partoffantasy

[partoffantasy]

I’ve been silently stalking your page and reading your fourth wing stories and I absolutely love them! I haven’t written anything on here for over a year but you’re writing makes me want to start again! I haven’t ever written anything for fourth wing but I really want to I’m just not sure if it’ll be any good😭

Just wanted to send some love your way ❤️

Oh my goodness, this just made my whole day! 🥹 Thank you so much for your kind words, I can’t even tell you how much that means to me! 💙

And honestly? You should start writing again! If my stories have even a tiny part in inspiring you to pick up your pen (or keyboard) once more, then I consider that the biggest compliment ever. 🫶🏻

Writing isn’t about it being ‘good’, it’s about passion, creativity, and sharing the stories that live in your heart. I promise you, whatever you write will be amazing because it’s yours. 💙 So please, go for it! I would absolutely love to see your take on Fourth Wing whenever you’re ready. And if you ever need a hype squad, I’m here cheering you on! 🥳

[partoffantasy]

No Strings Attached - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: Y/N and Aaric share a complicated, no-strings-attached arrangement that mostly works—until it doesn't.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: smut, MDNI, unprotected p in v, air play, edging word count: 4.1k

Request by anon! I hope you like it. 💙

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Their arrangement was simple. It had been from the beginning—no strings, no expectations, just a mutually beneficial agreement between two people who had too much tension and too little patience to pretend otherwise. It worked. Most of the time. Right now, though, Aaric was testing her patience on purpose.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, pressing her forehead against the cool stone wall of his room, her arms braced against it to hold herself up. She should have known he’d do this. Aaric wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t desperate. He took his time, drawing it out, dragging his hands down her sides in slow, lazy strokes that sent heat pooling deep in her stomach.

"You're doing that thing again," she bit out, voice uneven. Behind her, she felt more than saw his smirk. "What thing?" "You know exactly what thing," she gritted, trying to shift back against him, wordlessly demanding more. A low chuckle against her skin. "Patience, sweetheart." She cursed under her breath. He was doing it on purpose. That slow, infuriating control.

Aaric was a strategist. On and off the battlefield. He knew exactly how to play her, how to keep her on edge, how to make her fall apart. And he enjoyed it—far too much. Y/N hated and loved him for it all at once. But two could play that game. Pushing back against him just enough to throw him off balance, she turned, gripping his jaw and dragging his mouth to hers.

Aaric let out a low groan, his hands instantly tightening on her waist. She knew that sound. Knew what it meant. She was getting to him. "Problem?" she murmured against his lips, smirking. He growled, flipping their positions in one smooth movement, pressing her back against the wall. His green, piercing eyes locked onto hers, amusement flickering in them.

"You want it your way? Fine, I’ll give you what you want." he said, voice smooth and sharp, like a blade waiting to press against skin. Y/N’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, a moan left her lips. "Please." His smirk was slow, lethal. "Good girl." he murmured, before making her regret every bit of her smugness.

Later, as she lay sprawled on his bed, the room still heavy with warmth, Aaric stretched beside her, one arm lazily draped over his stomach. He was too smug, and she had half a mind to smack him for it. Instead, she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "You looked very pleased with yourself back there." "Shouldn't I be?" He turned his head slightly to smirk at her, hair a tousled mess. Unfairly good-looking even in exhaustion. "You challenged me, and I won."

"You cheated," she muttered, shoving at his shoulder. His chest shook with laughter. "You call that cheating? I call that strategy." She narrowed her eyes. "I call it a massive ego." Aaric simply grinned. "You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have one." She had no retort for that. Because it was true. There was something about the way he carried himself, about that mix of confidence and careful restraint, about how he never let anyone get too close, except for her.

But only like this. Only in the dark, in stolen moments, in an agreement that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Y/N forced herself to shove the thought away before it could dig in too deep. Aaric let out a long breath, stretching again before rolling onto his side to face her. "You hungry?" She blinked. "What?"

He nodded toward his door. "The kitchen should still be open. We could grab something before the upper-years steal everything." Y/N stared at him, thrown off by the casualness of it. Because this wasn’t part of their deal. They trained together. Slept together. But they didn’t do things like—this.

She studied his expression, looking for some kind of hidden motive. But Aaric just stared back, bored, unbothered, like he wasn’t aware he’d just thrown the entire foundation of their arrangement off-balance. "You coming or not?" She should say no. But instead, she found herself following him out the door.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Aaric led her through the winding rows of ancient tomes and dust-covered archives like he had done this a hundred times before. His stride was easy, unhurried, his fingers trailing over old bindings as if this place was as familiar to him as the battlefield. "How do you even know your way around here?" Y/N whispered, half-expecting a scribe to shush them despite the emptiness.

Aaric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stopped in front of a hidden alcove, shielded behind one of the grander bookshelves, where a narrow wooden table sat tucked against the wall, illuminated by the soft glow of a single enchanted lamp. It was perfect. Private. Isolated. Like something out of a dream-a place she would love to read her favourite book in silence in. Y/N turned to him, eyes narrowed. "You’ve been keeping this a secret, haven’t you?"

Aaric smirked, leaning against the bookshelf with an infuriatingly casual air. "Maybe." "You ass," she muttered, stepping inside anyway. "You let me suffer at those overcrowded tables for weeks, and you had this the whole time?" His smirk deepened. "I was waiting for the right moment." "To what? Taunt me?" His gaze flickered over her, amused. Something else, something unreadable, lingered beneath it. "To bring you here."

That shut her up. She swallowed, suddenly too aware of how intimate this space was. The alcove was small—too small. When he followed her in, his body brushed against hers, his warmth seeping through his shirt. He acted like he didn’t notice. But she did. Y/N cleared her throat, dropping into the chair and pulling out her notes. Focus. They were here to study.

Aaric, however, had other plans. At first, it was subtle. Sitting too close. Passing her books without looking, their fingers brushing for too long. Then, there was the way he watched her. Y/N could feel his gaze on her every time she got frustrated, could hear the quiet amusement in his exaggerated sighs whenever she muttered a curse under her breath.

When she finally looked up, exasperated, Aaric had the nerve to smirk. "Something wrong, sweetheart?" "You’re staring." "Am I?" He leaned back, utterly unapologetic. "Maybe you’re just distracted." "By what?" she shot back, crossing her arms. Aaric tilted his head, eyes flickering over her, slow and assessing. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" She hated him. And she hated even more that he was right.

Because now she was distracted—especially when he stretched, casually draping an arm over the back of her chair, fingers nearly brushing her shoulder. Y/N forced herself to focus. She wasn’t going to let him win. But Aaric wasn’t done playing. A moment later, his lips were on her neck. It wasn’t much—just a graze, a whisper of warmth, but it was enough.

Her breath hitched. "Aaric—" "Mm?" His voice was pure sin, his mouth still hovering near her skin, so close, too close. "We’re supposed to be studying," she said, though it came out weaker than intended. "Are we?" His hand slid up, fingers ghosting over her thigh. "Because I distinctly remember you calling me a distraction just now."

Y/N clenched her jaw, willing herself not to react. But when his teeth scraped just barely along the curve of her throat—deliberate, teasing, testing—her resolve shattered. She turned in her chair, grabbed the front of his shirt, and yanked him down to kiss him. Aaric let out a quiet, pleased sound, his hands immediately finding her waist. His lips curled into a smirk against hers, like he had won. And maybe he had. Again.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The training grounds were mostly empty this late in the afternoon—perfect for a fight. Y/N had purposefully avoided sparring with Aaric for the last few days. She told herself it was because she needed a break from his cocky smirks and infuriatingly smooth voice. The truth? She was still thinking about that damned study session. The way he had kissed her neck, the way he had looked at her, the way he had smirked against her lips like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

It had taken everything in her not to drag him straight to bed afterward. And now? Now she was going to beat the shit out of him for it. Aaric was already waiting for her when she arrived at the training mats, rolling his shoulders in a way that made his too-fitted shirt stretch over his arms. Smug as ever. "Thought you’d run off," he teased, spinning a practice blade between his fingers. "Can’t say I’d blame you."

Y/N raised a brow, pulling her own dagger from its sheath. "Big words for someone who got his ass handed to him last time." His grin sharpened. "Is that how you remember it?" "That’s how it happened." He hummed, stepping into the circle, casual but coiled with tension. "Then prove it." Oh, she would. They circled each other, slow and deliberate, watching, waiting. Aaric always fought lazy, like it was a game, like he already knew he would win. And that only made Y/N more determined.

She moved first. A quick lunge, aiming for his ribs—but Aaric was faster. He dodged with ease, just barely, the air shifting as her dagger sliced past him. Instead of countering, he stepped into her space, too close, forcing her to adjust. "Sloppy," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. "Eat shit," she muttered, shoving him back and twisting into another strike. This time, he blocked her, their arms locking together. His body pressed against hers for a second too long, heat radiating through their clothes.

Y/N refused to let it distract her. She shifted, trying to hook his leg and knock him off balance—but he saw it coming. Before she could blink, Aaric flipped her, twisting their bodies mid-air so that when they hit the ground, he landed on top, pinning her with his full weight. Gods. His knees trapped her thighs, his hands braced on either side of her head, and his chest—broad, solid, annoyingly warm—pressed into hers.

Y/N hated how good it felt. Aaric smirked down at her, breathing only slightly uneven. "That was rude." Y/N scowled. "You’re rude." He laughed, the sound low, easy, too damn attractive. "And yet, here you are. Flat on your back beneath me." Bastard. She tried to buck him off, but he only pressed his weight down harder, making very clear that she wasn’t going anywhere. "Give up?" he asked, lips hovering far too close to hers.

Y/N swallowed. Her heart was racing—not just from the fight, but from him. The way he was looking at her, lingering, waiting. Like he wanted something. And she almost—almost—let him have it. But then she remembered his smirk. That damned, arrogant smirk. So instead of surrendering, she feigned a sigh, went slack beneath him—and then drove her knee straight into his gut.

Aaric let out a strangled oof, rolling off her just long enough for her to scramble back up and press her blade to his throat. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, to her absolute horror, Aaric grinned. A full, delighted, almost proud grin. "That," he murmured, "was dirty." Y/N, still breathless, narrowed her eyes. "You fight dirty all the time." "Exactly." His grin turned downright wicked. "Means you’re finally learning."

She huffed, stepping back and sheathing her dagger. "You’re impossible." Aaric pushed himself up with ease, brushing dust from his shirt. His gaze never left hers, dark with something she couldn’t quite name. "So, you wanna go back to my room?" he murmured, voice almost too soft. Y/N didn’t respond. Because the truth? She did-all the freaking time and never wanted to leave. And that was becoming a very, very big problem.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The music was loud, the air thick with heat and laughter. The kind of night that should have felt easy, effortless, fun. And for a while, it did. Y/N had walked in with her friends, feeling good. Dressed in something that made her feel confident, smiling at the familiar buzz of voices, the golden glow of lanterns casting shadows across the walls. Sloane shoved a drink into her hand, and she let herself relax.

She deserved this. After an exhausting week of training and avoiding the very obvious problem that was Aaric Graycastle, she deserved a night where she wasn’t thinking about him. And then—She saw him. Across the room, leaning against the bar, posture too casual, too familiar. That stupid lazy smirk curving his mouth.

The same smirk he gave her when he whispered dirty things in her ear, when he pinned her against the training mat, when he pulled her into dark corners between squad meetings just to press his lips to her neck, to murmur how badly he wanted her. Only now—now, he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at someone else.

Some girl she didn’t recognize, tall, pretty, laughing at something he said. Y/N froze, drink half-raised to her lips. The air in the room shifted, her chest tightening, stomach lurching like she’d been punched. He was so close to her. Leaning in, tilting his head like he was listening so intently, like he actually gave a damn about whatever vapid thing she was saying. Y/N’s grip tightened around her glass.

She should look away. She should leave before she did something reckless, something she couldn’t take back. But she couldn’t. Not when the girl reached out and touched his arm, fingers brushing against his skin. Not when Aaric let her. A sound built in Y/N’s throat—something raw, unfamiliar. Rage. Jealousy. But worse than all of that—hurt. Because for the first time, she wondered—Had she imagined it? All of it?

The way he lingered, the way he touched her even when they weren’t in bed, the way he showed her parts of himself he never showed anyone else. The smirk in the library, the smirk in the sparring ring, the smirk that made her feel like she was something different, something special. Had she been stupid enough to believe she was actually more than just the convenient, no-strings-attached arrangement they had?

The memory of his voice, low, teasing, full of promise, slid through her mind: "You still like sparring with me." Like it was a game. Like he already knew he had won. Maybe he had. Maybe she had always been the one who was going to lose. She downed the rest of her drink and left. Didn’t tell her friends, didn’t look back. Because if she had—if she had let herself keep watching—she didn’t know what she would have done.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It started subtly. Skipping the gym when she knew he’d be there. Arriving to squad meetings just on time instead of early—no more lingering, no more playful back-and-forth as they walked out together. Then it became deliberate. The first time Aaric walked into a room and she walked out, his brows had knitted together in mild confusion. The second time, his smirk slipped. The third time, when he had caught her wrist in passing and she shook him off without even looking at him—He knew.

Something was wrong. But Y/N told herself it was fine. This was what they agreed on. Just sex. Just convenience. No promises, no strings, no expectations. So why did it feel like she was carving out a part of herself every time she turned her back on him? Why did it feel like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with?

She kept her head high, kept moving, ignored the way her stomach knotted when she felt his eyes on her. Because if she stopped—if she let herself falter, if she let herself look at him—She didn’t know if she’d be able to walk away again.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

At first, Aaric told himself it was nothing. She was just busy. She had other things going on. But then—Then he realized it was only him. She still trained with the squad, still laughed with their friends, still lingered in all the same places—She just wouldn’t look at him. And that drove him fucking insane. 

The first time it happened, he brushed it off. The second time, a flicker of irritation. The third time? That was when he started watching. She still laughed when Bodhi teased her, still rolled her eyes at Ridoc’s nonsense, still shared those knowing looks with Violet. But when Aaric stepped into the room? 

She closed off. Her shoulders stiffened. Her expression shut down. And she walked away. Every. Single. Time. Aaric didn’t consider himself the obsessive type. He didn’t chase. Didn’t need to. But this? This was different. This was her slipping through his fingers, and the worst part? He didn’t know why. So he started pressing. He cornered Bodhi first—leaned against a table, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“What did I do?” Bodhi just shrugged. “You tell me.” Unhelpful. He tried Ridoc next. No luck. Even Violet, who normally saw too much, just gave him a knowing look and said, “Figure it out yourself.” And that was the moment Aaric realized—They all knew. And they weren’t telling him. The frustration boiled. Turned into something sharp. Something obsessive.

And the moment he saw her at training, saw the way she caught sight of him and immediately moved to leave—Something inside him snapped. No. No. She did not get to do this. She did not get to pull away, to pretend he didn’t exist, to act like he was just some passing thing she could erase from her life. If she wanted to leave—if she wanted to end whatever this was—Then she was going to have to look him in the fucking eyes and say it.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Aaric had been patient. Or at least, he’d told himself he had. He let her ignore him for days. Let her pretend he didn’t exist. Let her walk out of rooms the second he stepped into them. But patience wasn’t his virtue, and restraint had never been his strong suit—especially when it came to her. So when he saw her after class, lingering behind while everyone else filtered out, he didn’t think. He moved.

The door slammed behind them as he pulled her into an old, abandoned classroom, pressing her back against the wall before she had a chance to escape. His hands braced on either side of her head, caging her in. Her eyes flashed with fury. "What the hell—" "Tell me why you're avoiding me," he cut her off, voice low and demanding. She glared. Crossed her arms. "I don’t owe you an explanation."

Aaric exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience hanging by a thread. "You’re going to ignore me forever, then?" He leaned in, forcing her to either meet his gaze or look away in cowardice. "That’s the plan?" She stayed silent. That pissed him off even more. He tilted his head, eyes dark and sharp as he studied her. "You don’t get to do this," he murmured, voice quieter now, but no less intense. "You don’t get to act like we’re nothing."

That was what broke her. Her chin lifted, eyes blazing. "You broke our agreement first." Aaric scoffed, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "This is about that girl from the party, isn’t it?" His lip curled. "I only entertained her because I saw you with Bodhi." He stepped closer, the heat between them almost unbearable. "Because I was jealous." Another step. His breath fanned against her lips, soft but heavy with intent. "Because I want you to be mine."

She swallowed hard, her resolve wavering for a brief moment before she caught herself. "You don’t get to say that. Not after—" But she never got to finish. Aaric’s mouth crashed onto hers, hard, desperate. As if he’d been starving for her, as if the dam holding him back had finally shattered. She gasped against his lips, and he seized the opportunity, his tongue sweeping in to claim her.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, nails scraping against his skin, and, fuck, he needed her closer. He lifted her with ease, placing her on the desk behind them without breaking the kiss. His hands slid under her shirt, finding the hot, bare skin of her waist, and she shivered at the contact. "You drive me fucking insane," he muttered against her lips, his fingers pressing into her hips. She let out a breathless laugh, eyes dazed and pupils blown wide. "Right back at you."

That was all the permission he needed. Their clothes came off in a flurry, discarded onto the dusty floor in haste. His mouth found the curve of her neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses that made her head fall back, a soft moan escaping her lips. "Still mad at me?" he murmured, nipping at the tender spot beneath her jaw. She barely managed to shake her head. Aaric grinned, wicked and triumphant, before slipping inside her, making her moan loud enough to echo through the room. "Aaric—oh gods," she gasped, her body pressed up against his as her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders for support.

His thrusts were hard, relentless, hitting that sweet spot inside her. Aaric’s hand found the soft skin of her neck, wrapping around it possessively, squeezing just enough to send a jolt of sensation through her. Her hands gripped his, her eyes wide and lost in the heat of the moment as she met his gaze. With a swift motion, he pushed her back onto the desk, changing their angle so deep, so perfect, that she could hardly breathe.

Her moans grew louder, and he tightened his hold, restricting her airflow just enough to heighten the sensation even more. She bit her lip, her teeth sinking into it as she gasped, “Fuck, Aaric. Feels so good.” He smirked, sweat building on his forehead and abs, his thrusts growing deeper, harder. "I love seeing you like this," he groaned. "You’re so fucking sexy, sweetheart." Her walls fluttered around him, and he knew she was close. But just as she was on the edge, he stopped, holding himself inside her, perfectly still.

“What are you doing?” she groaned, trying to shift her hips, desperate for more friction. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I want you to say it. Tell me I’m the only one for you." His gaze was intense as his fingers tightened around her neck again, waiting. Her eyes fluttered shut, a whimper escaping her as she let out a breathless plea, “Please, Aaric, I need to come.”

He murmured softly, “Wrong answer, baby.” But despite his words, his hips shifted again, and his other hand moved to lift her leg over his shoulder, deepening their connection, making her moan even louder. “Oh, yes,” she moaned, her hands cupping his face, trying to pull him into a kiss, but he refused, his eyes locked onto hers as he thrust faster, harder.

The pressure built once again, and she thought she was finally going to fall over the edge. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, drawing blood as she neared her release. But then, just like before, he pulled out of her, stopping everything. “No, no, no, no, please Aaric. Please,” she begged, her body arching toward him, desperate to pull him back in.

He raised an eyebrow, unmoved. "It’s you. It’s always been you," she gasped, grabbing his hands, pulling him against her. She pressed her forehead to his, her breath fast, ragged. But he didn’t move, didn’t respond. Her heart pounded, and then, in a whisper, she admitted it: “I love you.”

And with that, all his restraint shattered. With one swift motion, he was inside her again, railing into her, driving her into the old desk. The force of his thrusts had her seeing stars. "Fuck, sweetheart," Aaric groaned, the intensity of their pleasure growing with each passing second, both of them on the verge of breaking. And then they came together, a tidal wave of sensation crashing over them, moaning each other’s names as their bodies shuddered in sync.

When they finally collapsed together, skin slick and hearts still racing, he cupped her face, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him. His forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the space between them. "So..." His voice was softer now, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t expected. "Can I be yours?"

Silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of everything they had just done. The unspoken truth settled in the air. Then, she exhaled, her breath shaky. She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, you can.” And in that moment, with everything finally laid bare, he smiled, his heart full. "I love you, too."

[partoffantasy]

When Words Hurt - Bodhi Durran

⸻ image credits to OC & scribe.jesinia⸻

summary: after a heated argument shatters their year-long relationship, Y/N isolates herself in guilt and confusion, while Bodhi struggles with the depth of the pain she caused.

pairing: bodhi durran x fem!reader warnings: angst word count: 5.8k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Bodhi and Y/N were the embodiment of what everyone around them dreamed of when it came to a perfect relationship. It wasn’t the whirlwind romance that came with grand gestures or dramatic moments. No, theirs was the quiet, steady kind of love that built itself on a foundation of small, everyday acts that spoke louder than anything else.

Their mornings began with the simple act of sharing breakfast together, the sounds of the bustling cafeteria fading as they found their own small corner, away from the chatter of other cadets. Y/N would pour herself a cup of steaming tea, settling down across from Bodhi, and they’d talk as if they were the only two people in the world. Bodhi would reach over, stealing a piece of toast from her plate, teasing her playfully for always getting more than she needed. Y/N would roll her eyes but smile nonetheless, always finding amusement in his actions.

“You know,” Bodhi would say between bites, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to starve me.” “Maybe you deserve it,” Y/N would tease back, nudging him with her foot under the table. “You’re always trying to steal my food.” And for a moment, everything was perfect. They’d laugh, carefree, without a care in the world. The moments they shared—small, quiet, and filled with affection—felt like the most natural thing. To those around them, it was obvious. They were in tune with each other, understanding each other’s rhythms, without needing to try.

When classes were over, when their responsibilities were done for the day, Bodhi and Y/N found themselves walking side by side across Basgiath’s grounds. The sun would be setting, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink, and they’d stroll along the pathways, hands brushing together before inevitably clasping. Bodhi was always the first to pull her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a protective manner, while Y/N would rest her head against his shoulder, content.

“So,” Y/N would ask, breaking the comfortable silence. “What do you think you’ll do when we graduate?” Bodhi would pause for a moment, his thoughts drifting to the future. “I’ve got my plans,” he’d say, voice light, but there was something deeper there. “I’ll probably stick around here for a bit longer. Maybe take a leadership role if they’ll have me.” He’d glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”

Y/N would smile, a hint of pride in her expression. “I’m thinking of leading some army in one of the outposts, maybe becoming an emissary. But that’s only if I’m not too busy with Caelan.” She’d nudge him with a playful grin. “You never know, next year I might be a wingleader myself.”

Bodhi would chuckle, the idea of Y/N being a wingleader somehow making her even more attractive in his eyes. He loved her strength, her independence. She wasn’t someone who would sit quietly in the background; she had dreams, ambitions that matched his own. And that was what made them work—together, they were unstoppable.

It wasn’t just the big conversations that made their bond unshakable; it was the small moments, the ones that no one saw but the two of them. At night, when they’d go back to their quarters after a long day, the world outside would fade away. Bodhi would close the door softly behind him, and before he could even settle, Y/N would be by his side, her arms reaching for him. Her presence was like a calm, steadying force, and he’d pull her close, kissing all her thoughts away. They didn’t need anything grand, no words, just the simple act of being there for one another.

There was something so real about their connection. The way Bodhi would tuck a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear as she focused on her notes, the way she would always leave a small note for him in his bag when he wasn’t looking, just a simple “thinking of you.” They were there for each other in every little way, both showing love in their own, quiet way. But like all relationships, there were moments of vulnerability, too. It wasn’t all smooth sailing. In the rare quiet moments, when Y/N would let her guard down, she would open up about her deepest fears.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for all of this,” she admitted one night, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not living up to my potential. Like I’m just playing catch-up with everyone around me.” Bodhi didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what to say. “You’re doing great. You’re stronger than you think. You’ve got a fire in you that no one else has. Don’t doubt yourself, Y/N. Not for a second.”

His words, his steady belief in her, were enough to ease her mind for the night. And in return, she would reassure him of his own worth, how much she admired his dedication and his ability to balance the weight of leadership with the care he showed for others. Together, they built each other up, piece by piece.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

But as the months went by, a subtle shift began to take place—a shift that neither of them could quite identify. What once felt effortless had begun to feel strained, their responsibilities—both academic and personal—pressing in on them. Bodhi had always been the steady one. He thrived in leadership roles, balancing the expectations of Xaden and the revolution with the loyalty he felt for his squadmates. He cared for Y/N with a devotion that was hard to match. He was protective in ways that went beyond simple affection—he truly cared for her well-being. He wanted to be the one who helped carry the weight of her burdens, who kept her grounded when everything else felt too overwhelming.

But lately, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping away from him. It wasn’t something blatant, not at first. It was the small things. Her absences were becoming more frequent. Her distracted glances when he spoke to her, her lack of presence in their shared moments—it all felt like he was trying to hold onto something that was slowly evaporating.

One evening, as they sat together in their shared dorm room, the air between them felt thick, too thick for comfort. Y/N was sprawled on the bed, playing around with one of her knives, her brow furrowed in concentration. Bodhi sat on the chair across from her, watching her, feeling a strange mix of frustration and longing. They hadn’t had a moment to themselves in days. Between her workload and her own ambitions, it felt like she was always on the move, always focused on something else.

He tried to strike up a conversation, his voice soft, trying to break the silence that had grown around them. “So, what’s on your mind tonight?” Bodhi asked, leaning forward slightly. Y/N didn’t look up, her fingers still moving across the blade. “Just wondering about the alloy for the knives. We need to speak to Xaden about the next deliveries.” Bodhi tried to smile, though it felt strained. “I get that. You’ve been busy. But... don’t you think you’ve been working yourself too hard lately?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered to him for just a moment, but she quickly looked away, refocusing on the task at hand. “I’ve got a lot of things to juggle, Bodhi. You know how it is.” Bodhi nodded, but the words stung more than he let on. You know how it is. He had always been there for her, supportive in every way, but it felt as though she was pushing him aside, pulling away emotionally. And it wasn’t just this one moment. It was a pattern he had noticed over the past few weeks.

He let out a breath, leaning back in the chair. “I know,” he said quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “But we haven’t really spent any time together lately. Not real time. Just... us.” Her eyes finally met his, but there was a coldness in them that he hadn’t seen before. “I’m just busy, Bodhi. I can’t help that. You’re not the only one with things to do. And besides, I am here with you now, am I not?"

He flinched at her tone. It wasn’t harsh, but there was an edge to it, an impatience that he wasn’t used to. Bodhi’s chest tightened, and he bit back the words he really wanted to say. He could feel the wall between them growing thicker. She was withdrawing, and it was driving him mad. Bodhi tried again, softer this time. “I’m not asking you to stop everything. I just... I miss you. We’ve barely talked in days.” Y/N’s gaze softened for a brief moment, but it didn’t last. She sighed and set the knife down, rubbing her forehead. “I know, okay? I know, but I can’t just ignore my responsibilities. There’s a lot at stake, and you don’t always understand that.”

Her words hit him like a cold slap. She wasn’t wrong. He didn’t understand the pressure she was under—he had his own burdens, but hers seemed to weigh on her in ways that he couldn’t relate to. But still, the words stung. Did she think he didn’t understand the sacrifices she made? Did she think he was just here for the easy moments?

“I’m not asking you to ignore your responsibilities,” Bodhi said, his voice thick with the emotion he was struggling to keep in check. “I’m just asking you to be present with me. You’re here, but you’re not really here, Y/N. It’s like you’re always somewhere else.” Y/N crossed her arms, a frown tugging at her lips. “You don’t get it, Bodhi. You’re not the only one trying to juggle everything. I don’t have the luxury of just... being present right now. I’m trying to build something for myself. To prove that I can handle it all.”

The air between them felt suffocating now. Bodhi’s chest tightened as he tried to process what she was saying. He did understand. He understood better than anyone, probably, what it was like to fight for your place in the world, to prove yourself worthy. But that wasn’t the issue here. The issue was that she was pushing him away, choosing her workload and her goals over their relationship.

“I’m not trying to hold you back,” Bodhi said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m just trying to be a part of your life. You were making time for me, Y/N. We used to laugh, we used to talk, we used to do everything together. Now... it’s like you’re shutting me out.” Y/N’s face hardened, and she stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth in the small room. “Maybe I’m shutting you out because I’m tired, Bodhi! Tired of trying to balance it all. I’m not a damn machine. I can’t just drop everything for you whenever you want.”

Bodhi’s heart sank as the words hit him, and for a moment, he felt his stomach twist with the weight of her frustration. He never wanted to be a burden to her. But it felt like every effort he made to reach her was just falling short. “I’m not asking you to drop everything,” Bodhi said again, his voice softer now, quieter. “I’m just asking for a little bit of your time. A little bit of you. That’s all.” Y/N stopped pacing and turned to face him. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—frustration, maybe, or guilt—but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. “I can’t do this, Bodhi. I can’t keep apologizing for being busy. I’m not the one who’s dropping the ball here.”

Bodhi’s eyes narrowed, his heart pounding. “I never said you were. But it sure feels like it.” They both fell silent. The tension between them is thicker than it had ever been. What had started as a small misunderstanding was starting to feel like something much bigger. Bodhi stood with his fists clenched, trying to keep his composure, but his frustration was boiling over. The words Y/N had said still echoed in his mind. 

His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to speak calmly, even though every fiber of his being wanted to shout. “You don’t get it, Y/N. I’m not asking you to drop everything. I’m asking you to show up. To be here when I need you. I’m not just your boyfriend, you know. I’m your partner. And I can’t keep doing this alone.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed, and the defensiveness that had been building all evening reached its peak. “I never asked you to do anything alone, Bodhi! I’m not the one who’s been disappearing!” Her voice shook, but it was laced with an anger that hadn’t been there before. “I’m doing my best! But it’s never enough for you, is it? You always want more. You always need more.”

Bodhi felt like a slap had landed across his cheek. He shook his head, refusing to back down. “You think I want more? I don’t want more, Y/N. I just want you to care. I want you to see me. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own world that it’s like I don’t even matter anymore.”

Her breath hitched, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. She was shaking now, both from the hurt and the anger. “What is that supposed to mean, Bodhi? Of course you matter! I never said you didn’t!” Her voice cracked slightly as she took a step closer to him, the distance between them narrowing but the emotional gap only widening. “But you don’t understand, okay? I have things to do. I’m trying to be someone.”

Bodhi’s heart ached at her words, and for a brief moment, it felt like his chest might cave in. He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her close and make everything better, but every time he tried, she seemed to pull further away. “You think I don’t understand? I’m the one who’s been trying to support you through all this, Y/N. I’ve been right here, waiting for you to open up, waiting for you to let me in. But you won’t! You won’t let me in.”

Y/N flinched at the raw emotion in his voice, but the anger in her rose again. She was feeling overwhelmed by her own insecurities and frustrations. “I can’t just let you in all the time, Bodhi! I’m not some fragile thing that needs fixing!” Her words were harsh now, her temper flaring. “You always act like you need to protect me, like I’m some damsel in distress! But I’m not! I’m not weak, and I don’t need you to always be there to pick up the pieces!”

Bodhi recoiled as though he’d been struck. The air between them felt like it was charged with a thousand volts, and every word that left their mouths only made the storm between them grow more intense. “So what do you want from me, Y/N?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Do you want me to just stand by and watch you burn out? Watch you push me away because you’re too proud to admit you need help?”

Y/N’s eyes flashed with pain, and she took a step back, her face hardening as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Maybe I don’t need help, Bodhi! Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it! Maybe you’re just making it all about you when it’s never been about you!”

The words cut deep, deeper than anything she had said before. Bodhi felt his heart drop into his stomach. He hadn’t meant to make it about himself. He had only wanted to be there for her. He had always wanted to be the one who supported her, who could stand by her side when things got hard. But now, it felt like she was pushing him away with every word.

He was struggling to keep his voice steady, but it was slipping. “I never said it was only about me. But damn it, Y/N, I’m trying so hard! I’m trying to be the one who makes it easier for you, but you’re shutting me out. I don’t know what to do anymore.” He swallowed thickly, his chest tight, the words clawing their way out of his throat. “I’m not asking for everything, I’m asking for something. For you to want this too. For us to make this work.”

Y/N’s face flushed with frustration, the hurt on her face now replaced by something darker. “Maybe I can’t make it work right now, Bodhi!” Her voice was trembling now, but there was a finality in it. “Maybe I can’t balance you and everything else. Maybe it would be better if we never got together.”

The words hit Bodhi like a physical blow. He froze, staring at her as though he couldn’t comprehend what she had just said. His heart seemed to stop in his chest, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. His mind raced to catch up with the statement. It felt like the ground had slipped out from under him, leaving him with nothing but empty space.

Y/N’s eyes widened the moment the words left her mouth. She didn’t mean them—not like that, at least. But the damage had already been done. She couldn’t take them back. Bodhi’s face fell, his expression crumpling as the pain from her words hit him. “What?” His voice was barely above a whisper, cracking from the hurt he couldn’t hide. “You really think that? You think it would be better if we never got together?”

Y/N felt a knot form in her stomach, her own emotions overwhelming her. “I—Bodhi, I didn’t mean... I didn’t mean it like that... I just...” But the words were trapped in her throat, tangled with the emotions she couldn’t untangle. She wanted to explain, to make him understand, but she felt too lost inside herself to find the right words.

“I don’t know what to do with this anymore,” Bodhi muttered, his voice strained. He backed away from her slowly, like he couldn’t bear to be close, but he didn’t know how to leave either. The space between them was too vast, too raw, and every second that passed only made the distance grow wider. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration, trying to push the tears that threatened to rise.

Y/N stood there, her own heart breaking as she realized what she had said. She hadn’t wanted to destroy them, but everything felt so impossible. She couldn’t fix it. She couldn’t fix herself. And that is what she has been feeling lately—broken. And she thought she could fix herself without also breaking Bodhi. "Please go," she heard him mutter, his back to her. Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her heart break into pieces. She walked away before she lost herself in front of him.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Days passed in a haze for Y/N. Each morning she awoke with a heavy heart, as though her own guilt and sadness had settled deep into her bones. She moved through the motions of daily life, but everything felt muted, distant. Her once-vibrant energy had drained, leaving behind a hollow version of herself. She would sit in class, staring at the words on the pages, but none of it registered. Her mind was elsewhere, spinning in a cycle of regret, confusion, and the overwhelming feeling that something precious had been irreparably broken.

The worst part was that she couldn’t even pinpoint exactly when things had started to fall apart. One moment, everything had felt perfect. Bodhi had been her rock, the one person who had made everything feel right. And now, after their fight, it was as if the ground beneath her had cracked open, swallowing everything she had once known to be true.

It wasn’t just Bodhi. It was herself. She didn’t recognize the person staring back at her in the mirror. Gone was the happy, confident Y/N who would laugh and joke with Violet and Rhi, who would plan their future together with hopeful optimism. Now, she was someone completely different—someone unsure, hollowed out by grief she hadn’t even allowed herself to mourn yet.

At first, she tried to keep up appearances. She showed up to class, walked through the halls of Basgiath with her head down, avoided eye contact with everyone. She still managed to smile when she crossed paths with people, but it was always strained, a thin mask that hid the wreckage beneath. Her usual bright spark had dimmed, her eyes clouded with unshed tears.

Bodhi was always on her mind, but every time she thought of him, a deep pit formed in her stomach. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing him, not after the words she had said. She didn’t mean them. She never meant them. But they had come out in a moment of anger and frustration, and now they hung over her like a cloud she couldn’t shake.

Her attempts to fix things had failed before they even started. She’d sit in her room late at night, fingers hovering over the paper in front of her, ready to write something to Bodhi. But every time she tried, the words felt like poison on her tongue. What could she say? How could she apologize for everything she had done wrong? It all felt too much, and so she simply dropped the quill, burying her face in her hands and crying alone in the darkness.

Violet noticed the change in Y/N almost immediately. Her best friend looked withdrawn, exhausted, and endlessly distant. Violet’s heart ached for her, but she didn’t know how to help. She tried. She really did. At first, she gave Y/N space, assuming that maybe the fight with Bodhi had simply rattled her, and that some time apart would help ease the tension. But as the days passed, Y/N only seemed to retreat further into herself, like a tortoise pulling its head into its shell to protect itself from the world. Violet’s gentle attempts to check in—whether through a nudge in the hallway or a quiet question during meals—were always met with short, unconvincing answers.

“Hey, are you alright?” Violet would ask softly, her voice full of concern as they sat in the cafeteria. “I’m fine,” Y/N would respond, her words hollow. But Violet wasn’t stupid. She could see it in the way Y/N’s shoulders hunched, the way her eyes never fully met anyone’s gaze, how she seemed almost disconnected from the world around her. The energy that once made Y/N the heart of their group was gone, replaced by emptiness.

But Violet didn’t know how to break through the wall Y/N had built around herself. Her friend wasn’t angry with her—Y/N never had been—but there was something about the way she withdrew that felt like a rejection, like a door being slammed in her face. And it hurt, even though Violet knew it wasn’t personal. She just wanted to help, to bring Y/N back, but each time she tried, she was met with resistance.

For Y/N, it was like being trapped in her own head, unable to escape the constant loop of grief and guilt that kept her awake at night. She didn’t know how to fix what had been broken. She didn’t know how to apologize for the things she’d said, the hurt she had caused, or the mess she had created. But more than anything, she didn’t know how to stop feeling like the person she loved the most had slipped through her fingers.

Every time she thought of Bodhi, the pain twisted in her chest, deeper than anything she had felt before. The memory of the words she had thrown at him—the ones she didn’t mean, but couldn’t take back—haunted her. She didn’t want to end things. She couldn’t stand the idea of losing him. But every time she thought of reaching out, her own internal walls pushed her back. How could she face him after everything? How could she face herself?

She was slowly unraveling, piece by piece, and all she wanted was for everything to go back to how it had been before. But deep down, she feared it was already too late.

Y/N had spent days between self-imposed isolation. Every time she tried to work up the courage to talk to Bodhi, she found herself retreating further into herself, scared of what would happen if she faced him. But the guilt, the shame—it became too much to bear. The longer she waited, the heavier it felt, and the more her emotions threatened to consume her. She could no longer pretend she wasn’t devastated by the rift she had created.

It was late afternoon when she finally decided to face him. The decision came after a long, restless day where she had hardly spoken to anyone. Violet had tried to talk to her, but Y/N had shut her out, unable to let anyone in. She knew she had to do something—anything—to begin to fix the mess she had made. Bodhi deserved an apology. More than that, he deserved answers.

With shaky hands, Y/N left her room. Her heart was racing in her chest, and her breath came in short, shallow bursts. The hallways of Basgiath felt like a labyrinth, every step heavier than the last. She didn’t know where to find him, but it was only a matter of time before she came across him. She had to talk to him. She couldn’t keep avoiding it.

She wandered aimlessly, her thoughts drowning out everything else. The distant sounds of cadets laughing, training, and talking barely registered as she moved, her mind focused solely on the weight of what was coming. She didn’t know what she would say, only that she needed to see him. It was the first time in days she felt some semblance of determination rising within her.

And then, just as she was about to turn a corner, she saw him. Bodhi. He was standing near a window at the far end of the hallway, looking out at the distant mountains with a contemplative expression, his posture rigid. She froze for a moment, unsure if she should approach him or turn and run. Her body tensed with anxiety, but something deep inside her knew this was it—this was her chance to make it right.

Taking a breath, she gathered her courage and walked toward him, each step feeling like it took forever. When she reached him, she hesitated for a moment, unsure how to start. The silence between them stretched painfully. His back was to her, but Y/N could see his jaw tighten, as though he knew she was there, knew what was coming.

“Bodhi,” she said softly, the sound of his name breaking the quiet like a fragile glass. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of guarded pain and something else—something unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again, not knowing where to begin. She had rehearsed this conversation in her head a hundred times, but now that it was happening, the words felt so inadequate.

“I… I didn’t know if I should come,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know if I should just leave things be, but… I can’t. I can’t just pretend like nothing happened.” Bodhi’s expression softened slightly, but he still didn’t say anything. It was as though he was waiting for her, giving her space to speak without pushing her. Taking a deep breath, Y/N finally forced the words out. “I’m sorry, Bodhi. I never meant for it to go this far, never meant for the things I said to hurt you. I—I was lost, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I was so caught up in my own confusion that I hurt you. And for that, I am so sorry.”

Her voice faltered as the weight of her own words hit her. The apology wasn’t smooth, but it was the most honest thing she could say. She had no idea how he would react, no idea if this would be enough to bridge the chasm she had created. But she had to try. For both of them.

Let's talk in my room," he sighed and started walking towards the dormitories. Y/N followed him, feeling so small but also hopeful for the first time since their fight.

Bodhi was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at her, his expression unreadable. The distance between them felt huge, even though they were only a few feet apart. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, nervously fidgeting with her hands. She had never felt more lost in her life, more unsure of everything she thought she had known. This wasn’t who she was—this wasn’t the confident, composed woman who had once walked alongside him, sharing laughter and love. No, this was someone broken, someone desperate for redemption.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy, like they had to push through a wall before they could leave her mouth. Bodhi didn’t respond immediately. He just watched her, his gaze intense but distant at the same time. It made Y/N feel small, insignificant, as though everything that had happened had erased her worth in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I never should have—” “Stop,” Bodhi interrupted, his voice hoarse. “You don’t need to apologize for that, Y/N.” But Y/N shook her head, a tear escaping before she could hold it back. “I do,” she said, her voice shaking. “I do need to apologize. You… you don’t deserve the things I said. It wasn’t about you. It was never about you. I was just—lost. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.”

Bodhi flinched at her words, and Y/N immediately regretted them. Her heart cracked as she watched him process her apology. She could see the hurt in his eyes, and it was a mirror to the agony she felt inside. Her own pain had caused this—this chasm between them. This hurt that she couldn’t undo, no matter how many times she said the words.

“I’ve never felt more lost in my life,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I don’t even know how we got here… how everything just—” She choked on the words, unable to finish the thought. “I’ve been so confused, and I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted it to end like this.” Bodhi didn’t say anything right away. He looked down, his jaw clenched tightly as he took in her words. Y/N could feel the silence between them, heavy and suffocating, and it made her want to disappear.

“I never wanted it to come to this,” she said, voice trembling. “I never wanted to be this version of myself, the one who can’t fix what’s broken. I just… I don’t know how to fix it.” Bodhi let out a long breath, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as though he needed something to hold onto. He looked up at Y/N then, his eyes filled with raw vulnerability—something she hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

“You hurt me, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words were soft but heavy, filled with pain. “When you said that… it felt like you were telling me that everything we had wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t enough. And it… it crushed me.” Y/N’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She could feel the weight of his words, like a physical blow. Bodhi, always the strong one, the rock that she could lean on, was broken. And it was her fault.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said, her voice hoarse with guilt. “I didn’t mean it, Bodhi. I just—everything felt like it was slipping away, and I didn’t know how to fix it, so I said the worst thing I could think of. And now… now I don’t know how to fix this.” Bodhi swallowed hard, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I can forget what you said.”

The words hit her like a wave, pulling her under. She wanted to say something to make it better, to promise him that she would do whatever it took to fix the damage she had caused, but her throat felt tight, her words stuck. What could she say? What could she do? The weight of everything between them was too much to handle, and she didn’t know if she was worthy of fixing it.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” she said quietly. “I just… I need you to know how sorry I am. I never wanted to hurt you like that. I love you. I really do. So, so much Bodhi.”

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The silence that followed was thick, but there was something softer in it now. Something that felt like a small crack in the wall they had built between each other. They found a quiet space in the corner of the courtyard, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun casting a warm, golden light over everything. Bodhi and Y/N sat across from each other, the tension still there, but now there was something different in the air. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t guilt—it was a fragile hope. They both knew that their relationship had been shaken to its core, but they were willing to work through it. Together.

“I don’t know how we got here,” Y/N said quietly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know how we went from being so close to…” She trailed off, the words too painful to finish. Bodhi sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Neither do I. But we’re here now. And we can’t change what happened. All we can do is… try to figure out what comes next.”

Y/N nodded, tears welling up again. “I never wanted to hurt you, Bodhi. I’m so sorry. I feel like I’m drowning in what I’ve done, in how I’ve broken this. And I don’t know how to make it right.” Bodhi’s expression softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N saw the familiar spark of the man she loved. “We’re not broken,” he said gently. “We’re hurt. But we can heal, together.”

They sat there for a long time, in silence, just letting the moment settle between them. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real. It was a step toward something new—a new beginning, perhaps. And maybe that was all they needed for now. They weren’t fixed. But they were trying. And sometimes, that was enough.

[partoffantasy]

A Bet Well Lost - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

summary: What started as a playful bet between Garrick and Y/N quickly turns into an intense game of desire, neither willing to break first—until the tension becomes unbearable.

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader warnings: MDNI!, smut, swearing, unprotected p in v, oral (m) word count: 6k

This request and idea was submitted by anon. And this is for all the anons who have asked for Garrick smut. I am not the best at writing smut, but I hope you like it. And oops, I got carried away. 💙

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The sparring ring was nearly empty, save for a few cadets nursing their bruises and muttering about their losses. Garrick rolled his shoulders, his uniform clinging to him. His dark brown hair was damp, a few strands falling over his forehead as he watched her—watched her with the kind of unwavering focus that made it impossible to ignore.

"You hesitated," she accused as she wiped sweat from her forehead. Garrick’s mouth curved slightly, something knowing flickering in his gaze. "I don’t hesitate." She stepped closer, crossing the few feet between them with deliberate ease. "You did." His expression didn’t waver. "I had the shot," he agreed, tilting his head slightly, his smirk deepening. "And I chose not to take it."

Heat curled through her stomach, her pulse ticking faster. That was the problem with Garrick—he never just said things. Everything had weight. Meaning. Intent. She narrowed her eyes. "Because you didn’t want to, or because you couldn’t?" Garrick exhaled through his nose, the sound almost amused, almost dangerous. Instead of answering, he took a step forward—just one, but enough to make the space between them nonexistent.

"You really want to go there, darling?" His voice was low, rough. The tension crackled like lightning in the air. Yes. The word nearly slipped past her lips, but she caught it at the last second, swallowing down the rush of warmth that spread through her chest. Instead, she lifted her chin, her own smirk forming. "You think you have more restraint than me, Tavis?"

His eyes darkened slightly. "I know I do." A laugh escaped her. "Now that’s something I’d be willing to bet on." Garrick’s expression shifted, intrigue flickering in his gaze before settling into something sharper. "A bet?" She nodded, feeling the shift between them, the anticipation curling tight. "First one to cave loses." Silence stretched, thick and heavy. His jaw ticked. "Define ‘cave.’" Her gaze dipped to his lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again. "You know exactly what I mean."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. Got him. His exhale was slow, measured, as if he were considering his options. "And what does the winner get?" Her lips curled. "Whatever they want." Something dangerous flickered in his gaze, something that sent a sharp, traitorous thrill down her spine. But then he masked it, his face smoothing into something unreadable.

"Fine," he said, voice edged with challenge. "You’re on." Satisfaction unfurled in her chest, but before she could revel in it, another voice cut through the space between them. "You two are absolute idiots." They both turned to find Xaden standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching them like they were the most predictable people he'd ever met.

"You’re seriously making this a bet?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. "It’s a matter of principle," Garrick said smoothly, not even blinking. Xaden snorted. "Right. Because self-control is something either of you are known for." She crossed her arms. "We’ll see." Xaden gave them both a long look before shaking his head. "Well, this is going to be entertaining." He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back. "By the way, you’re both on the same assignment this week. Try not to let your little game interfere."

Her stomach dropped. Garrick muttered a quiet curse. Xaden smirked. "Good luck." And with that, he was gone, leaving them standing there. Garrick dragged a hand down his face before glancing at her. "Still think you’re going to win?" She forced herself to look confident, despite the warning bells going off in her head. "Oh, I know I am."

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

If the universe had any sense of fairness, the bet would have remained simple. But no—Xaden had to go and assign them to the same task, shoving them into close quarters for an entire week like the smug bastard he was. Inventory checks. Weapons inventory checks. Which meant long hours alone in the smallest damn supply closet in Basgiath, knee-to-knee, surrounded by shelves of sharpened steel, flight gear, and tension so thick she could choke on it.

Garrick leaned back against a crate, long legs stretched out in front of him, casually flipping through a parchment log like he wasn’t the problem. Like he wasn’t sitting way too close. Like he hadn’t just passed her another list a moment ago, his fingers brushing hers, the contact brief but devastating.

"Tell me again how this is fair," she muttered, eyes scanning the inventory sheet in her hands even though she hadn’t actually read a single word. Garrick smirked but didn’t look up. "You sound like you’re about to lose already." She shot him a glare. "I’m not losing." He chuckled, low and warm, and she felt it everywhere. Bastard. The first few hours had been fine—manageable, at least. They had kept it professional, methodically moving through crates of weapons, accounting for every last dagger and reinforced breastplate. But then it started.

The proximity. The accidental brushes of skin when they reached for the same quill. The way his voice wrapped around her name. The lingering glances, the heat in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. And worst of all? She was looking. At the way the muscles in his forearms flexed as he adjusted a set of throwing knives. At the thin sheen of sweat on his collarbone, a reminder of how hard they had trained that morning. At the way his shirt clung just a little too well, outlining the ridges of his chest and stomach in a way that was completely unfair.

And the way he knew exactly what he was doing to her. She exhaled sharply, dropping her list onto the crate beside her. "You’re doing this on purpose." Garrick finally looked up, brow lifting. "Doing what?" Oh, he was so smug. "Existing obnoxiously close to me." That earned her a real laugh. "Darling, you’re the one leaning into my space." She hadn’t been. Had she? Her back straightened instantly, and his smirk only deepened.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured. Her stomach tightened, the heat in her veins pulsing stronger. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. She wasn’t going to be the first to break. "Just count the daggers, Tavis," she snapped, crossing her arms. His lips twitched. "Yes, ma’am." They fell back into silence, but it was a loaded kind of quiet. The kind where every movement mattered—where she was suddenly aware of the way her breathing synced with his, the way his knee was close enough to hers that one shift would have them touching.

And the worst part? She wanted to shift. Her skin prickled with awareness, and she swore she could feel his gaze flicker to her mouth, then lower. She swallowed. Damn this bet. Damn Xaden for trapping them here. Damn Garrick for looking at her like that. By the time they finished the last of the logs, she was burning, every inch of her on edge, coiled tight from the sheer restraint it took not to cross the invisible line between them.

She gathered the last parchment, moving to stand—but so did he. And they collided. Chest to chest. The air thickened. His hands instinctively caught her arms, warm and firm, steadying her. But the real problem was her hands—because they had landed against his chest, her fingers brushing against heated, soft fabric, and she felt everything. The solid strength beneath her palms. The way his breath hitched just slightly.

They should have stepped back. Neither of them did. His grip on her arms tightened, just a fraction. Barely anything at all. But her pulse pounded at the feeling of his thumbs stroking over her bare skin—slow, deliberate, dangerous. Her throat went dry. His jaw was clenched, the muscle feathering as his eyes dropped to her lips. For a second—a single, heart-pounding second—she thought he was going to break first.

Then he exhaled sharply and took a full step back, his hands dropping away. "Goodnight," he said, voice rough. And then he was gone, leaving her standing there, completely wrecked. She pressed her fingers to her lips, her pulse still thrumming wildly. She was so, so fucked. 

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

If she was going to win this bet, she needed to stop playing defense. Garrick was too good at keeping his composure, too good at resisting—barely, but still. And worse? She was starting to lose her mind. Every accidental touch, every glance, every damn second alone with him in that suffocatingly small inventory room had wound her so tight she felt like she was going to snap.

So. Time for a power move. She didn’t overthink it. That was the key—if she let herself hesitate, she’d back out. And she refused to back out. Not when she had him right there, walking the edge of his restraint. She waited until late that night, when most of the quadrant had settled, and made her way to Garrick’s room. The halls were quiet, torchlight flickering against the stone walls, but her pulse thundered in her ears, loud enough to drown out the silence.

She knocked once. The door opened a moment later, revealing him. Shirtless. And gods, that was a problem. His dark hair was damp, freshly washed, and he had clearly been getting ready for bed, sweatpants slung low on his hips, the deep grooves of his stomach flexing as he froze completely. Because of her. Because of what she was wearing.

A silk nightgown, thin straps over her shoulders, the fabric dipping low enough to tease. The hem stopped mid-thigh, too short, too sheer, too dangerous. She smiled. "Hi." His jaw locked. His hand was still gripping the doorframe, but he wasn’t moving—wasn’t even breathing. Just staring. The reaction was everything she wanted. "Are you—" He cleared his throat. Tried again. "What are you doing?"

She stepped past him, deliberately brushing against his side as she walked into his room. "Relax, Tavis. I just came to talk." "Talk," he repeated, his voice flat. She perched herself on the edge of his bed, crossing her legs slowly. His eyes flicked downward, barely a second, but she saw it. The way he caught himself too late, the sharp inhale, the slight flare of his nostrils.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Something wrong?" His fingers twitched at his sides before he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "You know exactly what you're doing." She smiled. "Do I?" Garrick exhaled through his nose, a slow, measured sound, like he was holding on by a thread. "Darling," he said, low and edged with warning, "you should leave."

She leaned back on her hands, arching slightly, letting the silk shift just enough to give him a view of bare skin. "Why?" He muttered a curse, turning away, hands planted on his hips as if he needed a second. She laughed softly. "Oh, come on. What happened to all that restraint?" He was not amused. His head tipped back, eyes closed for a second before he dragged his hands down his face. Then he turned—slowly.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes? Burning. The air thickened between them, the tension so thick she could almost reach out and touch it. She wanted him to break. To snap. To lose. But then—"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, voice low and dark. A thrill shot through her, and she held his gaze as she ran her fingers along the edge of her nightgown, tracing the silk idly. "Am I?"

His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Yes." She smiled, slow and sweet. "Then why aren’t you stopping me?" His entire body tensed. For a second, just a second, she thought she had him. Then, in a move so fast she barely had time to react, he was suddenly in front of her, looming, one hand braced on the bed beside her, the other gripping her chin.

Her breath caught. "Garrick—" "You really want to test me, darling?" he murmured. The room felt too hot. His thumb brushed along her jaw, barely a touch, but she felt it everywhere. A warning. A promise. And a mistake. Because the second he touched her, she knew he wasn’t unaffected. That he was so close to breaking. That he wanted her just as badly. Her lips parted, a sharp inhale catching in her throat.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. He was right there. One move. One move, and he’d be done. His fingers flexed slightly—hesitating. And then, cursing violently, he wrenched himself away. She blinked, chest rising and falling too fast, her body still humming from the near contact. Garrick was already across the room, running a hand through his hair, breathing heavy. "Go," he said, voice rough. "Before I forget why I’m still holding back."

Garrick was standing near the window now, his back to her, shoulders tense as if he were trying to hold it all in. His muscles rippled under his shirt, the fabric strained, and she could almost hear his heartbeat from across the room. He was resisting. She could see it, feel it, even in the air between them. She tilted her head, studying him. "You're really trying, aren't you?" His voice was low, rough when he replied. "I don’t lose."

She smiled, the corner of her lips curling up slowly. "You’ve been saying that for days now." "And I’m not going to lose tonight," he muttered, still not turning to face her, as if pretending the space between them could shield him from whatever was coming. She knew the exact moment when his control started to slip. The second he exhaled sharply, fingers curling into fists, the muscles in his neck tightening. She had him on edge, and it was exactly where she wanted him. She leaned back on her hands, stretching just enough for the nightgown to slide higher up her thighs. Her movements were languid, deliberate.

"Still holding out?" she teased, her voice low, full of challenge. "How long do you think you can last, Garrick?" He clenched his jaw. "As long as it takes," he growled. She stood up then, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. She stepped closer. The space between them shrank, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t stop. No, she couldn’t now.

Her fingers brushed his arm lightly as she passed by, just a gentle graze, but it was enough to make him flinch, enough to send a surge of electricity through the air between them. She wasn’t looking at him directly, but she could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face, and it made her stomach flip in anticipation.

She stopped just in front of him, close enough that their breaths mingled, the heat of his body surrounding her. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was trying to stop himself from reaching for her. She wanted him to reach for her. She wanted to break him.

"You can’t hold out forever, Garrick," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, but it was the one thing she knew would push him over the edge. The change was instantaneous. His eyes, once filled with restraint, darkened, the flicker of something dangerous sparking in them. He reached for her, the movement so fast, so fluid, that she barely had time to react before his hand was on her arm, his fingers digging into her skin. He spun her, slamming her back against the nearest wall with a force that stole her breath.

The impact was sharp, but the warmth of his body pressed against hers made it all feel like fire. His chest was against hers, his breath ragged as he held her in place, his hand gripping her wrist above her head. The other hand was braced against the wall beside her, keeping her in place, his fingers just inches from her face. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the tension in every muscle, and the way his body was trembling with the need to break.

"Stop," he rasped, but even to his own ears, it sounded like a plea. "I won’t lose. Not to you." Her pulse was erratic, but she fought to keep her composure. She lifted her chin, her breath mingling with his. "Who says you’ve lost already?" she teased, her voice breathy, almost mocking. But the way he looked at her told her everything she needed to know. She could see the fight was over.

His lips crashed down on hers without warning, hard, desperate. She moaned into the kiss, her hands flying to his chest, pressing herself even closer to him, her body arching against the firm heat of his. He responded immediately, his mouth bruising hers with the same wild intensity that was coursing through both of them. Every touch was frantic, as if he were trying to make up for every second of restraint.

His grip on her wrist loosened only slightly as he shifted his hand to her waist, pulling her against him with an urgency that left her breathless. She felt him—felt every hard muscle of his body. His hands were everywhere now, trailing over her, tugging at the fabric of her nightgown, his fingertips burning hot against her skin. She gasped when he pulled away, just long enough to look at her, his chest heaving as he struggled to control himself.

"Gods, you have no idea what you’ve done," he muttered, his voice thick with frustration and desire. She didn’t let him say more, didn’t give him the chance to back away. She surged forward, her hands pushing him back against the wall, her lips finding his again, more forcefully this time. He groaned as her body pressed into his, and she felt the last of his resolve crumble away.

The moment her back hit the wall, Garrick knew he was done for. The fight was over. The bet? Lost. And he didn’t even care. Because the way she was looking at him now—lips kiss-bruised, breath shaky, pupils blown wide with need—had him wondering why the fuck he’d held out this long in the first place. She wasn’t teasing anymore. Not now. Now, it was real. And gods, he was going to take his time with this. Make her feel every second of it. His fingers brushed up her thigh, dragging slow and deliberate over soft, exposed skin.

She shivered, and fuck, he felt that too. Felt it in the way her body pressed closer, in the way her hands curled into his shoulders, as if she needed something to hold onto. He grinned, pressing his mouth against the hollow of her throat. "I am not sure if your actions count as a win either." His voice was low, rough. Dangerous. Her breath hitched. Then—a smirk. "Oh for sure, Garrick." She shifted, pressing her hips against him, exactly where he needed her most.

His grip tightened. She bit her lip, eyes gleaming with victory. "And now shut up and fuck me." Fuck. She was playing with fire. And this time, he wasn’t stepping away. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin just below her jaw, earning him a sharp inhale, her fingers tangling into his hair as she arched into him. "Bold words," he murmured, letting his hands wander, savoring the way she melted under his touch. "But I don’t think you understand what you’ve just started."

She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Then show me." Oh, he would. He fucking would. He kissed her slow at first—deep and consuming, drinking her in like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she gasped against his mouth. She tugged at his shirt, nails scraping over muscle, impatient. But Garrick wasn’t about to let her rush this.

Not after all the godsdamned torture she’d put him through. His hands skimmed lower, purposefully slow, dragging over her waist, her hips, down her thighs—everywhere but where he knew she wanted him most. She let out a frustrated whimper, tilting her head back against the wall. "You’re really gonna make me wait now?" He smirked against her skin. "Should’ve thought about that before you started this bet." She huffed, tugging at his hair. "Asshole."

His teeth grazed her collarbone, lips curving into a smirk. "You love it." She didn’t deny it. And then—she lost patience. Her legs tightened around his waist, her hands moving to his belt, and—fuck. Any thought of teasing her vanished. Because godsdamn, he couldn’t wait anymore either. His grip shifted, and in a single move, he lifted her, carrying her across the room, never breaking contact as he lowered her onto the bed.

She landed with a breathless laugh, looking up at him through dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "You caved first," she whispered. Garrick braced himself over her, pinning her down, his body flush against hers. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. Then he smiled—slow and wicked. "Darling," he murmured, dipping his head so his lips brushed against her ear. Then, in a voice full of promise—full of absolute certainty—"I’m about to make damn sure you don’t care." And then—He did.

His lips crashed against hers in a heated kiss, tongues tangling in a battle he easily won, claiming her with each stroke. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against her mouth. The sound sent heat pooling between her thighs. Desperate to feel more, she grabbed the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head. The sight of his bare chest—sculpted muscle, so strong—sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she groaned, her eyes raking over him. Garrick smirked, his hands already sliding down to her hips, fingers digging in as he pulled her flush against him. Their bodies aligned perfectly, pressing in all the right places, and the moment she felt the hard length of him straining against his pants, a needy whimper escaped her lips.

“Jump.” The command was gruff, laced with raw desire, and she obeyed without hesitation, wrapping her legs around his waist. The moment she did, friction sparked between them, making her grind against him instinctively. She felt him grow harder, thicker, and the sheer size of him sent a shiver down her spine.

“I need to feel your skin on mine,” she breathed, already tugging at her own shirt. He held her steady as she stripped it off, taking full advantage of how easily he lifted her. His mouth found her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her pulse point before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

His hands slid behind her, deftly unclasping her bra, and the second it was free, he pulled it down her arms, tossing it aside. He leaned back slightly, gaze devouring her, dark with hunger. “You are so fucking sexy,” he rasped. His eyes flicked to her breasts, and she smirked, bringing a hand up to his hair and pulling him down. He got the message immediately. His lips latched onto her nipple, sucking it into his mouth while his other hand kneaded the soft flesh of her other breast. The sensation sent a sharp, electric pleasure straight to her core, making her moan as her head fell back against the wall.

And then, suddenly, her back wasn’t against the wall anymore. The next thing she knew, she was on his bed, sprawled beneath him, legs already falling open around his broad frame. Garrick hovered over her, his gaze heavy, full of want. Slowly, he reached for the button of her pants, popping it open, his eyes never leaving hers. She bit her lower lip, anticipation thrumming through her veins as he dragged both her pants and panties down in one slow, deliberate motion.

Licking his lips, he leaned back over her, capturing her mouth in another searing kiss before letting his hand slide between her thighs. “Mmm, do you want my fingers, darling?” he murmured against her lips, the barest trace of his fingertip teasing her clit, featherlight and maddening. “Please,” she gasped, arching into his touch. “I want you so bad.”

His lips ghosted along her jaw. “What do you want?” “I want your fingers in my cunt, right now,” she growled, tugging him closer. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he obeyed, sliding two fingers through her slick folds before pushing them into her with ease. “Gods, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned, watching the way she clenched around him. “It’s like your body was made for this.”

Y/N moaned, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts, her walls fluttering around his fingers. His pace was torturously slow at first, teasing, but when she whimpered his name, he curled them just right, pressing against that perfect spot that made her toes curl. “Oh, fuck, Garrick,” she moaned, her body tensing as pleasure coiled tight inside her. He smirked, his free hand bracing against her thigh to hold her in place. “Come for me, darling.”

The command sent her spiraling, her orgasm crashing over her. She trembled beneath him, crying out his name, her body shuddering as he coaxed her through the pleasure, thrusting his fingers a few more times before withdrawing. She barely had time to catch her breath before he was kissing her again, swallowing her soft moans.

“Fuck, your fingers feel like heaven,” she panted. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Wait until you feel my cock inside you.” She didn’t need to be told twice. Her hands were already at the waistband of his pants, yanking them down. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, and her breath hitched. If she was being honest, Garrick might have the most perfect cock she had ever seen.

A devilish grin spread across her lips as she ran her hands over his broad chest, down his sides, then lower, fingers skimming over his hips before she leaned in. Starting slow, she let the tip of her tongue glide along the underside of his balls, savoring the way he twitched under her touch. “Gods,” he groaned, his breath stuttering as she licked her way up his shaft.

She took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue before sinking lower, inch by inch, until she had most of him inside. Her lips hollowed around him, sucking as she pulled back, letting her tongue drag along the underside. Garrick’s hands tangled in her hair, gripping it into a makeshift ponytail so he could watch her take him in. His other hand traced along her spine before grabbing a handful of her ass, squeezing hard. She moaned around him, sending vibrations down his length.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” he groaned, his hips twitching forward. She hummed in response, wrapping a hand around the base of him while her other reached down to palm his balls. His moans deepened, his grip tightening in her hair as she took him deeper, pushing herself until he hit the back of her throat. His chest rose and fell with heavy, labored breaths, his abs flexing as he fought for control. But when she looked up at him through her lashes, he lost it.

“Fuck, darling, you need to stop,” he groaned, his hands pulling her off him. His lips crashed against hers, kissing her like he needed her more than air. “I’m going to fuck this needy cunt so hard,” he rasped against her lips. “So deep that the only thing you’ll be able to think about is me buried inside you.” Her thighs clenched at his words, heat flooding her core. “Gods, Garrick, please.”

He smirked, satisfied. “So desperate, darling.” Lining himself up, he thrust inside her with one firm stroke, filling her to the hilt. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a relentless pace, each snap of his hips hitting the perfect angle. He growled, pulling out suddenly, flipping her onto her stomach before dragging her hips up. Then he drove into her again, the new angle making her cry out.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Look at you, taking every inch like you were made for me.” His words sent her spiraling again, pleasure crashing over her. “Please don’t stop,” she moaned, trembling beneath him. “I can feel you tightening around me,” he rasped. “Come for me, darling. Scream my name.” 

Her orgasm ripped through her, leaving her shuddering and screaming his name. Garrick followed with a guttural groan, his release spilling deep inside her as he rode out his own high. Collapsing beside her, he pulled her against him, pressing lazy kisses along her shoulder. “Fuck,” she panted. Garrick chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Told you I’d make you scream.”

Garrick was spent—physically, mentally, utterly wrecked in the best possible way. And so was Y/N. She lay sprawled across his chest, her bare skin flushed, her breaths still uneven as she tried to recover from what had just happened. From him. Garrick smirked, running a lazy hand down her spine, relishing the way she shivered under his touch, the way she fit against him so perfectly. "You okay there, darling?" His voice was low, teasing, his fingers tracing slow, torturous circles against her hip.

She let out a soft huff, nuzzling closer but refusing to look at him. He chuckled. "What? No smug comeback?" Still nothing. Then, quietly, "Shut up." His grin widened. There it is. "You sound a little—" He rolled, flipping them effortlessly until she was pinned beneath him again, his weight warm and solid and way too pleased with himself. "—defeated." Her eyes narrowed, finally lifting to meet his. "You wish."

He dipped his head, letting his lips graze just under her ear. "Oh, I don’t have to wish," he murmured, voice all honey and heat. "I won." She snorted. Actually snorted. Garrick lifted his head, arching a brow. "Something funny?" She grinned up at him, looking like she had some grand secret. "You caved first." Garrick sighed dramatically, pressing his forehead against hers. "We’re really doing this?" "We are." "You literally—" he kissed her, slow and sweet, before pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes— "—couldn’t wait to get my shirt off."

Her lips twitched. "You’re the one who put me against a wall like some desperate man who couldn’t resist." He let out a deep groan, dropping onto his back beside her, staring at the ceiling. "Unbelievable," he muttered. She giggled, shifting to prop herself on her elbow. "Garrick Tavis, loser of bets—" He grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her face. She let out a startled laugh, swatting it away.

Garrick rolled back toward her, smirking again, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "You’re impossible." She beamed. "And you love it." He did. Gods, he really did. His smirk softened as his fingers drifted lower, tracing over her arm in slow, lazy strokes. "Bet or not, you know I’d always choose you, right?" The teasing faded from her face, her lips parting slightly, like she hadn’t expected that.

Like she hadn’t expected him to say it. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "I know," she murmured. Then, quieter, like a confession—"Me too." A warm, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. Garrick wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, tucking her against him, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head. "Good," he murmured against her hair. And as she sighed softly, curling into him, he realized—He’d never needed to win the bet.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Garrick knew he was fucked the moment he stepped into the common room. Not because of anything he’d done. No, he was fucked because Ridoc was already grinning at him like a feral godsdamned gremlin. And that never meant anything good. The first words out of Ridoc’s mouth? "So… who lost?" Garrick froze mid-step. A muscle in his jaw ticked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Ridoc leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Oh, nothing. Just wondering which one of you caved first." Garrick forced his expression to stay neutral. Calm. Unbothered. Ridoc? Was not buying it. "Don’t look at me like that, Tavis," he said, grinning. "We all knew it was gonna happen. The only question was when." Garrick gritted his teeth. "We were just—"

"—completing an assignment for Xaden?" Ridoc cut in, smirking harder. "Yeah, yeah, sure, man. You definitely left that room with all your self-control intact." Before Garrick could strangle him, a new voice joined the conversation—"You lost, didn’t you?" Fucking Xaden. Garrick exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before slowly turning to face his smug-as-hell Wingleader.

Xaden leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Garrick narrowed his eyes. "You know, I’d almost believe you weren’t nosy as fuck if you weren’t standing there looking like you planned this." Xaden lifted a casual brow. "Didn’t need to plan it. The two of you were already fighting a losing battle." Garrick refused to dignify that with an answer.

Unfortunately, Ridoc was having the time of his life. "Gods, it must’ve been bad," Ridoc said, shaking his head. "How long did you hold out, Garrick? A week? Five days?" A beat of silence. Then—"Three days." The voice didn’t belong to Garrick. It belonged to her. Every single head in the room snapped toward the door. She stood there, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unbothered as she leaned against the frame. Garrick groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re not supposed to tell them that."

She shrugged, grinning. "What? It’s the truth." Ridoc howled. "Three days? Three?! Oh, that’s just—" He clutched his stomach, doubling over. "You didn’t even make it a full week! Garrick, my guy—" Garrick glared. "You wanna fucking live to see tomorrow?" Ridoc wiped fake tears from his eyes. "Not after hearing this. Gods, this is better than I could’ve imagined." Xaden was smirking too, though his amusement was more measured. "Three days. Impressive restraint, Tavis. Thought you’d break after two."

Garrick shot him an exasperated look. "Are you serious right now?" Xaden’s smirk only deepened. "What do you think?" Garrick considered violence. Seriously considered it. But then she came up beside him, running her fingers along his very tense forearm before saying, "To be fair, I would’ve won if I’d played fair." That got Xaden’s attention. He lifted a brow. "Played fair?" She smirked. "Let’s just say I… persuaded him." Garrick exhaled sharply, gritting his teeth as he felt the heat of her gaze. The knowing amusement.

And the worst part? Xaden understood immediately. Because his smirk vanished—replaced by an exasperated sigh. "You wore something, didn’t you?" She beamed. "Maybe." Xaden pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck’s sake." Ridoc, however, was absolutely thriving. "You cheated?! Oh, that’s evil. That’s—" He clutched his chest, grinning so hard it looked painful. "That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard."

Garrick turned toward her, leveling her with a look. "You cheated." She blinked innocently. "No rules against it." Garrick exhaled through his nose. She was impossible. And he loved it. Xaden shook his head, clearly done with this conversation. "You know what? I don’t even care. Just—" He waved a hand. "Try to keep it out of the common room, yeah?" Garrick snorted. "What do you take me for? Ridoc?"

"Hey, fuck you!" Ridoc shouted. Garrick smirked, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door. Xaden sighed behind them. "And for the love of the gods, get your damn patrol reports in on time." Garrick lifted a hand in mock salute. "Sure thing, boss." And as they stepped into the hall, leaving the laughter and teasing behind, she leaned in close, voice warm with amusement.

"Still think you won?" Garrick glanced down at her, taking in the wicked glint in her eyes, the unfairly beautiful curve of her lips. Then, with a slow, satisfied smirk, he murmured, "I hit the jackpot."

[partoffantasy]

Drunk on Trouble - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: Aaric finds himself unwillingly roped into reader’s drunken antics—especially when she decides he’s the perfect person to cling to for the night.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 3.7k

Request by @asteria-wood: would u be able to do aaric x drunk reader? like fluff and lowk funny since drunk reader is one of those cheery happy ranting drunks…🥺🥺🥺 - Thank you so much for your requests, I hope you like this one 💙

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The hall was loud, filled with laughter and clinking of cups that only came after a successful mission—or in this case, a night of reckless indulgence. Someone had decided that a drinking game was the best way to unwind after weeks of relentless training, and, to no one’s surprise, it had spiraled completely out of control.

Y/N wasn’t sure who started it. It might have been Ridoc, because of course it was, or maybe Sawyer, who had a terrible habit of egging people on just to see what would happen. Either way, the game had begun, and Y/N had made the unfortunate decision to participate with the same determination she approached everything in life. Which was why, at this moment, she was absolutely hammered.

Across the room, Aaric leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, watching the chaos unfold with his usual unreadable expression. He was nursing the same drink he’d started with hours ago, clearly in no hurry to join in the drunken shenanigans. That was just so typical of him. Always composed. Always in control. Always watching.

Meanwhile, Y/N was very much not in control. She barely remembered how many drinks she’d had—just that each one had gone down smoother than the last. At some point, the game had stopped mattering, and she’d found herself swept up in the warmth of the room, in the laughter of her friends, in the way everything felt just a little bit funnier than usual.

Like Ridoc attempting to balance two cups on his head. Or Rhi’s dramatized retelling of an absolutely atrocious battle strategy someone had suggested. Or the way the firelight flickered across Aaric’s face, making his green eyes glow in a way that was entirely unfair. Wait. No. Not that last one. She groaned, shaking her head as if it would physically rid her of the thought. The movement made the room tilt slightly, and she giggled to herself, because walking was going to be an adventure later.

Someone—probably Sloane—nudged her shoulder, smirking. “How are you still standing?” Y/N grinned. “Pure determination.” Sloane snorted. “You mean pure stupidity.” “Same thing.” A deep chuckle sounded from next to her, and Y/N’s head snapped toward the source. Aaric was watching her with an amused tilt to his lips, his head resting against his knuckles like he was enjoying some sort of personal entertainment show.

“What?” she demanded, pointing at him—though her finger wobbled slightly in the air. “What’s so funny?” Aaric arched a brow, that smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, nothing,” he mused. “I’m just waiting to see how long it takes before you topple over.” Y/N narrowed her eyes, swaying slightly where she stood. “Joke’s on you, I—” she took a step forward and immediately stumbled. A strong hand caught her arm before she could crash into the table. Aaric. Of course.

His grip was firm, the heat of his palm searing through the fabric of her sleeve. He didn’t let go right away, probably because she still wasn’t standing entirely upright. His smirk deepened. “Told you.” Y/N squinted up at him. “You have entirely too much faith in gravity.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “And you have entirely too little.” 

She would’ve argued—really, she would’ve—but something about the way he was looking at her made words harder to form. Maybe it was the flicker of amusement in his eyes, or the way his hand lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he finally let her go. She definitely wasn’t drunk enough to deal with that. Or maybe she was too drunk. Hard to tell. Either way, the night was far from over.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Aaric knew the exact moment Y/N crossed the threshold from tipsy to absolutely gone. One second, she was swaying slightly on her feet, squinting at him like she was trying to figure out if he was real or a particularly smug hallucination. The next, she gasped dramatically—loudly—and threw her arms around Sloane, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“Sloaneeeee,” Y/N whined, clinging to her like she was about to be dragged off to war. “You’re, like… the best. Have I told you that? You’re amazing. I love you.” Sloane—clearly amused but also struggling to stay upright—patted Y/N on the back. “Uh, thanks?” “No, no, no,” Y/N insisted, pulling back just enough to grab Sloane’s face between her hands. “I need you to understand how much I love you, okay? You’re, like, so cool, and you always have my back, and you make the best jokes, and—”

Sloane shot a look at the rest of the squad, grinning. “She’s gone.” “I am not,” Y/N protested, releasing her only to immediately latch onto Ridoc. “Ridoc! You.” Ridoc, already laughing, braced himself as she gripped his arms. “Me?” “Yes, you. Listen.” She swayed, her hands tightening as if she needed to physically steady herself. “You’re a menace, but you’re our menace. And that’s important.” Ridoc dramatically wiped away a fake tear. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “I mean it. You make life… life-y.” “I think you mean lively,” Aaric drawled from his seat. Y/N’s head snapped toward him so fast she nearly fell over. Her eyes locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile, and Aaric had just enough time to realize what was about to happen before she lunged. The impact wasn’t as bad as he expected—mostly because he caught her before she could send them both to the floor. But that didn’t mean he was prepared for the hug.

Because Y/N wasn’t just hugging him. She was clinging to him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, face buried in his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. And worse—far, far worse—was the small, content sigh she let out as she nuzzled into him. Aaric froze. His entire squad gawked. Ridoc was already mouthing what the fuck at him, while Sawyer looked like he was fighting the urge to burst out laughing.

Aaric cleared his throat, but Y/N was too busy melting into him to notice. “You are very drunk.” “Mmhmm,” she hummed. “You’re comfy.” Aaric’s eye twitched. “I—” Before he could disentangle himself, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes were slightly unfocused but full of unfiltered joy, her lips stretched into the happiest little grin he’d ever seen. “Your hair looks so soft,” she whispered, as if it were some grand revelation.

Aaric blinked. “I—what?” “I knew it.” She sounded entirely too triumphant, her fingers twitching against his shirt like she was seconds away from reaching up and testing her theory. “It’s always so perfectly in place, but I bet it’s so soft—” He caught her wrist before she could touch him, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You are not petting me.” Y/N gasped, scandalized. “I would never.” A beat. “Okay, maybe a little, but it’s because you never let me touch it and now I really want to—”

“I’m cutting you off,” Aaric said flatly. Y/N pouted. “Rude.” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as she happily leaned back against him, using him like a very unamused chair. The squad, meanwhile, was loving this. “Are you going to get up at some point?” he asked dryly. “Mmmmm… no.” Aaric sighed. This was going to be a long night. And it only got worse when Y/N suddenly perked up, gasping. “OH MY GOD.”

Aaric flinched. “What?” Y/N grabbed his shirt, eyes wide with urgency. “We don’t compliment dragons enough.” Aaric stared. “...What?” “No, think about it.” She wiggled, looking around at the others like she was expecting some grand agreement. “We call them powerful and terrifying and majestic, but when do we ever just—just compliment them?”

Sloane, clearly entertained, tilted her head. “Like… how?” “Like, ‘Molvic, your scales are so shiny today’ or ‘Andarna, you have the cutest little tail.’” Y/N threw up her hands. “They deserve hype too!” Ridoc snorted. “You should tell that to Sgaeyl.” Y/N gasped again, her hands flying to her cheeks. “I should.” Aaric sighed. “You should not.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening anymore. No, she was already mumbling something about “dragon affirmations” while resting her head back against his chest, grinning to herself like she’d just solved the world’s greatest mystery. Aaric looked up at the ceiling. Why me?

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Aaric had the patience of a saint. Truly, he did. He had spent years dealing with entitled noble lords, arrogant commanders, and self-important politicians who thought themselves invincible. He had faced enemies who would rather die than surrender, survived near-impossible odds, and led squads into battle with a calm, calculating mind.

And yet. Nothing in his extensive experience had prepared him for this. Y/N was thriving in her drunken state, bouncing between affectionate rambling and absurd proclamations like it was her life’s mission to be the most extra person in the room. And his squad? They were reveling in his suffering. “I think it’s time you went to bed,” Aaric announced, shifting beneath her weight as she continued using him as an unwilling seat.

“I think it’s time you went to bed,” Y/N shot back, jabbing a finger at his chest. Aaric arched a brow. “I’m not the one who just tried to fistfight a bottle of whiskey.” “It was taunting me.” Aaric sighed. “You’re done for the night.” “Nooooo, I’m fine.” Y/N made an attempt at sitting up straight, only to wobble so hard that Aaric had to steady her before she face-planted into the floor. “Sure,” he said dryly. “Totally fine.”

Y/N nodded, proud. “Exactly.” Aaric pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can barely sit up, let alone walk.” “I can walk,” she declared, attempting to push herself off of him. “I am a rider.” Aaric gave her a deeply unimpressed look. Y/N grinned, clearly mistaking it for encouragement, and launched herself to her feet. For exactly half a second, she stood victorious, her hands on her hips like she had just conquered the battlefield. Then, reality caught up to her, and she tilted.

Aaric saw it before it happened—the slow, inevitable loss of balance, the widening of her eyes as gravity took hold. “I—whoops—” And then she went down. Aaric caught her before she could properly eat the floor, one strong arm snapping around her waist. She blinked up at him, wide-eyed, her mouth slightly parted. “Oh,” she breathed. “That was close.”

Aaric stared at her. “You absolute menace.” She let out a giggle. “Oops?” The group was dying. Sloane had her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. Ridoc was wheezing, practically folded over. Sawyer had completely given up and was openly cackling. Aaric scowled at all of them before turning his attention back to the very drunk problem in his arms. “Alright. That’s enough of that.”

Y/N blinked at him again, looking very pleased with herself. “I walked, though.” Aaric exhaled sharply. “You tried to walk.” “Same thing.” “Not even remotely.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “But you caught me.” Aaric clenched his jaw. “Obviously.” Before she could protest further, he did the only logical thing—he picked her up. Y/N squeaked. “Aaric!” Ignoring the way his squad erupted into loud laughter, he adjusted his grip and effortlessly tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“HEY!” Y/N shrieked, kicking her legs. “THIS IS A VIOLATION OF THE RULES.” Aaric tightened his hold to keep her from wriggling too much. “What rules?” “The—” She paused. “I don’t know, but I’m sure there are some!” He started walking. “Fascinating.” “I swear I can walk!” she whined, drumming her fists lightly against his back. Aaric sighed, keeping a firm grip around her legs. “You literally just proved that you can’t.”

“I just lost focus! That’s all!” “Mm-hmm.” Y/N huffed dramatically. “This is humiliating.” “You’ll live.” “I won’t! This is a war crime.” Aaric smirked. “Oh? Are you going to report me?” “Yes!” “To who?” “…I don’t know, but someone very important!” Aaric rolled his eyes and kept walking. She squirmed again, clearly still determined to prove she didn’t need to be carried, but she also had the coordination of a newborn fawn. Eventually, she seemed to realize she was not winning this battle, because with a dramatic sigh, she flopped against his back.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But you’re still rude.” Aaric bit back a laugh. “Duly noted.” She mumbled something incoherent before suddenly perking up. “Oh! Wait!” Aaric braced himself. “What now?” Her hands grabbed his shoulders, and before he could stop her, she propped her chin on his back, peering at him upside down.

“You do have soft hair,” she whispered conspiratorially. Aaric stopped walking. Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head to glare at her, but she just beamed at him like she’d uncovered the world’s greatest secret. His eye twitched. Ridoc actually fell over from laughing too hard. Sloane wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh, this is the best night of my life.” Aaric sighed, resigned.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

By the time he reached her room, he had endured a full five minutes of her wiggling, complaining, and occasionally marveling over his existence. His personal favorite had been: “Do you bathe in perfection, or is it just a natural phenomenon?” He had no response to that. Now, with her safely deposited on her bed, he should have been able to make his escape. Except Y/N had other plans.

Aaric pulled the blanket over her, patting it down like she was a particularly unruly hatchling that might try to escape. “Sleep.” Y/N pouted. “But I’m not tired.” “Yes, you are.” She huffed. “You don’t know that.” “I do,” Aaric countered, deadpan. “Because you were literally falling asleep on my shoulder earlier.” “That’s different,” she argued, flopping dramatically against her pillow. “Your shoulder is comfortable.”

Aaric stilled for half a second. He definitely wasn’t going to acknowledge the way his heart did something weird in response. Instead, he sighed, reaching for the blanket to tuck her in again. “Just go to sleep.” Y/N blinked up at him, eyes unfocused but still filled with the same warmth they always held. “You’re really pretty, you know that?”

Aaric froze. Slowly, carefully, he sat back on the edge of her bed, giving her a look. “What?” Y/N gave him a very serious nod, like she had just made the most profound statement of her life. “It’s actually very rude.” Aaric narrowed his eyes. “How is that rude?” She pointed at him, her arm wobbling. “Because the rest of us have to look at you every day, and it’s unfair.”

Aaric blinked. “Excuse me?” She continued like he hadn’t spoken. “You should smile more, though. But not too much.” Aaric pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—” “Because,” she interrupted, reaching out to poke his chest with a single finger, “if you smile too much, it would be too powerful. And then everyone would die.” Aaric stared. “Everyone would die?” She nodded again, her expression solemn. “Instant death. Too much beauty.”

Aaric let out a slow breath. “You are unhinged.” “And you are pretty,” she countered. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I swear to the gods—” “You should also let me touch your hair,” she declared, reaching up to poke at the strands falling loose on his forehead. Aaric leaned back, just out of reach. “That is not happening.”

Y/N gasped. “But why?” “Because I don’t trust you with my hair while you’re drunk,” Aaric said dryly. “But you have prince hair,” she insisted. “It’s all soft and perfect. It’s basically begging to be touched.” Aaric snorted. “Prince hair?” She nodded fiercely. “Yes.” He shook his head, unable to stop the amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You are completely ridiculous.”

Y/N beamed at him. “Yeah, but you like me.” Aaric’s breath caught. His amusement froze, his heart stumbled, and for a single moment, he just stared at her. Y/N, blissfully unaware, snuggled deeper into the blankets, her eyes fluttering half-shut. “You’re always looking out for me,” she mumbled. “And you’re all grumpy about it, but you care.”

Aaric’s throat tightened. Y/N’s drunken confessions were usually nonsense—random thoughts, exaggerated declarations, things that had no weight beyond the moment. But this? This felt real. Aaric swallowed. “Go to sleep, Y/N.” “Mmm,” she hummed, already half asleep. “You’re nice when no one’s looking…” Aaric sighed, staring down at her as she finally drifted off.

It wasn’t the first time he had taken care of her. It wasn’t the first time he had tucked her in or listened to her ridiculous drunken rants. But it was the first time she had unintentionally confirmed what he had always suspected—That she knew he cared about her. That she saw him, even when he tried to pretend otherwise. And that, somehow, was far more dangerous than anything he had ever faced before.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Y/N’s first conscious thought was that her skull had been split open. Her second was that she might be dead. Her third was that—no, if she were dead, she wouldn’t feel like absolute shit. With a miserable groan, she pried one eye open, immediately regretting it as the dim morning light stabbed into her brain like a dagger. She slammed her eyes shut again and let out a pathetic whimper.

“Ah. You’re alive.” Y/N flinched. That voice. That smug, silky, far-too-amused voice. She cracked her eyes open once more, vision still blurry, and found herself staring directly at Aaric. Sitting in a chair beside her bed, one leg crossed over the other, his usual posture radiating the kind of unfair morning person energy that made her want to commit violence.

Y/N groaned, dragging her blanket over her face. “No.” Aaric arched a single, infuriatingly perfect brow. “No?” She curled into herself, her voice muffled beneath the fabric. “No. This isn’t happening. I am not awake. I refuse.” Aaric exhaled through his nose—one of those low, entertained sounds that usually meant he was holding back laughter.

She hated him. She hated him so much. But also, she was so thirsty and her mouth tasted like she had eaten sandpaper and regret. Slowly, cautiously, she peeled the blanket off her face. “Water?” she rasped, her voice barely functioning. Aaric didn’t move. Just stared. Expression neutral, but eyes gleaming with way too much amusement.

Y/N scowled. “Aaric, I swear to all the gods—” He finally—finally—tilted his head towards the small table beside her bed. Where, to her great relief, a glass of water and a potion bottle sat. Y/N lunged for them, wincing as her head throbbed in protest. She downed the water in record time, then uncorked the potion bottle, sniffing it. “Hangover remedy?” she croaked.

Aaric nodded. “Made sure it wasn’t poisoned first. You’re welcome.” Y/N paused, staring at him. “You tested my hangover potion?” Aaric lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Seemed necessary. You were… particularly reckless last night.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Define reckless.” And just like that—Aaric’s smirk deepened.

That should have been her warning. That should have been the moment she braced herself. But no, she had to go and ask. Aaric leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed. “Well,” he drawled, “you were very insistent that my hair was, and I quote, ‘too soft to be allowed.’” Y/N froze. Aaric continued, deliberately slow, deliberately smug. “You also declared that if I smiled too much, people would—what was it?—ah, yes. ‘Instantly drop dead from the devastating power of it.’”

Y/N squeaked. Actual, horrified, panicked squeaking noise. Aaric wasn’t done. Oh no. He lifted one hand to his chin, feigning deep thought. “Oh, and then there was the part where you very dramatically informed me that I must, under no circumstances, ever take off my shirt in public, because, and I quote—”

Y/N launched herself at him. Or rather, she tried to. Her head protested immediately, and she ended up flopping forward like a dying fish, landing face-first in her pillow with a muffled scream. Aaric chuckled. The absolute bastard. “Oh, don’t stop me now,” he said way too cheerfully. “We’re getting to the best parts.” Y/N let out a sound that was one part groan, one part death wail.

Aaric, meanwhile, was enjoying himself far too much. “You also suggested,” he continued smoothly, “that I allow you to touch my hair, because apparently I have ‘prince hair’—which I must say is a new one.” Y/N screamed into her pillow. “And finally,” Aaric said, his voice lowering just slightly, “you made an excellent case as to why I must, under no circumstances, ever stop looking out for you.”

Y/N froze. Her stomach dropped. Slowly, so slowly, she turned her head, peeking up at him through wide, mortified eyes. Aaric wasn’t smirking anymore. His expression was still amused, but… softer. Almost fond. She swallowed. “I—” “You’re always looking out for me,” Aaric murmured, repeating her words from the night before, his voice gentler now. “And you’re all grumpy about it, but you care.” Y/N wanted to evaporate.

Right here, right now. Simply cease to exist. Because of course she had said that. Of course. Aaric tilted his head, watching her reaction, his eyes far too knowing. “You knew, didn’t you?” he asked quietly. “You’ve always known.” Y/N’s heart pounded. Her throat was dry again. There were too many feelings in this room, and she was not emotionally stable enough for this with a hangover.

So she did what she did best—She flopped back onto her pillow with a dramatic groan. “Kill me,” she begged. “Just do it. Right now. End my suffering.” Aaric exhaled, shaking his head, but there was something warm in his expression. “Unfortunately for you,” he said, leaning forward to pluck the empty glass from her nightstand, “I still have some looking out for you left to do.”

Y/N peeked up at him, wary. “…Which means?” Aaric smirked. “That I made sure you have an entire day of duties ahead of you.” Y/N gasped. “You—you monster!” Aaric stood, already heading for the door, far too pleased with himself. “Welcome to consequences, Y/N.” She launched a pillow at his head. He dodged it without even looking back. And with that, he was gone—leaving her in the wreckage of her own choices. Aaric was never letting her live this down.

[partoffantasy]

Accidental Sleepover (Part 2) - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: reader tries to pretend nothing happened after that night in the archives, but Aaric is determined to keep reminding her of their intimate "study session," pushing her buttons every chance he gets.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 1.7k

Thank you for requesting part 2, anon! I hope you enjoy it 💙

Part 1: Click here

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Y/N did her best to pretend nothing had happened. Surely dodging one insufferably smug prince would be a simple feat. Easy. Effortless. Except Aaric Graycastle was making it his mission to ensure that was not the case. The moment she stepped into the cafeteria in the morning, still groggy from her sleep (because obviously she hadn’t been able to stop replaying the events  in her mind), she saw him out of the corner of her eyes.

And then—gods help her—she heard him. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little cuddle partner.” Y/N froze mid-step, fingers tightening around the tray in her hands as she slowly turned towards him. And there he was, sprawled in his usual seat at the corner table, legs stretched out, posture the very picture of ease. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. The bastard was enjoying this way too much.

“Go choke on your porridge, Aaric,” she muttered, dropping into the seat across from Sloane, who raised a single unimpressed brow. Aaric smirked. “Tempting, sweetheart. But I’d rather discuss our rather intimate study session.” Y/N fought the urge to throw her tray at him. He’s doing this to get a rise out of you. Don’t take the bait. Unfortunately, Sloane was taking the bait. Her head tilted slightly, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Study session?” she echoed. “I thought you went to the Archives to—” She cut herself off, then turned fully toward Y/N, lips curling. “Oh. Oh.”

Aaric rested his chin in his palm. “She looked quite peaceful in my arms.” Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose. “Sloane, if you kill him, I will take the fall.” “Tempting,” Sloane muttered, but the way her lips twitched betrayed her amusement. Aaric just grinned, unfazed. “No need for violence. I’m just saying, if Y/N wants to make it a habit, I wouldn’t be opposed. Comfortable bed, warm body, excellent sleeping conditions.”

Y/N gave him a sarcastic smile. “I hope your next mission pairs you with someone who snores.” Aaric’s grin widened. “I hope our next mission pairs us together, so we can see if that night’s chemistry extends beyond studying.” Sloane choked on her drink. Y/N seriously debated stabbing Aaric’s hand with her fork. Instead, she took a steadying breath, grabbed her tray, and stood.

“I’m leaving before I commit a crime.” Aaric hummed. “I’ll see you in the Archives later, then?” She pointedly ignored him, marching away with as much dignity as she could muster, but the sound of his soft chuckle followed her out of the mess hall.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Of course he found her later. Because the gods apparently despised her. She had chosen a new study spot in one of the more isolated areas with big windows overlooking the courtyard, hoping that being here would provide enough distractions to keep her from dwelling on that night. She had barely settled in when a familiar presence loomed behind her.

“You wound me, sweetheart.” Y/N didn’t even look up. “Good.” Aaric slid into the chair beside her, entirely unbothered. “Running away won’t change the fact that we made an excellent sleeping arrangement.” She did look up then, leveling him with her most unimpressed stare. “You say that as if I won’t freeze your ass if you bring it up again.” He grinned. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Y/N exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Aaric. Why are you here?”

He leaned back, tilting his chair again like he always did, exuding that effortless confidence that was both irritating and—gods forbid—unfairly attractive. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.” Her glare didn’t waver, but her stomach flipped. Damn him. Damn him. Aaric smirked, as if he could sense her internal struggle, then tapped her book. “What are we studying today?” Y/N narrowed her eyes. “There is no we.”

He raised a brow. “So you don’t want my help?” “I don’t need your help.” Aaric made a thoughtful noise. “That’s not what you said last night when you—” She kicked him under the table. Aaric winced, but the grin never left his face. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to that maddeningly smooth tone. “Admit it, you liked it.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Because the worst part was—She had. She liked the warmth of his body. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The feeling of being utterly, completely safe in a way she hadn’t even realized she needed. And that was dangerous. So instead, she shot him a glare and turned back to her book. “Keep talking, and you’ll find yourself waking up alone next time.” Aaric’s grin widened, something almost unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Next time?” Y/N froze. Damn it.

Aaric laughed, low and triumphant, and Y/N promptly smacked her book closed. “I hate you.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.” And with that, Aaric leaned back in his chair, smug as ever, while Y/N fought to pretend she wasn’t already counting the hours until the next time they accidentally ended up in each other’s arms again.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The wind howled through the narrow mountain pass, rattling the wooden beams of the abandoned outpost as the storm raged outside. Rain poured against the shutters with force, and lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the dimly lit room. Y/N shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth as she stared at the small pile of kindling in the cold fireplace. "Of all the times to be caught in a storm, it had to be now," she muttered.

Aaric leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her with an infuriatingly calm expression. "At least we’re not still outside," he pointed out. "I’d say that’s an improvement." She shot him a glare before kneeling to arrange the kindling. "If you’re just going to stand there and be smug, at least make yourself useful and light the damn fire." Aaric smirked but crouched beside her, blowing into the fire pit. A small flame sparked to life, easily catching on the dry wood. Within moments, the fire crackled to life, casting flickering shadows along the aged stone walls.

"Happy?" he drawled. Y/N rolled her eyes. "Ecstatic." The mission had been straightforward: scout the perimeter of the valley, ensure no enemy forces had breached their territory, and return to Basgiath before nightfall. But the storm had rolled in faster than expected, forcing them to take shelter in the ruins of an old outpost. With their dragons hunkered down in the valley below, there was no choice but to wait it out.

Unfortunately, waiting it out meant being trapped. Together. Alone. Y/N sat near the fire, stretching out her legs to absorb the warmth. Aaric sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Too close. Or maybe not close enough. She cursed her own traitorous thoughts. Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. It had been building for weeks, ever since that night in the Archives. Every glance held something more, every brush of fingers sent sparks racing beneath her skin. And Aaric—Aaric knew. He always knew.

"You’re quiet tonight," he mused, voice low and smooth. Y/N shrugged, keeping her gaze on the flames. "Just tired." "Liar." She tensed. "Excuse me?" Aaric shifted, resting an elbow on his knee as he turned to face her fully. "You’re not tired. You’re restless. There’s a difference." Y/N exhaled sharply. "Maybe I just don’t feel like talking." "Or maybe," he murmured, leaning in slightly, "you don’t trust yourself to talk."

Her heart pounded against her ribs. "You’re ridiculous." Aaric chuckled, but there was something darker beneath the amusement, something knowing. "Am I?" His fingers brushed against her wrist, the touch featherlight yet searing. "You feel it, too. Don’t you?" She jerked away as if burned, standing abruptly. "We should take shifts sleeping. Storm or not, we need to stay alert."

Aaric sighed, but he didn’t push. "Fine. You take first watch." She nodded, stepping away from the fire, needing the space. But as the night dragged on, the storm showed no signs of stopping, and exhaustion crept in. Eventually, when her limbs grew too heavy, she gave in, shaking Aaric awake for his turn. He slid into her spot near the fire without complaint. But just as she settled into the makeshift bedroll, another crack of thunder rattled the walls. The wind howled through a broken shutter, sending a cold gust through the room.

Aaric shifted, then sighed. "Come here." Y/N blinked, turning her head toward him. "What?" He held her gaze, steady and unwavering. "You’re shivering. Just come here." Every rational part of her screamed against it. But her body had other ideas. Before she could think too hard, she moved. Aaric lifted an arm, and she hesitated only for a fraction of a second before pressing against his warmth. His arm curled around her, firm but unhurried, and he exhaled softly against her hair.

"Better?" he murmured. Y/N swallowed, her body betraying her as she melted into him. "Shut up." Aaric chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest where her cheek rested. "You’re getting predictable, sweetheart." She ignored him. Or at least, she tried. But every inhale was filled with him, and every shift pressed her closer until there was no space left between them. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and his grip on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly.

The tension between them crackled sharper than the fire. It was unbearable. It was everything. "Aaric," she whispered, not entirely sure what she was about to say. He hummed, but his grip didn’t ease. "Mmh?" Her throat went dry. The storm outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the heat of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing. But she wasn’t ready. Not yet. "Nothing," she murmured, closing her eyes. Aaric exhaled, but didn’t push. He only held her. Steady. Waiting. And gods help her, she knew he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

[partoffantasy]

A Chance Too Late - Dain Aetos

⸻ image credits to booknuts & shauna_the_author & enchanted_chapters_art⸻

summary: Dain Aetos spent years convincing himself that pushing Y/N away was the right thing to do—until he saw her moving on with someone else and realized too late that he was losing the only person who had ever truly mattered.

pairing: dain aetos x fem!reader warnings: angst word count: 2.4k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Dain wasn’t looking for her. Not tonight. Not here. And yet, the moment he stepped into the crowded hall, his eyes found her instantly, as if they had never stopped searching in the first place. Y/N stood at the far end of the room, a lazy smile playing on her lips as she leaned against the table, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her cup. The lantern light flickered across her face, making her look impossibly soft, impossibly untouchable—except she wasn’t untouchable, was she? Not anymore.

Because Bodhi Durran was standing too close. And Y/N wasn’t pulling away. Something inside Dain twisted violently, a sharp, unexpected pain that rooted itself deep in his chest. He had spent years convincing himself that his feelings for her were inconsequential, that what he wanted never mattered as much as what she needed. And what she needed—what he had always told himself she needed—was protection, structure, distance. A clear boundary between friends and lovers.

And he had been that boundary. He had been the voice of reason, the hand that kept her steady, the one who kept her from making choices that could put her at risk. Even if those choices meant she would have been closer to him. Even if they meant she could have been his. But now, watching the way she laughed at something Bodhi said, the way her body angled toward him—open, unguarded—Dain felt something foreign surge in his veins. Something that had nothing to do with reason.

Bodhi leaned in, murmuring something against her ear, and Dain felt his hands curl into fists at his sides. It wasn’t just how close they stood—it was how natural it looked. As if they had done this before. As if Y/N had already let Bodhi into a space Dain had never allowed himself to claim. He swallowed hard, his jaw tight, trying to tell himself it was nothing. That this was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing, was it? Because Y/N had always been the one to chase him—to fight for him when he refused to fight for her, to pull him out of his own stubbornness, to remind him that he was more than his duty. And Dain, like a fool, had spent every single moment convincing himself that pushing her away was the right thing to do.

And now, for the first time, she wasn’t chasing him anymore. Now, she was looking at Bodhi the way she used to look at him. Dain inhaled sharply, his breath unsteady, an unfamiliar panic rising beneath his ribs. He had always assumed she would wait—that she would always be there, just out of reach, but never truly gone. That no matter how many times he told her not now, she would still find a way to be his somehow.

But watching the way Bodhi placed a hand against the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd, watching the way she let him—Dain felt something crack deep inside him. He was losing her. And the worst part? It was entirely his fault. Because he had spent years telling himself he couldn’t have her. Now, someone else did.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Rain poured against the rooftops, relentlessly, drumming against the stone walkways. Dain barely registered it. He wasn’t thinking—he wasn’t even breathing properly. His feet had carried him here before his mind had caught up. Y/N’s door stood before him, the last barrier between him and the only thing that had ever truly mattered. His hand was clenched into a fist at his side, rain dripping from his soaked uniform, hair plastered to his forehead. He was a mess—drenched, exhausted, and for the first time in his life, completely reckless.

For years, he had been disciplined, measured, careful. Every step, every decision was calculated to ensure the best possible outcome. But this? This wasn’t calculated. This was impulse, need, desperation. He had no plan for what he would say. He just knew he couldn’t stand another second of pretending he was okay with losing her. Taking a breath that did absolutely nothing to steady him, he raised his fist and knocked. Silence. Dain clenched his jaw. His pulse hammered beneath his skin, it only grew worse when, after what felt like an eternity, he heard the quiet creak of footsteps on the other side.

The door opened just enough for him to see her—Y/N, standing there in nothing but a loose shirt and leggings, her hair slightly damp, as if she had just bathed. The scent of something warm and familiar lingered in the air between them, but all Dain could focus on was the flicker of shock that crossed her face when she saw him. Then, just as quickly, her expression hardened. "Dain?" Her voice was quiet but sharp. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He swallowed, his throat tight, the words refusing to form. She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing over her chest. "It’s the middle of the night. And you’re—" She motioned at him, at the way he was soaked to the bone, his shirt clinging to him, droplets of water sliding down his temple. "Are you serious right now?" "I need to talk to you." His voice came out rougher than intended, raw with something he couldn’t shove down anymore.

Y/N let out a humorless laugh. "Now? Now you need to talk?" She moved to shut the door, but Dain reacted instantly, his palm pressing flat against the wood, stopping it from closing between them. "Please," he murmured. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea. Y/N’s breath hitched just slightly, and for a second—just a second—he thought she might let him in. But then she stepped back, eyes cold, jaw tightening. "You don’t get to do this."

Dain felt the words like a blade to the chest. "You don’t get to show up here like this, after everything," she continued, shaking her head, the exhaustion in her voice hitting him harder than any training injury ever had. "Not after pushing me away for years, not after telling me over and over that I wasn’t—" She cut herself off, exhaling sharply. "What do you want, Dain?" His breathing was uneven, his heart hammering, but he forced the words out. "I want you."

Y/N flinched, her lips parting slightly, like she hadn’t expected him to say it. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she had given up on ever hearing it from him. "I have always wanted you," he admitted, voice hoarse, raw with regret. "But I was stupid. I thought—" He exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his wet hair, barely able to meet her eyes. "I thought keeping my distance was the right thing to do. That protecting you meant staying away. But I was wrong, Y/N. I was so fucking wrong."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. She stared at him, her expression unreadable, and for the first time in years, he had no idea what she was thinking. Finally, she spoke. "And now that I’ve moved on?" Dain’s stomach twisted. "Have you?" Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line, and the hesitation—the barest flicker of uncertainty—was all he needed. "Tell me you don’t still think about me," he pressed, stepping closer, his voice lower now, rougher. "Tell me you don’t still feel something when I’m near you."

Her breath stuttered, her fingers tightening slightly against the doorframe. But she didn’t say anything. Dain swallowed hard. He had already lost so much time. He couldn’t afford to lose more. He lifted a hand, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered just above her cheek. He wanted to touch her. Needed to. But he wouldn’t—not until she let him. "Tell me to leave," he murmured. "And I will." Y/N’s gaze flickered, something dangerous and fragile and devastating flashing across her face. Seconds stretched, impossibly long.

Dain’s heart pounded. He could hear the rain outside, the voices from the hall beyond them, but none of it mattered. Only this moment. Only her. Her lips parted, and for a second, he braced himself for rejection. For her to tell him that it was too late, that she was already gone, that he had missed his chance. But then—

She exhaled shakily, her fingers unclenching, her shoulders sinking just slightly. And though she didn’t say anything, she stepped aside, leaving the doorway open. Dain didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him. And everything else faded away.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Rain continued to pound against the windows, distant thunder rumbling low in the sky, but inside the room, the silence was suffocating. Y/N stood a few feet away, arms crossed, posture rigid. Dain could still feel the damp weight of his clothes clinging to his skin, his pulse drumming against his ribs. He had done it—he had finally crossed the line he spent years convincing himself he couldn’t. And now, standing in front of her, looking at the woman who had once been everything to him—still was everything to him—he realized he had no idea what to do next.

All he knew was that he couldn't leave. Not again. Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Say something, Dain." His breath caught in his throat. He had a thousand things he wanted to say, a thousand regrets that clawed at his chest, but nothing felt big enough, nothing felt right. Then, finally—"I should’ve told you a long time ago."Her lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his face, but she didn’t respond.

Dain took a shaky breath, raking a hand through his damp hair. "I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping my distance. I told myself that protecting you meant staying away, that wanting you the way I did—do—would only put you in danger." His jaw clenched. "But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong." Y/N let out a bitter laugh, her arms tightening around herself. "And you realized this when, exactly?" She tilted her head, eyes flashing. "The second you saw me with someone else? Is that what it took?"

Dain flinched. The truth of it felt like a slap in his face. "That's not—" He exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "It’s not just that. It’s everything—everything I’ve spent years trying to bury, trying to ignore. I thought if I kept pushing you away, if I kept telling myself that you deserved better, that eventually—" His voice caught, raw with something too big to contain. "Eventually, I’d stop wanting you."

Y/N’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened. "And did it work?" Dain swallowed hard. His voice was barely a whisper. "No." She let out a slow, measured breath, but when she spoke again, there was no relief in her tone—only anger. "You don’t get to do this now." Dain’s stomach twisted. "Y/N—" "No." She took a step closer, jabbing a finger toward his chest. "You don’t get to push me away for years, don’t get to tell me over and over that I was just your friend, that I should stop hoping for something more, and then show up at my door the moment I finally—finally—start moving on." Her voice trembled. "That’s not fair, Dain."

He knew that. Gods, he knew that. But he had never been fair to her. He had been careful. He had been cautious. He had been cowardly. "You think I wanted to push you away?" His voice rose, sharp with self-loathing. "You think it didn’t kill me every time I did?" She scoffed, crossing her arms again. "It sure as hell didn’t seem to stop you." Dain felt something crack open inside him, something buried deep for too long. "I thought I was protecting you!" His voice was hoarse, desperate, his hands shaking now. "I thought keeping my distance was what you needed. That if I let myself have you, it would ruin you—would put you at risk in ways I couldn’t control. I was terrified, Y/N."

She blinked at him, stunned silent for just a moment. Dain forced himself to keep going, his voice unsteady. "I was a coward. I told myself I was doing the right thing, that if I was strong enough to stay away, it would be better for you. But the truth?" He exhaled sharply. "The truth is, I wasn’t protecting you. I was protecting myself." Y/N’s breath hitched.

Dain stepped closer now, his entire body shaking. "I was scared," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Of what it would mean if I let myself love you the way I wanted to. Of how much it would hurt if I lost you. So I convinced myself that pushing you away was the only choice." His throat tightened. "But it wasn’t a choice at all, was it?" Y/N’s lips trembled, her arms loosening just slightly from where they were crossed over her chest. But her eyes—gods, her eyes—were still guarded.

"And now?" she murmured. "Now that I’m leaving?" Dain’s breath stuttered. "Why now, Dain?" Her voice wasn’t just angry anymore. It was broken. Hurt. "Why do you always wait until it’s too late?" His heart clenched. "Because I can’t lose you." Y/N inhaled sharply. Dain’s hands shook at his sides, his entire body tense with everything he had never said, everything he should have said. "I know I don’t deserve to ask you to stay. I know I’ve already lost too much time. But if there’s even the smallest part of you that still—" He cut himself off, exhaling raggedly. "I can’t lose you, Y/N."

She looked at him then—really looked at him. And for the first time, Dain saw the war waging behind her eyes. Part of her wanted to believe him. But the other part? The part he had spent years letting down? That part wasn’t ready to forgive him. Silence stretched thick between them. Then, finally, Y/N took a shaky breath, stepping back. "I don’t know if I can do this again," she admitted. Dain’s chest tightened. "Please."

She shook her head, and his stomach dropped. But then she whispered, "I don’t know." Not no. Not never. But I don’t know. And for now, that was enough. For now, he would fight for her the way she had always fought for him. For now, he would wait. Because this time, Dain Aetos wasn’t going to let her go.

[partoffantasy]

Self Control - Bodhi Durran

⸻ image credits to OC & scribe.jesinia⸻

summary: reader relentlessly tests Bodhi’s self-control, teasing him with subtle touches and close encounters, determined to make him break.

pairing: bodhi durran x fem!reader warnings: teasing word count: 1.0k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The first time Y/N tested Bodhi’s patience, she barely got a reaction.

It was during a late-night lesson, the war table illuminated by dim lantern light. Everyone was exhausted, but Bodhi, as usual, leaned back in his chair with that insufferable smirk, looking like he had all the time in the world. Y/N, seated next to him, let her fingers drift just slightly over his forearm as she reached for a map. Just a subtle touch. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, but he didn’t even blink. He just turned the page of his notes, completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t noticed at all. Frustratingly unshaken.

The second time, he gave her a warning look.

It was during sparring. He was always fluid, always controlled, the kind of fighter who made everything look effortless. Y/N, who wanted a reaction, stepped too close when they reset, brushing against him as she adjusted her stance. Then, just as he went for his strike, she ducked last second—knowing full well it would force him to grab her, his hand gripping her waist to stop her from toppling over.

This time, he hesitated. Just for a second. His fingers flexed against her side before he released her, stepping back. His head tilted, his gaze sharpening on her like he was finally paying attention. “Careful,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. There was a warning in that single word, but it only made her grin.

The third time, she saw something flicker behind his usually easygoing expression—something dark and dangerous.

It happened at dinner, in the chaos of the dining hall. Y/N took the seat beside him, sliding in close enough that their thighs pressed together. She leaned in, her breath fanning over his ear as she whispered, “Pass me the bread please?” His hand clenched around his fork before he exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. He didn’t speak and didn’t immediately react. But when he turned his head to look at her, his easy grin was nowhere to be found. His fingers tapped against the table once—slow, deliberate.

Then, just as quickly, the moment was gone. He passed the bread like nothing had happened, returning to his usual unbothered self. Y/N had pushed him. And she had a feeling she wasn’t done yet. It started as a game. Y/N wasn’t sure when exactly she decided Bodhi Durran needed to be pushed, but once she started, she couldn’t stop. He was always so calm, so controlled, the kind of man who could watch the world burn and still have the audacity to smirk about it.

She wanted to know what it would take to make him break. So she touched him more than necessary during sparring sessions. Leaned in a little too close when they strategized. Let her fingers trail along the edge of his uniform when she adjusted his collar under the guise of helping. And he let her. That was the worst part.

Bodhi took every little tease in stride. He’d arch a brow, give a lazy smirk, and let her think she was winning. He’d murmur things like Careful, Y/N, in that low, smooth voice of his, always making it sound like he was humoring her. But she saw it. The way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. The way his hands curled into fists at his sides. The way his throat bobbed when she licked her lips in front of him. She was getting to him. And tonight, she intended to push him over the edge.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

“You’re distracted, Bodhi.” Y/N ducked under his swing, trying to aim a punch at his ribs. He sidestepped easily, catching her wrist mid-air and twisting, sending her stumbling into his chest. His grip was firm, warm, his breath ghosting over her ear as he leaned in. “You sure about that?” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. Y/N tilted her chin up, their faces inches apart. “Positive.”

She flexed her fingers against his grip, testing the strength holding her in place. He didn’t let go. If anything, he held her tighter. His thumb brushed over her pulse point, and her breath hitched before she could stop it. “You should be careful with that,” he said, voice still easygoing but carrying an undertone she wasn’t used to. A warning, maybe, or a promise. “You might not like what happens when I stop holding back.”

Oh, but she would. She pushed up onto her toes, her lips nearly grazing his jaw. “Maybe I’m counting on it.” For a heartbeat, he was still. Then, everything shifted. One second, she was in control, and the next, she was against the wall, wrists pinned above her head, Bodhi pressed against her so thoroughly she could feel every inch of him. His body was all heat, strength, and tension.

His eyes, usually warm and amused, were dark. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “You think you know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Y/N swallowed hard, her own pulse hammering. “I—” He leaned in, so close his lips almost brushed hers, but not quite. “You like pushing me. Testing me. Thinking you’re the one in control.” His grip on her wrists tightened just slightly, enough to send a shiver down her spine. “But you forget, I let you.”

Her breath caught. Because he was right. Bodhi exhaled slowly, gaze trailing over her face, taking in every unspoken thought, every silent plea she refused to voice. Then, just when she thought he might finally break, he let go. He stepped back, putting just enough space between them to make her ache for more. His smirk returned, slow and knowing, but there was something lethal behind it now. 

“You wanted to play, Y/N,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down her arm in a way that sent a shiver through her. “But games have consequences.” Then, he leaned in one last time, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, “And you’re going to learn that the hard way.” And just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, breathless and burning, with nothing but the ghost of his touch and the promise of what was coming next.

[partoffantasy]

HIIII

oh my god aaric finally getting love is amazing i’ve lowk been obsessed since IF…

ur writing is amazing

I love it

and your amazing too 😍

um…would it be alright if i requested aaric x reader where reader is lowk js chilling with sloane and aaric comes up and js takes her away to cuddle cause he felt like it? but had an image to keep up so he had to make it seem casual but in reality he js RLY wanted physical touch…. 😔🥺

ahhhh thx again for always writing so many amazing fics i love them!!!

"AHHH ALSO PT 2 TO REQUEST AND THE READER ALSO KNOW AARICS ACTUAL IDENTITY? like she calls him cam in private? and she knows he lowk lacks physical affection cause let’s be so fr king Tauri is probably an ASS father" - @asteria-wood

Omg, your message made my day! I'm so happy you love Aaric just as much as I do—I’ve been obsessed with him too, so I totally get it! 🥰 All his scenes in Onyx Storm are sooo hot.

I just posted your request, and I really hope it fits what you imagined! The idea was so cute, and I had so much fun writing it. Aaric pretending not to care but secretly craving touch? Yes, please! And you’re absolutely right—King Tauri is 100% an ass father. 😂

Thank you so much for your kind words and for always supporting my fics! It seriously means the world to me. Hope you enjoy the story! 💕

[partoffantasy]

Hold Me Closer - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: Aaric casually pulls Y/N away from Sloane, masking his need for affection behind indifference. But as he holds her close, she knows the truth—his father never taught him warmth, and now he craves it more than he’ll ever admit.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 1.9k

Thank you for your idea, asteria-wood! I hope this comes close to what you had in mind. 💙

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The training yard was quieter than usual, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the worn stone. Y/N sat beside her best friend Sloane on the low wall bordering the sparring grounds, watching a few first-years struggle through their footwork drills. "You need to drop your stance lower," Sloane remarked, eyes flicking toward one of the first-years wobbling under the weight of their own sword. "They'll get knocked on their ass within seconds."

Y/N hummed in agreement. "You should tell them." Sloane scoffed. "Not my problem. If they don't figure it out, they'll wash out soon enough." "Harsh." "Realistic." But despite her words, her gaze lingered in that assessing way, like she was already dissecting their mistakes, debating whether or not it was worth the effort to intervene. Y/N smiled a little. Sloane was blunt, at times ruthless, but she had a strange way of caring—often against her better judgment. "You're already thinking about helping them, aren't you?" "Absolutely not." "Mhm. Sure." Sloane shot her a flat look, but there was no real bite to it. "You're insufferable."

Y/N only grinned. "And yet, here we are." Before Sloane could answer, Aaric showed up. He approached without hurry, his usual air of effortless composure wrapped around him. His expression was unreadable, but Y/N had spent enough time around him to notice the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides as if resisting the urge to fidget. He wanted something.

“Aaric,” Sloane greeted, her tone neutral but edged with curiosity. He rarely sought them out like this. Not publicly, at least. Y/N barely had time to process his arrival before he reached out and—without so much as a word—wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her to her feet. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice smooth, casual, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if it hadn’t been a command disguised as a request.

Y/N blinked up at him. “I—what?” “Walk. With me.” His tone was deliberately unbothered, but there was an underlying weight to it, something only she would catch. Sloane’s brows knit together. “Are you—” “Need to discuss something with her,” Aaric interrupted smoothly. “Nothing important.” Sloane’s confusion only deepened, but she didn’t question it further, merely eyeing Y/N like she had somehow gotten tangled in something bizarre and beyond explanation. Y/N, for her part, let herself be led without resistance. Because she knew exactly what this was.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Aaric didn’t stop walking until they were well beyond earshot, past the archway leading toward the quieter corridors of Basgiath. Only then did he slow, his grip on her wrist loosening but not quite letting go. “You could have just asked,” Y/N mused, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Aaric sighed through his nose, the tension he had held in front of Sloane bleeding away now that they were alone. “I had to make it look natural.”

Y/N tilted her head, her voice softer now. “And what is it exactly that looked so natural?” Aaric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned against the cool stone wall, eyes flicking over her before he exhaled, reaching for her hand again—not to pull her, not to lead her anywhere, but simply to hold. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, absentminded, almost hesitant.

“I just wanted to hold you for a bit,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter, lower, like it was a secret meant only for her. “That’s all.” Y/N’s chest ached in the way it always did when he let his guard down like this, when the carefully crafted mask of Aaric Graycastle slipped to reveal Cam—Prince Camlaen Aaric Tauri, a boy who had grown up under the rule of a father who never offered warmth, never taught him what love was supposed to feel like.

She squeezed his fingers lightly. “You’re allowed to want that, you know.” His lips quirked, but there was something tired about the smile. “Not publicly.” Y/N shifted closer, resting her forehead against his shoulder, feeling the way his breath hitched at the contact before he melted, wrapping his arms around her properly this time. Not casually, not in passing, but fully—like he needed this more than he wanted to admit.

She felt his heartbeat against her cheek, steady but strong. Aaric exhaled, then without a word, started walking again, this time with her hand still firmly in his. Y/N followed without question, letting him lead her through the dimly lit corridors. His room was neat, orderly, but the moment the door shut behind them, Aaric’s composure cracked. He tugged her into his arms once more, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply like he was grounding himself in her presence.

Y/N held him just as tightly, her fingers brushing through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. “Cam,” she murmured softly against his temple. Aaric shuddered slightly, his arms tightening around her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. That name—Cam—was something only she called him, something only she was allowed to say. From anyone else, his true name felt like a burden, a reminder of his duty, of expectation thrown onto him. But from her? It was warmth, it was belonging, it was home.

He pressed closer, inhaling the familiar scent of her, letting it soothe the raw edges he never let anyone else see. "Stay a while?" he asked, his voice rougher now, almost hesitant, as if he feared she might slip away. Y/N smiled, her hand drifting to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. "Always."

Aaric lay quietly, his head resting comfortably on Y/N’s chest. For once, he didn’t have to carry the weight of his title or his father’s expectations—he could simply be Aaric, just a man with the woman he loved. Y/N’s fingers gently combed through his hair, and Aaric let himself sink deeper into the moment. She always knew just how to calm him, how to make him feel like he was more than the crown he was born to wear, more than the obligations that had been placed on his shoulders.

“Cam,” she murmured softly, and his heart fluttered at the sound of his true name leaving her lips. No one else used it. No one else could. It was just theirs, a secret between them that meant more than anything the world could offer. He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his gaze soft and vulnerable, something he rarely allowed anyone to see. "I know I don’t say it much, but… thank you. For being here. For letting me be myself, even when I’m... not what I’m supposed to be."

Y/N smiled down at him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw in a slow, soothing motion. "You don’t have to be anything other than what you are, Cam. I love you for you. Not the crown, not the prince. Just you." Aaric’s heart gave a little jump at her words. No one had ever loved him like this. His father had always seen him as an extension of his power, a tool to be used for the kingdom’s needs. But Y/N? She saw him. The boy behind the crown, the man beneath the responsibilities, the one who just wanted to feel like he mattered for who he was, not what he could do.

Aaric took a deep breath, his voice low and sincere. "I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me, anyway. To be loved just for being me. But then I met you, and everything changed." Y/N’s thumb gently caressed his cheek, her smile wide and genuine. “Of course, it’s possible. You’re perfect just as you are, Cam.” He laughed softly, the sound more relaxed than it had been in a long time. "I don’t know about perfect, but... with you, I feel like I’m finally starting to understand what it means to be loved." He turned serious.

"My father—King Tauri," he began, the name feeling foreign on his tongue, "he never showed me or my brother's love. Not in any way that mattered. I was never... enough." His chest tightened at the thought, the familiar ache creeping up again as he recalled his childhood. He could still remember being a boy—maybe ten or eleven—standing in front of the grand throne room, waiting for his father’s approval. Always waiting. But it never came. Not in the way he needed it.

"As a child, I’d try... try to do something to get his attention," Aaric muttered, his fingers tightening around Y/N’s. "I’d study harder, fight better, follow every order without question, hoping—just hoping—that he’d look at me the way a father should look at his son. But it was never enough." Aaric took in a shaky breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke again. "He would look at me, but it was like I was just... another piece in his game. Just another soldier to shape. No warmth, no affection. Only duty. Always duty." He chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow. "The kingdom, the crown—it was all that mattered to him. Not me. Not who I was. Just what I could do for him."

His eyes fluttered closed, and the memories surged forward like a flood. His father’s cold stare, the weight of his expectations crushing him at every turn. "I remember asking him once—just once—if I could have a moment of his time, to ask about my training, or anything. I was a child. And he looked at me like I was an inconvenience, then turned his back on me." She traced gentle circles over his back as silence settled between them, allowing the weight of his words to set before she spoke.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before resting her forehead against his. “You deserve love. You deserve to feel it every day.” Aaric’s eyes fluttered shut as he let himself melt into her embrace, feeling the warmth of her affection wrap around him like a blanket. "Thank you for showing me how to love. I don’t ever want to let that go," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t ever want to lose you, Y/N."

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised softly. "Not ever. You’ll always have me." Aaric’s heart swelled at her words, his fingers tightening gently around her waist as if to ground himself in the moment, in her. He shifted, moving closer. It was just about them—him—being with her, the one person who made him feel safe enough to lay down the weight of everything he carried. He leaned up, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss so soft, so full of love, that it made everything else fade away. No politics, no obligations, just the two of them.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N’s smile was a little more mischievous. “Hold me a little longer?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Always,” Aaric answered, pressing a kiss to her temple. He pulled her closer, letting himself fall into the warmth of her embrace once more, where he could simply be Cam—the man who was finally loved, for who he truly was. And for the first time in his life, he was at peace.

[partoffantasy]

can we please get some aaric fluff? I love your writing💗💗

Thank you for your request and lovely words! 💙 I hope you enjoy it:

I am currently working on all of your requests, you can still send me new ones, for anyone in the Empyrean series! 🥰

[partoffantasy]

Accidental Sleepover (Part 1) - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: After an exhausting late-night study session, Y/N accidentally falls asleep on Aaric, only to wake up tangled in his arms, much to his smug amusement.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 1.1k

Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you like it 💙

Part 2: Click here

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The halls of Basgiath were quiet at this hour, the usual sounds of students training, sparring, and discussing reduced to nothing but the occasional crackling torch and pages being turned. Y/N barely noticed the silence, her focus entirely on the open book in front of her, the flickering candlelight making the ink swim slightly on the page. She pressed her fingers into her temples, trying to force her tired eyes to focus, but the words blurred at the edges, her exhaustion creeping in.

Across from her, Aaric watched with an air of amusement, flipping a page in his own book as he leaned back slightly in his chair. His posture was relaxed, but she had spent enough time with him to recognize the sharp attentiveness beneath the lazy demeanor. He was always watching, always noticing everything.

"You look like you're about to keel over," he observed, his voice low and smooth, the teasing lilt in his tone unmistakable. "I'm fine," she muttered, rubbing her eyes before sitting up straighter in an attempt to look more alert. "I just need to finish this chapter." Aaric raised a brow, the candlelight casting golden hues in his green eyes. "You said that three chapters ago." She waved him off without looking up. "Yeah, well, I meant it then, too."

He exhaled, the sound more amused than exasperated, and closed his book with a quiet thud. He didn’t need to keep reading; he had probably already memorized whatever information he needed. That was the thing about Aaric—he retained knowledge as if it were second nature, a gift that often made Y/N both envious and impressed.

They had been studying together in one of the smaller rooms off the Archives, a secluded room meant for scribes but occasionally taken over by riders who needed a quiet place to read. Aaric had found it first, naturally—he had a habit of slipping into hidden spaces like a shadow. At first, she had suspected he only tolerated her presence in his study hideout out of reluctant amusement. But over time, it had become their place. Their unofficial retreat when the rest of Basgiath became too overwhelming.

Here, there was no weight of expectation. No professors breathing down their necks. Just parchment, ink, and the company of someone who understood the necessity of late nights spent poring over books. Aaric stretched, his arms lifting above his head in a slow motion that made his shirt pull tighter across his chest. "Suit yourself," he muttered, leaning back against the wall, tilting his chair just slightly. 

Y/N barely heard him, too absorbed in the words on the page. Just a little more, she told herself, gripping her quill with determination. Time slipped away unnoticed. The candle burned lower, the wax pooling at its base. The warmth of the room, combined with the sound of Aaric’s slow, steady page turns, was too soothing.

Her body grew heavier, her head dipping forward slightly before she jerked herself awake again. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head, but the exhaustion never faded. Aaric hummed—a low, knowing sound. "Just go to sleep, little scribe." Y/N scowled, even as her head lolled slightly to the side. "No." He smirked. "That convincing argument would have worked better if you hadn’t almost fallen off your chair just now."

She shot him a halfhearted glare, but the fight was slipping from her limbs. "Just a second," she mumbled, barely registering the amused look on Aaric’s face as she let her eyes flutter shut. Just for a moment. Just a second.

When Y/N woke up, the first thing she noticed was warmth. The second was the steady rise and fall of someone’s breathing against her. Her eyes snapped open.

Aaric. She was lying on Aaric Graycastle.

Her head rested against his chest, her legs tangled with his. One of his arms was slung loosely around her waist, his grip relaxed but firm, like it had been there for hours. Panic flickered in her chest. She should move. Gods, she should definitely move. But the problem was—it was comfortable. Too comfortable. Aaric was warm, solid, and smelled of fresh linen, parchment, and something else uniquely him. And his heartbeat—it was steady, soothing, like the distant hum of dragon wings.

Y/N swallowed hard, carefully shifting to gauge if he was awake. Big mistake. A low, sleepy groan rumbled from his throat, and he tightened his arm around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Mmh. Five more minutes," he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep. Y/N froze. "What?" Aaric exhaled, the breath tickling the top of her head. "You’re warm," he muttered.

Oh. Oh no. Her cheeks burned. "Aaric, wake up," she hissed. Another low groan. His fingers flexed briefly against her back before he finally blinked his eyes open. For a moment, he was quiet, his gaze hazy with sleep as he registered their position. His arm was still around her waist. Their legs still tangled. Then, as if something finally clicked, his green eyes sharpened with realization. He blinked. Once. Twice.

And then, instead of panicking like a normal person, a slow, lazy smirk tugged at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, voice still thick with sleep, “this is a rather pleasant surprise.” Y/N groaned and immediately shoved at his chest, scrambling away. "Oh, shut up," she muttered, ignoring the way her face burned. Aaric let her go, but he stretched, the movement ridiculously unbothered for someone who had just woken up wrapped around another person. "You know," he mused, "if you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked."

Y/N threw a book at him. He caught it, grinning. "You are infuriating," she muttered, crossing her arms. Aaric just shrugged, completely unfazed. He ran a hand through his messy hair, making it even more disheveled. "You’re the one who passed out on me, sweetheart. I was simply providing a comfortable surface." Y/N narrowed her eyes. "I don’t recall asking for a ‘comfortable surface.’" Aaric smirked. "Your body language suggests otherwise."

"Ugh." She turned away, collecting her things in a rush, trying very hard to ignore how her skin still tingled from where he had touched her. Aaric, of course, wasn’t done teasing. "Should we make this a regular thing?" he mused. "Study, fall asleep in each other’s arms… I’d say it’s quite efficient." Y/N shot him a glare. "If I ever wake up on you again, I’ll—" "What? Kiss me?" Her brain short-circuited.Aaric was grinning now, looking entirely too smug, and oh, he was enjoying this. Y/N huffed, turning on her heel toward the door. "I hate you," she called over her shoulder. "That’s not what you were saying last night when you—" The door slammed shut behind her. Aaric chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall. Best accidental sleepover ever.

Part 2: Click here

[partoffantasy]

When the Dawn Fades - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: Aaric’s signet has always warned him of the inevitable, but when the time comes, saying goodbye to the love of his life proves to be the hardest part.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: angst, death, battle - ONYX STORM SPOILERS - if you haven’t read Onyx Storm yet, don’t read further word count: 2.9k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The Riorson house was quieter than usual. The air inside felt heavy, weighed down by the unspoken fears none of them dared to voice. Outside, the wind howled against the stone walls, the approaching storm a mirror of the battle that will soon be there. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long shadows along the floor, but even the warmth of the flames couldn't chase away the cold settling deep in Y/N’s bones.

She found Aaric standing by the window, his silhouette outlined in the dim glow of the lanterns. He wasn’t watching the storm, nor was he sharpening his blade like the others. He just stood there, staring out at nothing, his hands resting lightly on the windowsill. The tension in his shoulders was subtle but there—tight, restrained, like he was holding something inside.

Y/N had always prided herself on knowing him better than anyone. She had seen past the layers of arrogance and wit, had fallen for the man underneath—one who loved fiercely, who carried the weight of his past and still somehow found it in himself to care. And right now, she knew something was wrong. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmured, stepping up beside him. She reached out, fingers brushing over his wrist before lacing her hand with his, grounding him. “That’s dangerous.”

Aaric let out a quiet chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned to her then, really looked at her, his gaze tracing every line of her face as if memorizing it. As if it were the last time he’d get the chance. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m always thinking,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual, rough around the edges. “It’s a hard habit to break.” Y/N arched a brow, tilting her head slightly. “That’s not it.”

His lips parted, but he didn’t argue. He never could lie to her, not convincingly. Instead, his hand tightened around hers, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles, the smallest act of comfort. A beat of silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant murmur of voices in the other room—Xaden, Violet, and the others discussing last-minute battle strategies. But none of that mattered right now. Not when Aaric looked at her like this. Like she was something precious. Like she was something he didn’t want to lose.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, the words slipping past his lips like a confession, like a prayer. Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Not because she hadn’t known—she had felt it in the way he touched her, in the way he spoke to her, in every glance and smirk and whispered tease. But this… this was different. This was raw. She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. “I love you too.”

Aaric exhaled, his forehead coming to rest against hers, the weight of his presence a comfort she hadn’t known she needed. For a moment, they just stood there, breathing each other in, holding onto something neither of them wanted to name. Because if they did, it would make it real. And Y/N didn’t want to acknowledge the sinking feeling in her gut, the way his body felt like it was saying goodbye.

Before she could press him, before she could demand to know what he wasn’t telling her, Aaric pulled back, his hand coming up to cup her face. His thumb brushed over her cheek, his touch reverent, almost hesitant. “I need you to promise me something,” he murmured. Y/N frowned. “Aaric—” “Promise me.” She hesitated, her heart pounding against her ribs. “What is it?” His jaw clenched for a second before he exhaled, shaking his head like he was trying to dispel whatever thought had crossed his mind. “Just… no matter what happens out there, you keep going. You fight, you survive.”

Something icy settled in her chest. “Don’t talk like that.” “I mean it, Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Promise me.” She didn’t want to. She wanted to tell him he was being ridiculous, that they were going to fight side by side and win like they always did. But there was something in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite decipher, something that made her stomach twist.

So she nodded. “I promise.” Aaric exhaled in relief, but the sadness in his eyes didn’t fade. "Do you remember the first time we met?" Aaric asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. Y/N smiled despite the unease coiling in her stomach. "You mean when you insulted my flying skills and almost got a dagger to the throat? How could I forget?" Aaric chuckled, the sound warm, genuine. "You were so furious. I think I fell in love with you right then and there. I'd never seen anyone so breathtaking when angry."

She rolled her eyes, but her fingers tightened around his. "You have a strange way of falling in love, Graycastle." His gaze softened, his free hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It wasn’t just that. It was the way you never backed down, the way you fought like the world itself depended on it. The way you looked at me like I was more than my name, more than my past. You saw me, Y/N. You always have."

Her throat tightened, her heart aching at the quiet sincerity in his voice. "Of course, I see you. And I love you, Aaric. Every sharp edge, every reckless decision, every stubborn, infuriating part of you." He exhaled, almost like he had been holding his breath, his forehead pressing more firmly against hers. "I love you so much it terrifies me. If I had more time—" "Don’t say that," she whispered, cutting him off. "We have all the time in the world. That should be enough."

Aaric swallowed hard, nodding slightly, his lips brushing against her temple as he breathed her in. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before resting his lips against her temple, breathing her in. Y/N closed her eyes, willing herself to believe that everything would be fine. But deep down, she knew. Something was very, very wrong.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The morning of the battle arrived with a sky the color of steel, clouds hanging low, heavy with the chance of rain. The group stirred early. Armor was fastened, weapons checked and re-checked, but there was no nervous chatter today, no mindless teasing to keep spirits high. Everyone knew what lay ahead. Y/N tightened the straps of her vambrace, glancing over at Aaric across the room. He stood at the far end, adjusting the buckles of his own armor, his movements steady, deliberate. Too calm.

She had seen him before battle dozens of times, had watched him prepare with the same efficiency, the same focus. But this was different. It was in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers lingered on each strap as if memorizing the feel of it. It was in the way he looked around the room, at their friends, at her—like he was drinking it all in. Y/N’s chest tightened.

She crossed the room in quick strides, grabbing his wrist before he could pick up his sword. He looked down at her, expression unreadable. “You’re too quiet,” she said, searching his face. “Too… still.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Would you rather I be pacing?” “I’d rather you be yourself.” Aaric exhaled softly, lifting a hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I am myself, Y/N.”

She shook her head. “No. You’re—” Her voice caught. “You’re acting like you already know how this is going to end.” Something flickered in his eyes. It was gone before she could name it, replaced by something softer, sadder. His fingers traced along her jaw, tilting her face up to his. “I know one thing,” he murmured. “I know that I love you.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “Then fight like it.” Aaric’s lips parted, but whatever he had meant to say was cut off by the sound of Xaden’s voice calling for them. The time had come. He exhaled, stepping back, reaching for his sword. “Let’s go.” Y/N followed, but the weight of his words sat heavy in her chest.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The ground trembled beneath them as the dragons and wyverns collided onto the battlefield. It was chaos incarnate. The clash of steel, the crackle of fire, the deafening roars of dragons and the eerie shriek of Venin’s wyvern filled the air. The wind howled, carrying the stench of smoke and blood, the scent of a world on the brink of destruction.

Y/N’s heart beat in her chest like a war drum. Her fingers clenched tightly on the scales of her dragon, Caelan, the familiar heat of the bond between them sparking through her veins. The dragon’s emerald scales shimmered as they dove toward the frontlines, wings cutting through the air with swift precision. “Aaric!” Y/N shouted, her voice nearly lost in the storm of noise that surrounded them. She felt the weight of the moment in the pit of her stomach, the tension in the air crackling like lightning. “Stay close!”

Aaric’s voice came through next to her, steady despite the madness. “Always.” Molvic, the massive blue dragon, surged forward beside Caelan, his form sleek and deadly. Aaric, perched atop him with a focused intensity in his eyes, raised his sword high, signaling the beginning of the charge. Y/N’s heart clenched at the sight. They had fought side by side before, and they would do it again, even if this time felt different. More final.

They were going into the heart of Venin’s forces, and they weren’t alone. Around them, the air was alive with the sounds of battle. The distant crack of lightning, the clash of weapons, the screech of wyverns and dragons in combat. Y/N’s eyes scanned the battlefield, locking onto a Venin, who stood near the center, his wyvern circling around him with a sickeningly familiar malice. 

Aaric’s voice was clipped. “We’ll have to get in close, or we’ll lose our advantage.” Y/N nodded, eyes narrowing as she signaled Caelan to bank left, swooping low over the ground. The venin’s cruel laugh echoed through the battlefield as he saw them approach. “Come, come! I’ve been waiting for this,” he taunted, raising his arms in a grotesque display of confidence. His wyvern screeched in agreement, its claws itching to tear through anything in its path.

The battle intensified around them. Dragons and wyverns tangled in the air, their roars shaking the heavens. Y/N’s mind was a blur, every instinct screaming for her to survive, to fight with everything she had. Aaric’s voice cut through the madness. “We need to take out the venin first!”

Y/N nodded, her eyes fixed on the venin’s glowing red eyes. Caelan roared, and she positioned her alloy arrow once more as they dove toward the venin, weaving through the air with deadly precision. “Molvic!” Aaric’s voice rang out again, commanding. “Distract him! Give Y/N the opening she needs!” Aaric’s voice was the spark she needed. With a primal scream, Y/N shot her arrow right into the venin’s heart. This time, it hit. 

The battle raged on around them, but all Y/N could hear was the pounding of her heart, the frantic beat of her pulse as she pushed Caelan toward the heart of the chaos. The smell of smoke and blood thickened the air, the distant roars of dragons and the screams of the dying blurring into a single, maddening noise. But none of that mattered. Not anymore.

All that mattered was Aaric. Her eyes searched frantically for him, her breath ragged. Her mind was a whirlwind, her thoughts clouded with the memory of his words, his promise—his love. He had known something, something she hadn't wanted to acknowledge. He had been distant, too calm, too serene. And now, as her gaze finally landed on him, her chest clenched.

Aaric was kneeling on the ground, Molvic's massive blue form slumped beside him, the dragon’s body still but not lifeless. The battle had raged on, but the two of them—rider and dragon—were no longer part of it. His armor was bloodied, his chest heaving with labored breaths, his face pale, but his eyes… His eyes were the same as always—sharp, intelligent, filled with that haunting, quiet sorrow. And it was in those eyes that Y/N knew.

Her breath caught in her throat as she rushed to his side, her hands shaking as she knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms as best as she could. He was warm, but there was no strength in him, no vitality in his touch. His body felt heavy, too heavy, as if he were already slipping away from her. "Aaric..." Her voice broke, a desperate whisper as she cradled his face in her hands. "No, no, no… don't do this."

He looked up at her, his lips curling into a soft, almost bitter smile, as if he were seeing her for the first time in forever. His hand moved weakly to her wrist, the touch light, barely a pulse. "Y/N…" he rasped, his voice barely a breath. "I told you, didn’t I? I knew." Her heart clenched painfully, her vision swimming with tears she didn’t want to shed. "No," she whispered fiercely. "You can’t. We can’t—"

His fingers tightened, just slightly, and he struggled to sit up, his breath rattling. Molvic's massive form shifted beside him, his deep blue eyes dimming as the dragon's life force slowly bled away as well. The bond between dragon and rider, so strong, so unbreakable, was starting to sever. She could feel it, the weight of it pressing in on her chest, suffocating her.

"I knew," Aaric whispered again, the words breaking her heart with each passing breath. "When we first met, I knew. And when I saw you, when I really saw you, I knew." His eyes focused on her, trying to hold her gaze despite the pain. "You promised me… you promised you’d keep going." "Please, Aaric, don’t say that," Y/N pleaded, her voice thick with emotion as she leaned her forehead against his. "Please, you’re going to make it. We’ll make it through this."

He chuckled softly, the sound full of both sadness and love. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish I could’ve kept that promise. But I knew… I knew it would end like this." She shook her head, tears now spilling freely as she held him tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling to accept the truth that was slowly seeping in. "I can’t lose you, Aaric. I can’t… not like this. Please, don’t leave me."

His hand moved weakly to her cheek, his touch tender despite the fading strength in his body. "You promised… you promised you’d survive, that you’d fight. Don’t break that promise, Y/N. You’ve always been stronger than you know." Her chest heaved with a sob, and she pressed her lips to his forehead, the warmth of his skin so vivid against her tear-streaked face. "I can’t live without you," she whispered brokenly. "Please… please don’t leave me. Not now."

He smiled again, a ghost of the man he had once been, the one full of life and fire, but this time, there was a tenderness in his eyes, an understanding that made her heart shatter. "I’ll always be with you, Y/N. In here…" He pressed his hand gently over her chest, just over her heart. "Always."

Molvic let out a soft, mournful cry, his massive head lowering to nuzzle against Aaric, the bond between them finally breaking as the dragon’s life force flickered and went out. It was slow at first, a delicate fading, as if both dragon and rider were holding on to each other, unwilling to sever their connection. But then, Molvic’s breathing slowed to a stop, and the stillness settled over them like a blanket, the last thread of their bond gone.

Y/N didn’t know how long they stayed like that, Aaric cradled in her arms, Molvic’s still body resting beside them. She didn’t know if the battle still raged around them, or if the world had stopped turning entirely. All she knew was that she couldn’t feel Aaric’s warmth anymore, couldn’t feel the gentle beat of his heart. "Aaric, please…" She kissed his temple, holding him as though her life depended on it. "I love you. I will always love you."

Aaric’s eyes fluttered closed, the last remnants of life slipping away from him. But just before the final breath left him, his lips moved, the words a final confession, a love letter in the form of a whisper. "I love you too, Y/N. Always… always." And with that, he was gone. The world seemed to pause around her as Y/N sat there, holding the lifeless body of the man she had loved. She could still feel the weight of his absence pressing down on her, could still hear the quiet whisper of his voice in her mind. But there was no going back.

The battle raged on, but all Y/N could do was hold on to his memory. The promise he had made her was now hers to fulfill. She had to keep going. For him. For them both. Her heart shattered, but she didn’t stop. She would fight. She would survive. And she would live, no matter how broken she was, no matter how much it hurt. But in her chest, where Aaric’s hand had once pressed, something flickered to life. The fire of his love. And it burned brighter than anything the darkness could throw at her.

[partoffantasy]

Tension and Takedowns (Part 2) - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

summary: Y/N, unable to sleep, trains in the gym late at night, trying to push thoughts of Garrick from her mind. Frustrated and overheated, she decides to use the men’s showers for their stronger water pressure, thinking no one will be there. However, Garrick walks in, and the tension between them becomes unbearable.

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader warnings: MDNI!, smut, swearing, unprotected p in v, oral (m) word count: 2k

For @domciak84 & @0717luv. Thank you for your requests. 💙

Part 1: Click here

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The punching bag swung back toward her, and Y/N threw another punch, her knuckles connecting with a satisfying thud. Her breath came in short, controlled bursts, sweat glistening on her exposed skin under the dim glow of the lights overhead. The riders quadrant was silent at this hour, the only sound in the gym the impact of her fists and the occasional creak of the chains holding the bag in place. She couldn’t sleep and found herself back in the gym around midnight.

She needed to be better. Faster. Stronger. But even as she pushed herself harder, her thoughts kept drifting—kept lingering—on something far more distracting than her training. Garrick. The way he moved, the confidence in his stance, the sheer presence he commanded when he stepped into a room. It infuriated her how easily he got under her skin, how he could flash that damn smirk and destroy all the self-control she thought she had.

She threw another punch, harder this time, the force of it reverberating up her arm. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not by him. Not by the way his muscles shifted under his uniform, or how his dark eyes always seemed to find hers with knowing amusement. Not by the memory of his voice, low and teasing, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine.

Another punch. Another. Harder. Faster. The ache in her knuckles was welcome, grounding. It forced her focus back to where it needed to be—on getting stronger. Enough for now. The thought of a cold shower was too tempting to resist. As she turned toward the exit, another memory flickered to the forefront of her mind—Rhi’s offhand comment about the stronger water pressure in the men’s showers.

Normally, she wouldn’t risk it. But at this hour? No one would be there. Y/N padded silently through the corridors, her damp skin cooling in the night air. When she reached the showers, she paused at the entrance, listening. Silence. Perfect. She slipped inside, the faint scent of soap and steel filling her senses. The air was cool, but the promise of hot water had her stripping off her clothes quickly. The first spray of water ran down her body, washing away the sweat and tension from her muscles. She let out a slow breath, tilting her head back as the warmth seeped into her skin.

Then, footsteps. Her heart stuttered. The door creaked open, and before she could react, a familiar presence filled the space. She turned her head just as Garrick stepped inside, his own training gear clinging to his body, darkened with sweat. Her breath caught in her throat. He hadn’t seen her yet. Y/N was frozen in place, water streaming down her body as she watched him tug his shirt over his head, muscles flexing effortlessly. His hands moved to his belt, and her brain finally kicked into gear.

Shit. She must have made a sound, because Garrick’s head snapped up, his sharp gaze locking onto her naked form through the steam. Time stopped. His eyes widened slightly, his jaw tightening as realization set in. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and for a moment, he just… looked. His gaze dragged over her, hot and lingering, before snapping back to her eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, voice lower than usual, roughened at the edges. She swallowed hard, unable to speak. Heat ran up her spine, different from the warmth of the water. It coiled in her stomach, twisting tighter when he took a slow step forward. "What are you doing in the men's showers, Y/N?" His voice was teasing, but there was a razor-sharp edge of intrigue beneath it.

She forced herself to swallow, forcing her mind to work past the shock of seeing him—shirtless, damp with sweat, and the sharp lines of his chest. "Stronger water pressure," she muttered, trying for nonchalance, but it came out breathless. His lips curled into something between amusement and interest. "Convenient excuse." She bristled, heat crawling up her neck for an entirely different reason now. "I didn't think anyone would be here."

Garrick's gaze flicked to the row of empty stalls and back to her. "And yet, here I am." The words hung between them, charged and heavy, stretching the moment unbearably taut. She was suddenly acutely aware of the water cascading down her bare skin, the droplets glistening in the dim light.

His eyes swept over her once more, the intensity making her pulse jump, the peaks of her nipples unwillingly perking. "You seem to be interested now, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a dangerous drawl. "Want to do something about it?" Her pulse pounded in her ears. The tension crackled like lightning in the enclosed space, the only barrier between them the swirling steam.

Her mind screamed at her to move, to grab a towel, to run—But her body stayed rooted in place. And Garrick took another step closer. His gaze darkened, his expression unreadable as he reached up, brushing a single damp strand of hair from her face. His fingers barely grazed her skin, but the contact sent a jolt through her. A challenge flickered in his eyes.

It wasn’t a question of whether she wanted this. They both knew the answer. Y/N’s breath came unevenly, her body humming with awareness. And then, before she could second-guess herself, she stepped closer to him.

Her hands slid up the sharp planes of his face, fingers brushing against the rough stubble before tangling in his damp hair. She pulled him down, her breath hitching just before their lips crashed together in a heated kiss. Garrick responded instantly, his hands finding her bare waist, yanking her body flush against his own. The sensation of his solid warmth against her ignited a fire low in her belly, and when his tongue swept against her lips, she parted them willingly. He took immediate control, deepening the kiss, his dominance evident in the way their tongues moved together—demanding, possessive, utterly intoxicating.

His grip tightened as his hands roamed lower, tracing every curve of her body before settling on her backside. He kneaded the soft skin, eliciting a soft whimper from her. The sound was swallowed between their lips, her fingers gripping his shoulders as if anchoring herself to him. When his mouth abandoned hers, he trailed a path of heated kisses along her jaw, down the curve of her neck. He found the sensitive spot beneath her ear, sucking and licking, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. Her knees were going weak as his mouth claimed her skin, marking her as his.

Her hands slid over his chiseled chest, fingertips tracing the ridges of his abdomen, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. When she reached the waistband of his training shorts, she hooked her fingers in the fabric, tugging them down along with his boxers in one swift motion. Garrick kicked them aside without hesitation. The water cascaded down their bodies, steam curling around them, adding to the desire thick in the air. She smirked up at him, biting her lip as she pressed a lingering kiss to his sternum, then lower—over his taut stomach, the defined V-line that led her exactly where she wanted to go.

Garrick watched her intently, his hazel eyes dark with lust, his jaw tight as he leaned a hand against the wet stone wall. When she dropped to her knees before him, her hands smoothing over his muscular thighs, a deep growl rumbled in his chest. She wrapped her fingers around his hard length, stroking him, reveling in the way his breath shuddered at her touch. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, his head tipping back, the veins in his forearm prominent as he clenched his fist.

Her tongue flicked out, dragging a slow, teasing stripe from the base to the swollen tip before she finally wrapped her lips around him. His gaze snapped down to her, his hand immediately threading into her wet hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail. She took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue pressing against the sensitive underside. Garrick let out a strained groan, his fingers tightening their grip as he started guiding her movements, setting the pace he needed.

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes as he pushed deeper, her throat constricting around him. The sound she made—desperate, submissive—only spurred him on. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he rasped, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he watched her. "Feels so damn good."

She moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk forward. But before she could bring him over the edge, he pulled back with a strangled groan, gripping her arms and yanking her up to her feet. The sudden movement made her gasp, but then he was pressing her against the wall, his mouth crashing against hers, swallowing the needy whimper she let out.

His hand slid between her thighs, fingers finding her slick heat. "You're so fucking wet for me, Y/N," he muttered, groaning as he stroked her. His fingers worked her with practiced precision, circling her clit before slipping inside her with ease. "Gods, Garrick," she moaned, her head falling back, exposing the delicate column of her throat. Her lips were already swollen from their earlier kisses, her nails biting into his shoulders as he thrust his fingers into her, curling them just right. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. "I need you now." Garrick smirked against her jaw, but his pace didn’t relent. "What do you need, cadet?" His voice was low, teasing, as his fingers pushed deeper, making her moan louder.

"I want your cock inside me, sir," she whimpered, her pleading gaze locking onto his. That did it. He withdrew his fingers, his hands gripping her hips. "Jump." She obeyed without hesitation, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pinned her to the wall. She could feel him, hard and hot against her, teasing her entrance. "So eager," he chuckled darkly, dragging the thick head of his cock against her soaked folds. She writhed against him, desperate for more. And then—

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, stretching her completely, making her cry out in pleasure. His grip on her tightened as he stilled for a moment, savoring the way she felt around him, before he started to move. His thrusts were deep and deliberate at first, but when she moaned his name—needy, desperate—he lost the last of his restraint. His hips snapped into hers with increasing urgency, his grip on her thighs leaving marks, his name falling from her lips like a prayer.

"Fuck, Y/N. You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his forehead resting against hers. The water ran over them, mixing with sweat, their bodies locked together. One of Garrick’s hands slid between them, finding her clit again, his fingers circling in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation sent her over the edge, her walls clenching around him as she cried out his name, her nails digging into his back, sure to leave red marks.

Garrick gritted his teeth, thrusting harder, chasing his own release. He set her down for a moment, his hands gripping her waist as he turned her around. "Lean against the wall," he commanded, his voice rough. She did as she was told, pressing her palms against the stone, arching her back as he thrust into her from behind. The new angle had her gasping, the pleasure overwhelming as he pounded into her with reckless abandon. His fingers dug into her hips, his breathing ragged.

"F-fuck, I’m close," he gasped, his pace faltering as he slammed into her one last time, his release spilling into her with a guttural moan. Their bodies trembled against each other, chests heaving, the steam wrapping around them like a veil. He took a step back, his gaze raking over her as she turned around to face him, lips swollen, eyes hazy with satisfaction. Garrick exhaled heavily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Gods, why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner?"

[partoffantasy]

Broken - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

summary: Garrick finds himself frantic when reader is taken for the brutal Rider Survival Course (RSC), and after four agonizing days, he finally sees her again—bruised, battered, and barely conscious.

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader warnings: angst, implied torture word count: 2.1k

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Garrick’s boots clicked softly against the stone floors of the barracks, his mind already miles away from the duties he had just wrapped up. It had been a grueling day—directing drills, managing the cadets, ensuring everything ran smoothly and lots of leadership meetings. His eyes were heavy, his body aching for rest, but his heart—his heart was elsewhere.

Y/N. The thought of her was always a comfort, especially after a day like today. The thought of seeing her, of slipping into her room and being with her, was a balm he couldn’t resist. He needed her, as much as he hated to admit it. Garrick’s hand lingered on the door handle, his knuckles white as he knocked. He waited, the silence dragging on longer than it should have. His brow furrowed as he knocked again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. Is she sleeping already?

Confusion rippled through him. Y/N wasn’t one to disappear without a word. Not without a note or some kind of message. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room. The bed was a mess—blankets rumpled, sheets tangled—but it wasn’t the comforting chaos he was used to seeing when Y/N was there. Her scent still hung in the air, lavender and something warm, but there was no sign of her.

Garrick’s heart skipped a beat. Where was she? His gaze darted around the room, checking the corners, the desk. Her belongings were scattered as they usually were, but something felt off. The silence, the emptiness—it was unnatural. His chest tightened, a pit forming in his stomach. “Y/N?” he called out, his voice low, laced with a mixture of concern and confusion. No answer. His hand fisted at his side. Something was wrong.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Quickly, he turned and left her room, moving down the corridor toward Xaden’s quarters, his steps quickening as the knot in his stomach tightened. Xaden was lounging lazily in his chair when Garrick entered, his eyes flicking up briefly before he returned to writing something down. There was no surprise in Xaden’s expression, just the faintest hint of curiosity.

“You look like you’re about to explode,” Xaden said casually, though his voice held an undercurrent of concern. “Where’s Y/N?” Garrick’s voice was rough, more urgent than he’d intended, but the words were out before he could stop them. His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out the soft clinking of metal. “She’s not in her room. Where is she?”

Xaden’s eyes darkened, his grip on his quill tightening before he let it go and looked up at Garrick. There was a certain heaviness in his gaze, a quiet understanding that flickered before it settled into something more sorrowful. “She’s gone,” Xaden said simply. Garrick’s heart froze, his breath catching in his chest. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

Xaden hesitated for a moment before replying, his voice softer now. “She was taken for RSC. Her squad is with her.” RSC. Rider Survival Course. A mission no one wanted to hear about, because it meant a deadly test of everything they had learned. He was shaking now, his hands at his sides, his mind refusing to process what he was hearing. “They didn’t tell me. They didn’t tell me anything,” Garrick’s voice cracked, the panic in his chest rising like a wave.

Xaden’s gaze softened, his expression shifting into something between empathy and resignation. “It’s protocol,” he said, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “And you knew this would happen sooner or later, it’s what everyone has to go through.” Garrick’s breath came in ragged gasps. The words felt hollow, distant, like a cruel joke. Y/N—his Y/N, the one who had shared her dreams and her fears with him, the one who had stolen his heart—was out there. And he had no idea where. No idea what she was enduring. 

“She’s strong, Garrick,” Xaden continued, his voice low but firm, the weight of his words not lost on the section leader. “She’ll be fine. She can handle it.” But Garrick wasn’t listening. He couldn’t. His chest felt hollow, his heart raw and exposed. She’s strong. The words repeated in his mind, but they did nothing to soothe the panic that clawed at him.

He let Garrick walk, let him pace as he wrestled with his emotions. The silence between them thickened. Xaden didn’t try to interrupt, knowing the only thing that would help was time. But that didn’t stop the feeling of helplessness that twisted in his gut, watching his best friend come undone. Finally, Xaden stepped toward him, his hand resting on Garrick’s shoulder, a rare moment of tenderness from the usually stoic leader.

“I know how it feels,” Xaden said quietly, his voice carrying more weight than Garrick had expected. “I’ve been there. You feel like you can’t breathe. Like the world is crashing down, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.” Garrick’s chest tightened painfully, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to do. What if something happens to her, Xaden? I—” He cut himself off, his voice breaking as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“She’s not alone,” Xaden said firmly, his grip on Garrick’s shoulder tightening, grounding him. “Y/N’s not alone out there. She has her squad.” Garrick closed his eyes, the words washing over him like a cold wave. He didn’t know how to believe them. He didn’t know how to trust in anything right now. But Y/N was strong. She would come back. She had to and he couldn’t save her, he had to trust in her abilities and those of her squad mates.

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The weight of four days of endless worry, of sleepless nights spent tossing and turning in his bed, had all built up to this moment. Garrick’s boots echoed in the narrow corridor as he made his way toward the medical wing, each step heavier than the last. His chest was tight, the panic, the fear, the overwhelming need to see her again threatening to choke him.

Y/N. It had been four days since she was taken, four days since the ice-cold grip of uncertainty had wrapped itself around him. The RSC was supposed to prepare them for the worst, but no one could ever truly prepare for this. And the worst part—the part that gnawed at him like poison—was that he hadn’t been there for her. He finally reached the door, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The guards didn’t stop him; they knew who he was, and didn't question his actions due to his position. He stepped inside, and the sterile scent of the medical wing hit him like a punch to the gut.

He didn’t need to ask where she was. He felt her presence, the way the air seemed to freeze as soon as he entered, the sharp, painful knowledge that she was somewhere in this room. Then he saw her. Y/N was sitting on one of the examination tables, her body slumped forward, as if she didn’t have the strength to hold herself upright. Her head hung low, and the moment Garrick’s eyes locked on her, a surge of nausea and dread hit him with full force.

Her face. The bruises were the first thing that caught his attention. Purple, yellow, and red marks that marred her skin like a brutal painting. Her eyes were barely open, bloodshot and swollen, her lips cracked and split. The normally radiant, fierce woman he knew was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she looked... hollow. Small. Garrick’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. His mind couldn’t process what he was seeing. He had imagined it—had feared it—but seeing it, seeing her like this, it shattered him.

"Y/N?" His voice broke, a whisper that seemed to reverberate around the room. Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice, though it took a long moment before her bleary gaze found him. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She seemed to be fighting to focus, to fully comprehend that he was there. Garrick took a step forward, but she flinched at the movement, a sharp, instinctual reaction that sliced through him like a blade.

“Y/N…” He took another step, this time slower, his hand reaching out for hers. He needed to touch her, needed to feel her warmth, to make sure she was still alive, still his. But when his hand brushed against her arm, her skin was cold, like it didn’t belong to her. Her bones felt fragile under his touch. “Garrick…” she croaked, her voice weak, barely audible. Her breath was shallow, labored, and it hit him like a punch in the gut. She was struggling to stay conscious, struggling to keep herself together. He could see the fight in her, but it was obvious how much the RSC had drained her.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” Her head lolled slightly as she tried to hold his gaze. "I... I didn’t..." Her voice cracked, and she seemed to lose her train of thought, her mind still reeling from the hell she’d endured.

Garrick’s chest tightened. His hand cupped her face, gently lifting her chin so he could see her eyes better. But when he looked at her, when he saw her so battered and broken, he could barely contain the wave of grief that threatened to drown him. This wasn’t the woman who had always stood tall beside him. This wasn’t the Y/N he had loved, the one who fought for what she believed in, the one who made him feel alive. This was someone who had been crushed by the weight of their world, someone who had been made to break.

“God, Y/N...” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. His thumb traced over her swollen cheek, brushing the dried blood that had seeped from her wounds. He couldn’t fathom what she had been through, couldn’t begin to understand how she had survived. But he felt it—felt the scars etched into her soul, the trauma that was now a part of her.

“Y/N, talk to me,” he begged, his voice desperate now. His heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that it drowned out everything else. “Tell me what happened. Tell me what they did to you.” Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, her body slumping even further, and he feared for a moment that she might lose consciousness. But then her eyes reopened, glazed over with exhaustion.

“They... they tried,” she whispered, her words slurring, slow, like they took every ounce of energy she had to speak. “They... I couldn’t... couldn’t break... didn’t give them anything.” Her lips trembled as she said the last part, her eyes fluttering with the memory of the torture she’d endured. Garrick squeezed her hand, his heart breaking all over again. She was so strong. So goddamn strong.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m so proud of you. You don’t have to say anything.” Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, they looked distant, like the girl he had known was fading, replaced by something else. Something he couldn’t reach. “I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she was apologizing for the wounds she couldn’t avoid, for the pain she couldn’t prevent.

Garrick shook his head fiercely, his free hand coming to cup the back of her neck. “Don’t apologize. You’re here. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” But even as he spoke those words, his heart was heavy with the reality of what she had endured. Four days of hell. Four days of nothing. She had been cut off from her dragon, isolated, brutalized. He had no way of knowing how much of her had been stripped away in those four days.

“Rest, Y/N,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face, his voice soft with tenderness. “You’re home now. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.” Her eyes flickered open one last time, meeting his gaze. There was something there, something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite grasp. But it was enough to make him believe she would pull through. And as he held her, as he promised to be there for her in the silence of that sterile room, he knew that no matter what she had endured, no matter what would come next, he would never leave her side.

[partoffantasy]

Echoes of the Inevitable - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: during tense negotiations on the Isles, reader witnesses a side of Aaric she never expected—commanding, brilliant, and dangerously compelling.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: ONYX STORM SPOILERS - if you haven’t read Onyx Storm yet, don’t read further word count: 1.6k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The heat of the Isles pressed down on them, thick and stifling despite the breeze coming from the sea. The scent of salt and damp stone filled the air, mingling with the faintest trace of incense from the nearby marketplace. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the cracked stone plaza where the delegation stood. Soldiers lined the perimeter, their armor gleaming dully under the fading light, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. The atmosphere was laced with barely restrained hostility, the kind that could tip into violence really quickly.

Y/N shifted her weight, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat from her brow. She was keenly aware of the weight of her own weapons, the tension in the air settling into her bones. Xaden stood at the head of their group, his posture unyielding and full of dominance as he faced the Unbrish commander. Beside him, Violet held herself steady, her eyes flicking between the foreign dignitaries. Dain lingered a step behind, his focus entirely on the unfolding discussion, ready to translate at a moment’s notice.

The commander lifted his hand, and his soldiers immediately fell silent, waiting for his words. "He asks if this is our champion or our leader," Dain translated. A ripple of unease passed through the squad, but before anyone could react, a voice cut through the tension—smooth, confident, and unmistakably fluent. Not in Navarrian. Not in any broken attempt at the language. But in flawless, fluid Unbrish.

Y/N barely caught the way Dain stiffened beside her, his mouth parting in shock. She could only stare, heat creeping up her neck, her stomach twisting with something entirely inappropriate for the situation. It was Aaric. The moment he stepped forward, every ounce of his usual quiet reservation peeled away, revealing something sharper. He moved with a confidence that sent a thrill through her, his broad shoulders squared as he addressed the commander directly. And then, he spoke.

Aaric’s voice was smooth, assured. It carried through the tense plaza like a blade slicing through silk. The words were foreign to her, but that didn’t matter—because she could hear it in his tone. The weight. The meaning. The command. His accent was perfect, his cadence even, and the effect it had on their adversaries was instantaneous. The commander faltered, his expression shifting, while the priestess beside him flicked her gaze toward Aaric with something close to surprise.

Y/N’s throat went dry. By the time Dain regained his composure enough to translate, Aaric was already pivoting back toward them, his hand brushing the pommel of his sword. “Are you fucking serious?” Dain snaps at him. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re fluent?” "You never asked," Aaric said simply, his voice rich with amusement, and Y/N swore she felt it in the pit of her stomach.

Holy shit. This was not the Aaric she sparred with in training, the one who rolled his eyes at pointless drills and carried himself like he was just another first-year. This was someone else entirely. Someone who spoke like he belonged on a throne. Someone who was utterly, unfairly, devastatingly attractive when he wielded language like a weapon.

She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to shift on her feet. It wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. But when Xaden surged forward, grabbing Aaric by the collar to shove him back into place, all she could focus on was the flicker of defiance in Aaric’s green eyes. Y/N exhaled, barely resisting the urge to groan. Oh, she was in so much trouble.

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The second time it happened, they were at the negotiation table in Hedontis, having just met Xaden’s mother, and Y/N swore Aaric was doing it on purpose. She had spent the better part of an hour trying to focus on the discussion, on the careful exchange of words between Xaden, the Isles’ leadership, and their allies. It was a delicate discussion, one she knew could turn dangerous if handled incorrectly. But then Aaric opened his mouth again, and all hope of concentration vanished.

"It is rather arrogant of us to simply refer to it as the Continent," he mused, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "As though there aren’t others beyond the sea. But we've been torn apart by war for so long, it's hard for anyone to think that we are one... anything." Y/N nearly choked on her drink. The table fell silent, all eyes snapping to him. Even Xaden looked mildly impressed. But Aaric? Aaric just continued cutting into his meal with calm indifference, as if he hadn’t just upended the entire tone of the conversation.

Nairi’s gaze flickered from Cat to Xaden to Aaric. "So many young royals here. So many potential alliances. Why are you not contracted to one another? It seems... foolish not to forge futures and provide heirs who could unite your kingdoms." The chicken went dry in Y/N’s mouth, but Mira shot her a can you believe these people look that steadied her heartbeat.

"My brother will be king," Aaric said, slicing through his chicken like this was any normal dinner. "Though a horrible one. Heirs and alliances aren't my concern. I will fight in this war, most likely die, and do so knowing that I protected others." Aaric's gaze flickered across the table, his usual air of detached confidence wavering for just a second. Then, his eyes found hers.

Y/N felt the shift—a sudden weight pressing down on her chest. His stare held something she couldn't decipher, something raw and knowing. It wasn’t just resolve or the grim acceptance of war. It was grief. It was finality. And it was personal. She swallowed, her pulse hammering against her throat. Why was he looking at her like that? Like he already knew something she didn't? Like he was memorizing her?

Before she could force her mouth to form a single question, Aaric turned away, his expression smoothing back into that infuriating, unreadable calm. "Honor has never been the equal of wisdom," Nairi sighed, then looked to Xaden. "And your excuse? We received news months ago that your title had been restored to you." When Xaden started answering Nairi, Y/N barely heard the next words. Aaric's gaze had lingered on hers, and the depth of emotion in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. There was something there—something heavy, something she couldn't decipher. He knew something, she was sure of it. But before she could press him, before she could demand an answer, the Hedontis’ changed the topic to what they value most—knowledge and thus drawing her attention away.

“Amaralys. The only thing our kingdoms ever agreed on was calling it the Continent after the Great War," Aaric said, finally putting his silverware down after cleaning his plate. "Rather arrogant of us to simply refer to it as the Continent, as though there aren't others beyond the sea, but we've been torn apart by war for so long it's hard for anyone to think that we are one... anything." For fuck's sake, what else was Aaric holding on to?

"You're rather quiet for someone who seems to know so much," Nairi remarked. "I prefer keeping my mouth shut until I understand the rules of whatever game is aiming for my throat. Helps me judge the character and acumen of my opponent." He looked at each of them in turn. "Honestly, I find you lacking, and I'm not sure I want you for an ally. You have no army and you're stingy with the very thing that should be free to all—knowledge."

"And yet you seek our favor?" Nairi’s eyebrows shot up, and she blinked rapidly. "Me?" Aaric shook his head. "No. I'm just here because Halden can't control his temper and Violet didn't just bond one of our most terrifying battle dragons, but also an irid—the seventh breed. Dark wielders are spreading. People are dying as we sit here. Every day we're gone could change the battle map in ways we can't begin to predict. And my kingdom is full of assholes who won't take refugees under king's orders, so tracking down the irids is our best hope of not only adding to our numbers but maybe figuring out how we beat the venin six hundred years ago.”

Holy shit, this was something else entirely. The way he stood his ground, unwavering, his voice a lethal mix of precision and raw conviction—it sent a thrill down her spine. Every word that left his mouth was deliberate, measured, and she could feel the weight of them settle deep in her chest. This wasn’t just confidence; it was command. And damn it, it was making her smirk. She couldn't help the way her eyes traced the sharp angles of his face, the way his fingers rested with deceptive ease on the table as if he hadn't just unsettled everyone around him. Every word he spoke sent another shiver down her spine, curling low in her stomach. It was dangerous, the way he did this to her—how effortlessly he held his own against people who had spent their entire lives navigating power plays.

"You are the highest member of nobility in your party," Roslyn noted, shifting. "Is it not up to you?" "Nobility doesn't play into rank, at least not for me." Aaric glanced Y/N’s way. "Andarna chose Violet, and though there are four superiorly ranked officers with us, it's Violet's mission. She's in command. And with the exception of her rather questionable taste in men, I've trusted Violet's wisdom since childhood." Their eyes met, and Y/N felt another rush of heat spread through her.

She was so, so screwed.

[partoffantasy]

Tension and Takedowns (Part 1) - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

summary: when her friends suggest she find someone to release her tension, reader finds herself watching Garrick spar, and her friends waste no time teasing her about it. But when she’s forced to face Garrick in the ring, the heat between them intensifies.

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader warnings: tension, sparring word count: 1.9k

Part 2: Click here

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The air in the training gym was thick with the scent of sweat and the sound of bodies colliding. The grunts of effort and the sharp cracks of fists meeting flesh filled the space, the sound barely dampened by the padded floors. Cadets sparred all around, all of them desperately preparing for the upcoming challenges. After all, it was common knowledge that few would live to see graduation. Why hold back when tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed?

Y/N wasn’t holding back, but she was distracted. Liam’s fist shot out, and she barely dodged in time, feeling the breeze of it against her cheek. “Seriously?” he huffed, stepping back to reset. “You’re usually quicker than that.” “Yeah, well, I have a lot on my mind,” Y/N muttered, wiping sweat from her brow before falling back into a fighting stance.

Nearby, Violet was locked in a match with Rhiannon, their movements fast and fluid. Rhi had Violet pinned for a moment before Vi twisted, using her smaller frame to slip out of the hold and retaliate with a swift jab to Rhi’s ribs. The two grinned at each other, neither gaining the upper hand for long. Sawyer, Ridoc, and the rest of their group stood at the edge of the mat, taking a break from their own sparring sessions. It didn’t take long for the teasing to start.

“I swear, the two of you are wound tighter than a crossbow,” Ridoc said, nodding at Y/N and Violet. “You know, there’s a simple solution to all that tension.” Sawyer laughed. “Yeah, it’s called getting laid.” Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting to block Liam’s next strike. “Oh, really? Is that all it takes?” Violet snorted but didn’t look away from her match. “They’re just mad we have standards.”

“You’re acting like you have options.” Ridoc ducked as Y/N threw a training dagger in his direction, barely missing his shoulder. “Woah, woah! I’m just saying, it’s a war college! You’re supposed to—” “Supposed to what?” Y/N cut in, leveling him with a glare. “Hook up with some guy who probably won’t be alive next week? Great plan, Ridoc.”

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “You could at least have some fun before you die.” Violet sighed, finally pinning Rhiannon to the mat. “Right, because random, meaningless sex is going to solve all our problems.” “Maybe not all of them,” Rhi admitted, breathless, “but it’d definitely help with some.” Before Y/N could retort, movement on the far side of the gym caught her attention. She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Xaden and Garrick had stepped onto the training mat, their shirts already discarded, muscles flexing under the glow of the lights. The conversation died instantly. Violet, still sitting on Rhi, tilted her head. “Well. That’s distracting.” Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the heat pooling low in her stomach. Rhi, looking equally entranced, muttered, “Think they’d let us join?”

Liam and Ridoc exchanged glances before smirking. “You know, Garrick doesn’t have a girl,” Liam pointed out. “Maybe you should try your luck, Y/N.” Y/N barely heard him. Her eyes were locked on Garrick, her mouth suddenly dry. His body was carved muscle, broad shoulders tapering down to a firm waist, his tanned skin glistening under the training room lights. The sharp angles of his jawline were softened slightly by a hint of stubble, and when he moved, the powerful ripple of his back made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t just attractive—he was devastatingly, unfairly gorgeous.

Her pulse quickened as her mind wandered, imagining the feel of those rough, calloused hands gripping her waist, the press of his body against hers. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to look away, but it was useless. Ridoc let out a low whistle. "Damn, Y/N, if you stare any harder, you might set him on fire." "Or melt into a puddle right where you stand," Sawyer added with a smirk. "Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know why you’re fighting it."

Rhi, still sprawled on the mat beneath Violet, raised a brow. "Yeah, Y/N, you’re always talking about high standards, but Garrick? That’s about as high as they come." Liam snickered. "You should probably stop pretending you’re not interested before we all start taking bets on how long it’ll take you to crack." Y/N scowled, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "You’re all insufferable." "We’re just speaking the truth," Ridoc shot back, grinning. "Now go shoot your shot before someone else does." Maybe she should.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

A few days had passed since the gym incident, but Y/N still hadn’t quite shaken the way Garrick looked when he fought—or how her friends wouldn’t shut up about it. Unfortunately for her, things were about to get a lot worse. Xaden stood before their squad, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You all fight like reckless children,” he said flatly, scanning the group. “It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”

“We’re first-years,” Ridoc muttered under his breath. Xaden’s sharp glare cut his protest short. “No excuse. You’re in Flame Section, and you’re flying with us, which means you need to be better. Garrick is going to make sure of that, since he is the best fighter in the quadrant.” At his name, Garrick stepped forward, arms loose at his sides, but his presence was impossible to ignore. Y/N kept her expression neutral even as her stomach twisted.

He let his gaze sweep over them before speaking. “I don’t care if you think you can fight. You’re going to be better by the time I’m done with you.” A collective groan rose from the squad, but Y/N barely heard it. She was too busy cursing whatever gods had decided to play with her fate.

Training started immediately. Garrick moved through them, correcting form, adjusting stances, and calling out weaknesses with brutal honesty. He was a firm but fair instructor, and his reputation as the best fighter was evident in the way he carried himself. Y/N had done her best to avoid being singled out—until the moment she felt his eyes on her. “You’re up,” Garrick said, his voice smooth but commanding.

Y/N swallowed hard and stepped onto the mat. “Against who?” A slow smirk spread across his lips. “Me.” She barely had time to register those words before he moved. Y/N dodged the first strike by instinct, stepping back quickly, but Garrick was relentless. He pushed forward, his movements fluid and controlled, forcing her to defend rather than attack. Every shift of his body was measured, precise, like he already knew how she would respond before she did.

“Come on, Y/N,” he murmured, circling her. “You’re faster than this.” Heat curled in her stomach at the way he said her name—low, teasing, confident. She grit her teeth and refocused, lashing out with a calculated strike. He blocked it effortlessly, catching her wrist in a firm grip and twisting just enough to throw her off balance. She stumbled, and before she could recover, he used her own momentum to spin her. The next thing she knew, her back was against his chest, his arms locked around her in an unbreakable hold.

Her breath caught. The air between them felt thick. He wasn’t holding her tightly—just enough that she could feel the solid muscle against her back, the heat radiating from his skin. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she knew he could feel it. “Getting distracted?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to shove down the shiver that ran through her. “Not in the slightest.”

His chuckle was dark and knowing. “Liar.” She twisted sharply, trying to break free, but he anticipated it, spinning her again until she was pinned beneath him on the mat. His weight was braced above her, close enough that she could see every detail of his face—the way his hazel eyes burned with challenge, the smirk that played at the corner of his lips.

Neither of them moved. The world around them faded, the sounds of sparring and training dulling into the background. It was just them, breathing in the same heated space, locked in a fight that had nothing to do with physical strength anymore. Garrick’s gaze flickered to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You going to surrender?” Y/N’s heart pounded. She knew he was talking about the fight. Knew he was waiting for her to say she gave up.

But there was something else in his eyes, something that made her wonder if he wasn’t asking about something much bigger. Her fingers curled against the mat. “Not a chance,” she whispered. Garrick’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something almost wicked. He left her on the ground. Instead of stepping away, he shifted his stance again, rolling his shoulders like he was getting comfortable.

“Good,” he drawled. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” Before she could react, he lunged. Y/N barely dodged, twisting away from his reach, her pulse hammering as she forced herself to move, to focus. He was fast—too fast—but she refused to make it easy for him. She countered with a sharp kick, but he caught her ankle effortlessly, twisting just enough to send her staggering back.

She caught herself, breathing hard. “Cocky bastard.” He grinned. “You’re just now figuring that out?” Y/N growled and went on the attack again, throwing a series of strikes that he blocked with frustrating ease. He was toying with her, letting her get close before slipping just out of reach, every movement done to frustrate her.

“Come on, Y/N,” he taunted, dodging another punch. “You’re holding back.” “I’m trying not to break your nose.” “How considerate,” he mused, sidestepping her next strike and catching her wrist. “But I can take it.” She yanked free, heart pounding, but before she could fully regain her stance, he moved again. A well-placed sweep sent her sprawling, and in a blink, he was on her again, pinning her wrists to the mat, his weight caging her in. After a moment of silence and heavy breathing, Garrick pushed off of Y/N and held her hand towards her.

Y/N took a breath, forcing herself to ignore the lingering heat between them as she took it. His grip was strong, steady, and as he pulled her to her feet, he leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Good.” She barely had time to process that before he shifted into a fighting stance again. Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going again?” His smirk was all challenge. “Unless you’re ready to admit I’ve won.”

Like hell. She launched at him without warning, but Garrick was ready. He dodged her strike smoothly, grabbing her wrist and twisting just enough to send her off balance again. This time, she caught herself before he could take her down completely. They circled each other, breaths quick, movements sharper now, the tension between them only growing with each strike and counter. Every time she tried to gain the upper hand, he turned it back on her, forcing her to push harder, fight smarter.

The fight dragged on, sweat dampening her skin, her muscles burning—but she refused to stop, refused to let him have the satisfaction of winning so easily. Then, in one fluid motion, he caught her again, spinning her so her back was against his chest just like before. His lips brushed close to her ear. “Still pretending you’re not interested?”

Y/N froze. Her stomach flipped violently as realization slammed into her. He knew. He had known all along—about the gym, about the things she and her friends had said. Heat crawled up her neck, but before she could recover, he was already stepping away, leaving her standing there, breathless and exposed.

Part 2: Click here