allergies that are and should be commonly accommodated for, like when schools have nut-free tables in their cafeterias and planes stopped serving peanuts and switched to other snacks.

But if everyone accommodated everyone all the time, life would be unliveable.

So know when it's better to just let yourself be uncomfortable. And if you don't know, then learn.

#prompted by seeing a video tagged ''trigger warning: food''#this whole ''comparing triggers to allergies'' thing is a much better analogy than I thought it would be #tw: brief mentions of sa slavery body horror and religious trauma

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moonlitstoriess · 3 months ago

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Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 1

Part 2 here

Y/n, Rhysand’s true mate, discovers their bond while under Amarantha’s rule. As they grow closer in captivity, Rhys remains unaware of their connection. When Feyre enters his life, y/n watches in silence as Rhysand falls for her, never revealing the truth of their bond, leading to a heartbreaking end.

Warnings: mentions of SA, abuse, character death, little fluff and too much angst

The first week under Amarantha’s rule was a descent into madness. What had once been kingdoms of power and grace now lay in shambles, High Lords stripped of their freedom, their courts brought to ruin.

Y/n, a lesser member of the Dawn Court, had survived the initial massacre, slipping through the cracks of chaos. She had always lived on the fringes, unnoticed among the more powerful, her quiet presence often overlooked. The beauty of the Dawn Court, with its pale skies and soft mornings, felt like a distant dream now. The dungeons were cold, oppressive—any trace of light long extinguished.

Word of the High Lords’ fates had spread quickly through the prisoners. Rhysand, the infamous High Lord of the Night Court, was said to be one of Amarantha’s most prized captives. His reputation as a cruel, cunning male echoed even in the darkest corners of their cell blocks. Y/n hadn’t expected to meet him, let alone stand face-to-face with the infamous High Lord during her silent wandering through the dim corridors.

Their first encounter was brief, in the murky gloom of a narrow passage. He was alone, his posture rigid, and his normally sharp features were bruised and weary, yet he still held that air of cold authority.

Y/n hadn’t expected him to stop as their paths crossed. But Rhysand’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto hers. His violet eyes, piercing despite the fatigue, lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.

“Dawn Court,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though roughened by days of captivity. It wasn’t a question—just an observation.

Y/n hesitated, her heartbeat loud in her chest. “Yes,” she replied softly, meeting his gaze, though her own voice was steadier than she felt.

For a long moment, Rhysand simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. There was no reason for him to notice her, no reason for him to care. She was just another prisoner, a face among many. And yet, something flickered in his eyes—something that made her breath catch, though she couldn’t name it.

They said nothing more, both of them knowing there was no safety in words here. But in that shared silence, a connection was forged—one neither of them could explain, and one that would only grow stronger in the long days ahead.

The second time they met was when y/n was in an injured state. Silently crying while trying to stop the gash on her shoulder blade from bleeding as she quickly made her way through the halls. Past the ugly laughters of Amarantha’s creatures, her loyal servants.

She didn’t know where she was looking or where she was heading as she entered a small washroom. But it was when she lifted her head and saw him, sitting down in the corner, all buttons of his tunic opened to display a toned chest with claw marks all over him, face devoid of any emotion, eyes staring but not truly seeing her.

They just stared like that at one another for long enough before the searing pain in y/n’s shoulder made her hiss and remove her bloody hand from the wound.

She was too busy with disinfecting her wound that y/n didn’t even feel Rhysand get up and come towards her, hint of worry slowly blossoming in his chest as he leaned down next to her sitting form.

“Naga?”

Slightly startled, y/n paused what she was doing and turned to look at his still haunted-looking face.

She shook her head. “Attor.”

He gave her a small nod before raising his hand towards the wet cloth she was gripping.

“May I? I do not believe that you will be able to reach and clean that wound properly.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering if this was the cruel Rhysand everyone seemed to talk about.

He saw her hesitation and gave her the tiniest of smiles before going back to his indifferent expression once more.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite you.”

Despite the pain, y/n smiled slightly as she handed him the rag. To say she was surprised with how gentle he was, would be an understatement. They said no words, despite the fact that y/n had questions of her own.

Why was he in such a state? Why did he have all these marks on him? Was he with Amarantha? It seems like he doesn’t get enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes.

But she decided against speaking any of them out, still hesitant with her actions. Not to mention the eerie comfort their little moment provided for her. Y/n was sure that this would never happen again.

She was wrong; this happened again.

This time however, under the worst possible circumstances. In Amaranthas bed.

In the past weeks that they were all here, y/n knew that Amarantha would toy with attractive females and males. But she never thought she would one day be a victim to that cruel woman’s sinister desires.

Her greatest nightmare came true.

She did not even do anything out of the ordinary, always keeping to the corners, preferring to stay away from anyone’s gaze. But alas, it appears that y/n was not as invisible as she thought for it was during her moment locked away in the calm quietness of a small dusty bedroom, that she got dragged away by Amaranthas guards towards her bedchamber.

And you could only imagine the shock on her face when she saw Rhysand, half naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist, staring horrified at her while Amarantha, clad in her sheer robe, dismissed the guards and slowly came towards y/n.

Lifting her chin up with two fingers, the queen snickered as she said, “My my, you are even prettier up close, little mouse.”

Y/n could only gulp as she let the queen inspect her as if she was some sort of an animal. Y/n could feel Rhysands unwavering gaze on her as she stared at the ceiling, willing her tears to stay back.

Suddenly, she felt Amarantha's grip tighten as she was forced to look at the woman before her. The queen's gaze thinned as she inched closer to y/n.

"I suppose you are well aware why you are in here then, no need to waste time on explanations. Am I right, Rhys?"

That is when y/n's gaze slightly drifted towards the male standing next to the bed, his face a mask indifference, a relaxed smirk overtaking his features but his hollow eyes needed no explanation.

"Of course, it is a privilege for her to join us."

Amarantha smirked before dragging her towards the bed, marking the start of y/n's nightmares.

That night, she endured too much, did things she never wished to do, all to keep her head on her shoulders. And for some reason, y/n felt as if she was not the only one who suppressed her disgust and cries deep within herself. Rhysand may be a good actor but his stiffness did not fool her.

The fourth and most important time that they met was in a small, forgotten chamber tucked deep within the mountain--dusty, barely used. Y/n found herself there, seeking refuge from the chaos that constantly swirled under Amarantha’s rule. She didn’t expect anyone else to find the room, and yet, there he was again.

Rhysand stood near the entrance, as though he had only just stepped inside. They froze upon seeing one another. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke. The silence felt almost too heavy to break.

She turned her back to him, focusing on her trembling hands. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, not after what they’d been forced to endure together under Amarantha’s cruelty. The air between them was thick with the unspoken horrors, yet there was an odd pull, a silent understanding that neither acknowledged.

“I thought I’d be alone,” she muttered, not quite sure why she felt the need to say anything.

“So did I,” came his quiet reply. His voice lacked the arrogant lilt she often heard when he spoke to others. There was something raw about him now, stripped of pretense.

A beat passed before she stood, avoiding his gaze as she brushed off the dust from her skirt. She intended to leave, to disappear before this fragile quiet shattered. But as she took a step, her body faltered, pain from her old injury flaring up again. She hissed through her teeth, clutching her shoulder.

Rhysand moved then, quicker than she expected, stepping closer without hesitation. “You’re hurt again.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation, but there was no pity in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, stepping back. Her pride wouldn’t let her show weakness in front of him.

He watched her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not with judgment, but with something closer to understanding. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to move away. When she didn’t, he gestured to the bench behind her. “Sit. I’ll help.”

She hesitated but gave in. She couldn’t bandage the wound herself—not again. Sitting down, she stiffened as he moved to her side, his presence too close, too intimate for comfort. His hands were steady as he inspected the gash. She tried to hide her discomfort as he worked, gently cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. The touch was too careful for someone rumored to be Amarantha’s most favored, the cold High Lord with a cruel reputation.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, though, more than it had ever been before. When Rhysand finally did speak, his voice was barely above a murmur. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He didn’t ask for her name—simply left the sentence hanging, an invitation she could take or leave.

She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Y/n,” she said quietly, watching him closely.

“Y/n,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the closest she had seen to something genuine.

For the first time, she allowed herself to look at him, really look at him, beyond the mask he wore so well. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried. The cruelty he endured, just like her.

“You don’t act like them,” she found herself whispering before she could stop herself. “Like the others.”

He paused, his hands still on her bandage. “Neither do you.”

It wasn’t a comfort, not exactly. But it was something, a crack in the armor they both wore.

Y/n remained still as Rhysand finished tending to her wound, his touch light and careful, the silence stretching between them. She couldn’t help but glance at him again—his face too calm, too composed for someone who had just been through hell. The weight of what had happened in Amarantha’s chamber hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

As he tied off the bandage, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper, “Do you… endure that every day?”

Her words lingered, and she saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same detached mask he always wore. Rhysand straightened, his expression carefully neutral as he moved away, putting space between them.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Amarantha has her ways of amusing herself.”

Y/n stared at him, not buying his attempt to brush it off. She had seen the claw marks, the bruises, the hollowness in his eyes. She had been there—seen the humiliation, the cruelty, the powerlessness they both shared. How could he call it ‘nothing’?

“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “What she does… what we endure… it’s—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice a little sharper than before. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

She blinked at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him through the walls he had built around himself. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but the weight of it all seemed too much, too heavy to put into words.

Y/n’s eyes flickered over his face, searching for something beneath the mask of indifference he wore so easily. His sharp retort had silenced her, but only for a moment. The silence felt too heavy, too suffocating, after what they had both gone through.

She took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain from her wound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—maybe for prying, maybe for the awful reality they were trapped in, or maybe for the fact that she didn’t know how to help him, how to help either of them.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted, finally landing back on her. His expression softened ever so slightly, the hard edges dulling for just a moment. “Don’t be,” he said quietly, almost as if he regretted snapping at her earlier.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, both of them staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Y/n thought of the nightmarish hours she’d spent under Amarantha’s cruel hands, of the helplessness that had consumed her. She glanced at him, wondering how he endured it—if he truly had to endure it every day.

“Does she—” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “Does she make you go through that every day?”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes hardening once more. “What does it matter?” he said, his voice a touch colder than before. “We all suffer under her. It’s just… the way things are.”

Y/n frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. “It matters,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have to—none of us should.”

Rhysand didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he looked away, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone wall behind him. His silence told her more than his words could. He was used to it, accustomed to the horrors that Amarantha inflicted.

She swallowed, her heart heavy. “I—I don’t know how you do it,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can survive this… not like this.”

Rhysand’s gaze returned to her, softer this time, almost contemplative. “You will,” he said quietly, his tone lacking its earlier sharpness. “You’ll survive because you have to.”

There was something about the way he said it—a quiet strength, a stubborn determination that made her believe him, even when everything around them felt hopeless.

Y/n didn’t respond. She simply nodded, grateful for the small comfort his words offered, even if they both knew there were no real solutions to their nightmare.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—two people trapped in hell, offering each other a sliver of solace in the aftermath of horrors too cruel to fully comprehend. Neither of them said anything more, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t affection. It was survival.

And, for now, that was enough.

After that moment, something significant shifted between them. Slowly, their random encounters turned into frequent secret meetups each planned with a sense of urgency and longing. They began to seek each other out, carving out spaces in the darkness where they could share their thoughts, fears, and dreams, knowing that, in this hellish place, they were the only ones who truly understood each other.

Y/n discovered that she felt safe with him in a way she hadn’t expected. In the quiet corners of the mountain, they would talk for hours, sharing fragments of their lives, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls. Rhysand learned about her past life, about her love for creating things, about her resilience, how she had survived Amarantha’s cruelty by retreating into herself, clinging to the memories of a life before the darkness. In turn, she learned about his burdens—the weight of his responsibilities as the High Lord, the pain of leaving his people and his family behind, possibly to never see them again. They were both trapped, but in each other, they found a flicker of hope.

They often sat close, their shoulders brushing, sharing the warmth that lingered between them. There were moments when words felt insufficient, and they would simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing their thoughts to intertwine without the need for spoken language. Each small interaction deepened their bond, and soon they were exchanging not just stories, but pieces of themselves.

One evening, while hiding in their usual alcove, Y/n noticed the weariness in Rhysand’s eyes. She hesitated before speaking, her heart racing. “Do you ever wish you could escape?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Rhysand turned to her, his expression contemplative. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know it’s not that simple.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending to be fine when inside, you feel like you’re breaking.”

He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features. “You feel it too?”

“More than I care to admit,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. If I’ll ever be free of this.”

Rhysand sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I think about that a lot. But then I remember the people who are counting on me. If I give up, what happens to them?”

She could see the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down. “You’re strong, Rhysand,” she said softly. “Stronger than any of us realize.”

He chuckled, but it was devoid of true mirth. “Strength doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”

“Then we can feel it together,” she offered, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather share the burden than carry it alone.”

He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

From that day on, they became each other’s refuge. They shared not only their burdens but also their dreams, hopes, and fears. Rhysand learned about the small things that made Y/n smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the stars, the gentle way she held herself, as if trying to protect the light within her from being extinguished.

Y/n discovered Rhysand’s love for stories, how he could lose himself in the tales of distant lands and daring adventures. They created their own world within the confines of the mountain, where laughter could exist amid the pain, where dreams could be whispered even in the darkest of nights.

With each passing day, they grew closer, their friendship blossoming into something beautiful amidst the horror surrounding them. There was an unspoken promise that they would be there for each other, no matter what. And in that, they found the strength to keep going, to endure the trials that awaited them, together.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years as they kept enduring the horrors under Amarantha’s reign, no one strong enough to defeat her. The passage of time blurred in the darkness, a relentless cycle of survival. Each day brought new cruelties, new horrors that left Y/n and Rhysand feeling more and more hollow inside. Yet, through it all, they clung to the solace they found in each other.

Their secret meetings had become a lifeline. Whenever they could steal a moment away from the prying eyes of Amarantha’s spies, they would retreat into the shadowed corners of the mountain, seeking each other’s presence. Their conversations had grown more comfortable over time, the once hesitant exchanges now flowing with ease. Y/n learned more about Rhysand’s burdens, about the sacrifices he made each day to keep his people alive, even at the cost of his own soul.

In return, Rhysand slowly unraveled the mystery of Y/n. She was no longer the quiet, invisible courtier he had first met in the halls. Her resilience and strength had revealed themselves with each passing day, though she remained ever-watchful, always cautious. The horrors she had endured were scars, both physical and emotional, yet she never let them break her. And Rhysand admired her for it, though he kept his thoughts carefully hidden behind his usual smirks and playful retorts.

They didn’t talk much about what happened in Amarantha’s bed that night. It was an unspoken thing, something that lingered between them, always there, but never addressed directly. It didn’t need to be. They both knew the depths of the hell they were living in, and acknowledging that shared nightmare in words would only make it worse.

Still, there were times when Y/n would look at Rhysand, her gaze searching, wondering how he bore the weight of Amarantha’s twisted games day after day. She saw the toll it took on him, even if he never spoke of it.There were days when he would return from Amarantha’s bedchamber with new scars, fresh wounds both seen and unseen, and Y/n could do nothing but offer her quiet companionship, hoping that in some small way, her presence was enough.

On one such occasion, after another brutal encounter with the queen, Y/n found Rhysand sitting alone in the dark, his usual mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. She hesitated before sitting beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

“Why does she do this to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.

Rhysand didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” she said, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a long time, he didn’t respond, and Y/n wondered if she had overstepped. But then, in the quietest of voices, he said, “Because I am her greatest weapon that needs to be kept under control.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air, and Y/n felt a pang of sorrow deep in her chest. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she knew her words could do nothing to ease his pain.

Rhysand shook his head, brushing off her concern with a forced smile. “Don’t be. It’s the price we pay to survive.”

But Y/n could see through the facade. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the cracks in his armor, the moments when the strain of it all became too much. In those moments, she stayed close, offering her quiet support without pushing him to speak. She had come to understand that Rhysand didn’t need words—he needed the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.

As time passed, their bond deepened, a quiet understanding settling between them. They no longer had to speak to know what the other was feeling. A glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures—these were enough to convey the unspoken trust that had grown between them. Together, they weathered the endless torment of Amarantha’s rule, finding strength in their shared moments, no matter how brief.

But as the years dragged on, a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. Amarantha’s power seemed insurmountable, her cruelty unmatched. The courts remained shattered, the High Lords too broken to mount any sort of rebellion. The mountain felt like a prison, and escape seemed impossible.

Then, whispers of a new arrival began to spread through the court. A mortal girl, brought under the mountain to fulfill some kind of bargain with Amarantha. It seemed like just another piece of cruel entertainment for the queen, another pawn in her twisted game. But something was different this time. Rhysand’s gaze would grow distant whenever her name was mentioned, as if he knew something no one else did. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his usual indifference was replaced with a flicker of… hope?

As Feyre’s presence in the court grew, so did the undercurrent of tension that seemed to ripple through Amarantha’s throne room. Something was happening, something none of them could quite understand. But Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this mortal girl—this Feyre—was important. That maybe, just maybe, the end of their nightmare was closer than any of them realized.

What y/n also realized, was that Rhysand was her mate.

It happened suddenly, during one of Amarantha’s night feasts, a regular, twisted event that Y/n had come to despise. This particular one, however, was the night before Feyre’s first trial.

Y/n stood in the corner, as usual, staying away from the crowd. She preferred to inspect rather than socialize, to keep her distance from the cruel games and manipulations happening all around her. Rhysand was on the opposite side of the grand hall, his mask of indifference and cruelty firmly in place as he entertained conversation with a few other high-fae, Amarantha’s loyal followers. He played his role perfectly, as he always did.

But then, in a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

Y/n felt it immediately—the rush of warmth, the pull so strong it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just the connection they had built over the years or the understanding they shared. No, this was deeper. A primal force that surged within her, a tether she had never felt before, snapping into place.

Rhysand was her mate.

The realization hit her like a blow, sharp and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze as the bond thrummed between them. She had heard of the mating bond before, of course, but to feel it, to know that it was him…

Her heart both soared and sank. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t push it away, but looking at him—his cold mask in place, his focus elsewhere—made her chest tighten with an ache she didn’t know how to suppress.

Rhysand didn’t seem to feel it, didn’t react in any way that might indicate he knew. His gaze lingered on her for a brief second before turning back to the high-fae beside him, the moment passing without acknowledgment.

Y/n stood frozen, the world around her muted as the bond settled within her, painfully unreciprocated.

As Feyre passed her first trial, everything began to shift.

At first, Y/n tried to dismiss it as coincidence—Rhysand had his own burdens, after all, his own games to play. But soon, the cracks in their fragile friendship became too large to ignore. Where before, he would seek her out, find quiet moments in the hidden corners of the mountain to sit with her, to speak about everything and nothing—those moments became fewer and farther between.

The subtle change came in waves. Rhysand started missing their meetups. First, it was only one night, then two, then an entire week would pass without a word. Y/n waited in their usual spots, always hoping he would walk through the door, but instead, she was met with silence. The longer the absence stretched, the deeper the ache in her chest grew.

But the worst came during Amarantha’s nightly feasts. Poor Feyre, clearly not jn a right state of mind, was paraded around the hall, her limbs loose and her eyes unfocused, as Rhysand dragged her onto the floor to dance. Y/n could barely stomach it.

Night after night, she watched as his focus shifted to Feyre—the human girl who was just trying to survive, just like them all. Yet it was in those dances, in the way his eyes lingered on Feyre’s face, even behind the mask of cruelty he wore, that Y/n felt her heart begin to shatter.

She tried to tell herself it was all part of the act, a necessary facade to keep Amarantha’s eyes off him, to protect the bigger plan. But each night, as she watched them dance, watched Feyre’s body against his, her hope withered.

The bond that had once filled her with warmth and joy now twisted inside her, a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t possibly know. Of what she could never tell him. Rhysand had no idea that she was his mate. How could he, when his attention had shifted so completely to Feyre?

And Y/n—heartbroken, invisible—could do nothing but endure it, watching as the only person who had ever understood her slipped further and further away.

The nights dragged on, the darkness under the mountain becoming suffocating as Feyre moved through her trials. Each one more harrowing than the last, each step pushing her closer to death. And with each passing trial, Rhysand's attention shifted further away from Y/n.

Y/n had never felt more alone. Every night, she stood in the shadows, watching as Rhysand danced with Feyre, his hand on her waist, his voice soft in her ear. It had started as part of the game, part of his endless manipulation of Amarantha’s court, but Y/n could see it—he was changing. His mask, once a weapon, now felt more like a shield protecting him from the truth. And the truth was devastating: Rhysand no longer came to her. He no longer sought her out in the quiet corners of the mountain.

The bond between them, once so unmistakable, now felt like a heavy chain around her neck, pulling her deeper into despair with every passing day.

When Feyre passed her final trial and was killed by Amarantha, Y/n’s world collapsed. She had watched it all unfold—the moment the human girl fell, her chest stilling, her life snuffed out in an instant. And Rhysand—he was the first one to cry out her name. His voice, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the hall, and Y/n’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

He rushed to Feyre's side, his face twisted in agony, and without hesitation, he was the first to give a sliver of his power to bring her back. His hands trembled as he leaned over her, tears brimming in his eyes. His voice cracked when he whispered her name again, as though she was the only one who mattered, the only one who had ever mattered.

Y/n stood there, frozen, her own pain drowned out by the overwhelming scene before her. Rhysand hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't acknowledged her presence. It was as if she no longer existed.

And when Amarantha finally fell, when Feyre was brought back to life as an immortal by the combined powers of the High Lords, Y/n felt as though the final thread of her connection to Rhysand had been severed.

Afterward, in the aftermath of Amarantha's death and Feyre's new immortality, Y/n tried—she truly tried to speak with him, to make him see her again, to understand what had been between them before all of this. She sought him out in the quiet halls, waited for him in the places they used to meet, hoping, praying that he would remember.

Finally, on the last night, before they all left this 50 years of hell behind, she found him standing alone on a balcony overlooking the endless expanse of darkness. She approached him, her heart in her throat.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, once full of shared understanding and adoration, were distant, hollow.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” she began, her words faltering as she took in the emptiness on his face.

Rhysand looked away, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been… distracted.”

“With Feyre,” she finished, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to remain composed.

There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I think… I think Feyre is my mate.”

Y/n felt the world tilt beneath her feet, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, to scream that she was his mate—but the words wouldn’t come.

Rhysand didn’t notice her silence, didn’t notice the way her hands trembled. He kept talking, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “I’m falling for her, Y/n. I didn’t expect it, but... I can’t stop it.”

Y/n’s heart shattered all over again, the bond between them twisting into something unbearable. She had lost him.

The dawn was cold, a pale light creeping over the horizon, casting the mountain in a dim, unforgiving glow. Y/n stood alone in the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of the last fifty years, the torture they had endured, the nightmares that would never fully leave them. But now, with Amarantha dead, it was all over. The chains were gone. The horrors were fading into the past, and everyone was finally going home.

Everyone except her.

She had known it was coming—the end of it all. She had prepared herself for the fact that Rhysand might leave, that Feyre might take him from her entirely. But no amount of preparation had lessened the crushing weight in her chest as she watched from the shadows. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even wanted to. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of pain, confusion, and heartbreak.

And now, standing in the pale light of dawn, she saw them.

Rhysand and Feyre.

They were on the balcony above, just as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the both of them. Feyre, still recovering, stood close to him, her face soft with something Y/n couldn’t bear to name. Rhysand was beside her, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the horizon. His arm brushed against Feyre’s, the contact so light, so natural, as if it had always been that way.

Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart splintering with every passing second. He hadn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word. Not a glance.

Just silence.

She had spent fifty years enduring alongside him, had suffered the same horrors, shared quiet moments of solace when everything else was falling apart. She had been there when no one else had, and yet, as the dawn broke over the mountains, Rhysand was leaving—without a single word to her. Without a goodbye.

Her fingers gripped the stone railing as she forced herself to breathe, to stay steady, even as she felt herself crumbling from the inside out.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was his mate, that they were bound by something deeper, something that should have been unbreakable. And he never would. Because in his heart, in his mind, there was only Feyre now.

As she watched him smile at the mortal-turned-immortal girl, Y/n felt the devastating finality of it all settle in her bones. She wasn’t just losing him—she had lost him. Completely. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

The bond between them, the one she had hoped he would feel someday, was nothing but a silent scream in her chest now. Unheard, unnoticed, unacknowledged.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let herself break. Not here. Not now. Not when it was already too late.

She took one last look at them—at the male who had once been her solace, her anchor in the storm, and at the woman who had unknowingly taken him from her.

With a shaky breath, Y/n turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Each step she took felt heavier, like the weight of the entire world was pressing down on her. The corridors were eerily quiet now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, and the mountain had become a place of ghostly memories.

Rhysand would leave. He would go back to Velaris, to his Court of Dreams, to the freedom they had all been denied for so long. And he would do it without a second thought for her. Feyre had captured his attention, his heart, and Y/n was nothing but a shadow now, left behind in the wake of a love she would never know.

She found herself walking to the same small, hidden room they had once met in—the one where they had shared their darkest fears and moments of fragile comfort. But those days were gone. Everything was different now.

Sitting on the bed, Y/n let the silence engulf her. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but she welcomed it. It was better than the numbness she feared would consume her next. She had thought, somehow, that once Amarantha was gone, things might get better. That they could both move forward, together, maybe find peace in each other’s presence. But that had been foolish.

The truth was undeniable now—she was alone.

The mating bond, the one she had felt so fiercely, was not enough. Rhysand had made his choice, whether he knew it or not. Feyre was his future, his heart, his everything.

And Y/n? She would be forgotten.

The bitter taste of rejection burned in her throat as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the memories, the stolen glances, the nights spent in shared pain. Everything she had held onto was slipping away, dissolving like smoke.

For the first time in years, she let herself cry. She cried for the love she never had, for the bond that would never be fulfilled, for the pieces of her heart that would never be whole again. She cried for the girl she had been before all this, before Amarantha, before Rhysand, before the endless cycle of hope and despair had shattered her into something unrecognizable.

By the time the sun had fully risen, her tears had dried, leaving only a hollow ache in their place.

Rhysand would leave, Feyre at his side, and Y/n would remain behind, her presence a forgotten whisper in the chaos of everything else.

She rose from the bed, her movements slow, mechanical. There was nothing left for her here. The mountain, the memories, the unspoken bond—it was all gone. She had to leave, too. But not with him. Never with him.

As she walked out of the room, out of the mountain, her heart broke all over again. This was her ending—quiet, unseen, devastating.

Rhysand had left without a goodbye, but perhaps that was the greatest goodbye of all. A final, unspoken severing of whatever connection they had once shared.

Y/n wandered through the wilderness, aimlessly walking with no direction or purpose. The vast world around her felt empty—silent. She had no family to return to, no place where she belonged. Every step she took was heavy, each one pulling her deeper into the pit of despair she could no longer escape.

For years, she’d clung to the hope that she mattered to someone—that perhaps in Rhysand, she had found solace, a connection that could keep her afloat through the darkness. But now, after everything, it was clear. She had never mattered—not to him, not to anyone.

The night before, she’d watched him with Feyre, saw the way his eyes had softened, how he had stayed by her side, even after the final battle had ended. He had fought for Feyre, bled for her, mourned for her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. And Y/n… she had been invisible, a forgotten shadow in the corner, her existence as meaningless as it had always been.

She had seen him and Feyre on the balcony that dawn, the soft glow of morning casting a light around them as Rhysand whispered something only Feyre could hear. Y/n had watched as Rhysand came closer to Feyre, giving her a devastatingly charming smile that shattered her heart beyond repair.

Y/n continued walking, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she felt none of it. The ache inside her, the hollow feeling in her chest, drowned out everything else. She had no reason to go on, no reason to fight anymore. She had fought for years, survived the unthinkable, only to come out of it more broken than before.

There was nothing left for her. No purpose. No place. No one.

Her steps slowed as she reached a cliffside, the jagged rocks below barely visible in the early morning light. The sea roared beneath her, its angry waves crashing against the stones. She stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, the overwhelming emptiness pulling her in.

The bond she had thought was hers belonged to someone else now. Rhysand had chosen Feyre, had found his mate in her. Y/n was nothing more than a fleeting moment—a forgotten soul in a sea of others.

And now, she was ready to let go.

With one last breath, Y/n closed her eyes, stepping forward into the void, letting the wind carry her into the nothingness where she had always belonged.

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#acotar x reader #acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #x reader #fanfic #angst #acotar angst

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