#sso jayda

[stable-gremlin]

“I write fanfic for myself”

Wrong I write fanfic to convince you all of my rare pair

Join the cult

Linda x jay

[revengehorse]

linda x jay, if you haven’t considered the ship it’s your time to do it right now

(click for full res i draw in 4x4,5k)

[paigeswiftsea]

✦ The Center of Her Moon ✦

jaylinda people we rise !!

i have been working on this chapter for weeks since I got the idea but didn't know how to put it together correctly, but i think im come up with something good? maybe

also pls ignore how i switch back and forth between she and they for jay, i kept flipflopping while writing this so now jay is she/they in this fic. thx <3

wc: 3> k

Chapter One: The Stories People Tell

Linda never thought love would happen to her in real life.

She wasn’t sure if it was because of who she was — quiet, cautious, too busy solving everyone else’s problems to make space for her own — or if she’d just seen too much of the world to believe love worked the way people said it did.

It was easy to believe in destiny when you were a Soul Rider. Harder to believe someone could fall in love with you when your nights were filled with nightmares and rune-borne headaches.

She didn’t talk about it, of course. Not with the other girls. Not even with Alex, who sometimes gave her a knowing look when the others weren't paying attention, like she knew Linda was holding something back.

But there was nothing to say. Not really.

Linda liked reading about love. The sweeping gestures, the stolen glances, the lines that made her underline entire pages in her worn-out paperbacks. She’d curl up under her window with a blanket and lose herself in stories where someone was always brave enough to say it. To reach out. To want someone with everything they had.

But when she closed the book, the silence settled around her again, soft and still. And it was just her. Just the rustle of pages and the ache of something she couldn’t name.

She never quite believed the cute stories she heard about couples meeting in line for coffee or bumping into each other on the street. They were good stories. Charming. But how real were they? People always left the hard parts out. The fights, the doubt, the way love could turn into something heavy and difficult. Something you had to choose, again and again, even when it wasn’t easy.

Maybe she was projecting. She’d never been in a relationship. Not even close. All her romance consisted of watching Pride and Prejudice with popcorn and a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders like armor.

Sometimes she wondered if the books she read had ruined her. Set her standards impossibly high. She wanted someone kind, yes — but also clever. Thoughtful. Someone who would challenge her, make her feel something real. Not a shallow crush or a fleeting spark, but something with gravity.

Something that meant something.

And honestly, the idea that anyone would see her that way? It felt impossible. Like she was too sharp around the edges. Too closed-off. Too complicated.

But then the dreams started.

At first, she dismissed them. Dreams weren’t unusual for her. She’d always been connected to things others couldn’t explain — old visions, whispers from the past, fragments of the future. But this was different.

She kept seeing the same figure. Always in the shadows. Tall. Strong. A presence that moved like a storm — not chaotic, but charged. Like they carried lightning under their skin. Linda could never see their face clearly, but their presence was unmistakable. Familiar. Not frightening, but magnetic. Like the moon caught in orbit around a sun it hadn’t realized it needed.

And every time she woke up from the dreams, her heart was racing. Her skin tingled. Her fingers itched for a pen.

She started writing them down — every detail she could remember — in the journal she now kept tucked beneath her pillow. It had once been for tracking visions, rune meanings, ancient texts. Now it was full of entries that began with things like They were closer this time, Their voice sounded like thunder wrapped in velvet, and I think they touched my hand, but I can’t be sure.

It felt foolish, romantic in a way she didn’t want to admit. But she couldn’t stop. Something in her needed to remember.

Sometimes, in the stillness just before dawn, she would whisper the same question into the quiet air: “Is there someone who could actually love me?”

Someone who wouldn’t find her too intense or too quiet or too tangled in her thoughts. Someone who could be the sun to her moon. Someone who could live in harmony with her without asking her to be someone else.

And sometimes, the silence answered with a feeling — warmth curling at the edge of her ribs, like the echo of a touch she hadn’t yet received.

Maybe it was magic. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was nothing at all.

But the next morning, Linda stepped outside to find the early sky heavy with stars, and the wind whispering through the trees like a secret only she could hear. Her gaze lifted instinctively to the moon — hanging low, full, golden — and for a single breathless moment, she didn’t feel so alone.

She didn’t know it yet, but someone was already orbiting her. Already pulled by the same quiet gravity.

And that someone was on her way.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡

Jay was chaos incarnate.

She didn’t even say it to be dramatic — It wasn’t a metaphor. It wasn’t poetic. It was just facts. People called her a lot of things. Dangerous. Erratic. A little unhinged. She wore it like armor, loud and sharp, because what else was she supposed to do? Play nice?

Didn’t help that she served Garnok. Minor detail. That label stuck to her like oil, thick and impossible to scrub off. People didn’t see her. They saw the shadow behind her, the storm she came with. They didn’t get her cause, didn’t get her power. What it meant to fight for something different. Something darker, sure, but still hers.

Jay wasn’t in the business of being liked. People didn’t get her. They liked rules, liked neat lines and clear intentions. Jay was a blur. She’d rather be fire than a page number in someone’s carefully organized book.

But if she was being honest with herself — and that didn’t happen often — Jay knew the truth.

She was a loser.

Not in a tragic, cool antihero way. No, this was worse. This was pathetic loser. The kind of loser who could dodge magical attacks like a pro but couldn’t hold a conversation with a cute girl without combusting. Sure, she had the look. Tall, angular, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Her eyeliner game was consistently on point. She could smirk with the best of them. But none of it mattered the second she actually tried to flirt.

She’d open her mouth and it was all over. Just boom — dignity gone. Words tripping over each other like they were trying to escape her own brain. Girls looked at her like they weren’t sure whether to laugh or walk away slowly.

Flirting? A joke. Every attempt ended in awkward silences or something deeply regrettable falling out of her mouth. Once, she tried complimenting a girl’s eyeliner and ended up saying it looked like a bird had cried on her face. It was a look, sure, but not the one she meant.

Sabine laughed every time. That bitch lived for it. “You’ve got the presence of a god and the game of a wet napkin,” she’d said once, after watching Jay stammer through a conversation with some rider from Fort Pinta.

Jay had flipped her off, obviously. Then walked straight into a fence.

Sabine lived for Jay’s social pain. She’d sit back, arms folded, smirking like some gothic devil coach watching Jay crash and burn with every interaction. She offered no advice, of course. Only suffering. That was Sabine's love language.

She didn’t know what it was. Maybe she cared too much. Maybe she was cursed. Maybe Garnok had a twisted sense of humor and enjoyed watching her suffer. She could pretend it didn’t bother her. That she didn’t care that people didn’t take her seriously. That being the charming one among the Dark Riders was like being the funniest person in a coffin.

The truth was, it did bother her. Sometimes. On the quieter days.

And for some reason, the whole “cool bad girl” thing only worked when she was around the Soul Riders. And even then — even then — it wasn’t really working. Not the way she wanted.

Because there was one of them she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Linda.

Too smart for her own good. Too calm. Always looked like she was holding the universe in her hands and weighing it against a moral scale Jay didn’t know how to read. And God, did that terrify her.

Jay had never been around someone so… composed. So sure. Linda made her feel like she was about to say something dumb and important every time they were in the same room. Like she was going to accidentally confess something she wasn’t ready to know about herself.

Linda looked at her sometimes — not like Sabine did, or like Alex did, with suspicion or scorn — but like she was trying to understand her. Like Jay was a riddle she actually wanted to solve.

And Jay hated that.

Except she didn’t. Not even a little.

She’d tried to flirt once. A joke. A wink. Something.

And Jay? Well, she could pretend it didn’t bother her. That she didn’t care that people didn’t take her seriously. That being the charming one among the Dark Riders was like being the funniest person in a coffin.

But the truth was, it did bother her. Sometimes. On the quieter days.

Sure, she had the looks — lean and dangerous, like the end of a lit fuse. Sure, she had some charm — usually the kind that got her punched. But when it came to the Soul Riders? That whole too-good-for-this-world, power-of-light, friendship-is-magic crowd?

Jay didn’t know what the hell her problem was.

Why could she talk to anyone except them?

More specifically — why could she talk to Alex, or tease Lisa, or even mess with Anne when she showed up all icy and fragile — but choke like a broken spell the moment Linda turned those calm, intelligent eyes on her?

Linda was the worst. The absolute worst.

Not because she did anything. Oh no. That was the problem. Linda just existed — quiet, still, thoughtful — and Jay’s brain turned into mush. Something about her made Jay feel like a planet caught in orbit. Like gravity was personal now, and it wore glasses and knew more about ancient texts than anyone had a right to.

It wasn’t fair.

Jay had flirted with sorcerers, survived magical duels, had a scythe thrown at her one time — but Linda looked at her with soft concentration, and she forgot how to stand.

What kind of twisted karma was that?

Jay didn’t get it. She didn’t get her. But she couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop trying to say the right thing. Couldn’t stop this stupid fluttering thing in her chest every time Linda said her name like it meant something.

Maybe it was a curse.

Or maybe, Jay thought grimly, leaning against a crumbling stone wall under the setting sun, you’re just a loser in love.

Jay took a deep breath before kicking off the crumbling wall outside Fort Maria.

The stone scraped against the back of her boots as she straightened, brushing dust off her sleeves like she hadn’t just been pacing back and forth like some lovesick idiot. Which she wasn’t. Obviously. She was there on a mission. For strategy. For intel.

Totally not because Linda had walked in twenty minutes ago, her soft green sweater swaying with every step like it wasn’t designed to ruin Jay’s entire mental stability.

Jay rolled her shoulders. Steeled herself.

“You’re being stupid,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair, trying not to notice how shaky it felt. “It’s just a puny little Soul Rider. Nothing special. Just a bookworm with a glowy destiny and really, really nice eyes.”

God. Fuck.

Why the fuck was she so nervous?

Jay had done worse things than this. They’d broken into sacred libraries, stolen from druids, insulted the literal spirit of Aideen once (by accident, but still). This should be nothing. They should be walking in there with her usual cocky smirk and a casual insult on her tongue, not… this.

Not heart flutters.

Not this twisting, sinking, floating mess in her chest that made her want Linda to notice her. To maybe talk to her like she wasn’t just some walking disaster with a tragic backstory and a demon supervisor.

Maybe if Linda looked at her the way she looked at runes — like Jay was something ancient and meaningful and worth decoding — maybe they’d finally stop feeling like their insides were at war with themselves.

Jay groaned and thunked her head lightly against the wall behind her.

She was losing it.

But this wasn’t about feelings. It wasn’t about… whatever soft, unholy ache had taken up residence in her ribs every time Linda was nearby.

This was recon. Strategy. A power play. They were going to walk in, be cool, be smooth, get the info, maybe toss out a few witty remarks that didn’t sound like a goblin choking on glitter, and leave.

Easy. Clean. Professional.

Jay let out one last breath — slow and steady — then pushed off the wall and stalked toward the entrance, trying to ignore the way their pulse quickened with every step.

Inside, the air was cooler. Dusty. Old magic clung to the walls like perfume and memory, but Jay barely noticed. She was already scanning the shadows.

And when their eyes landed on Linda — seated at one of the long tables, books spread out around her like wings, a thoughtful crease in her brow and a soft glow tracing the tips of her fingers as she worked — Jay felt it again.

That stupid flutter.

That gravitational pull.

They muttered under her breath.

“…I’m so fucked.”

Jay took a few slow steps forward, already regretting everything.

Linda hadn’t noticed them yet. She was deep in whatever text lay open on the table, fingers lightly brushing the page as if coaxing secrets from the paper. Her brow was furrowed in focus, lips parted slightly like she was just about to say something brilliant to no one in particular.

Jay should’ve walked away.

But instead, they cleared their throat.

Linda looked up — calm, unreadable, always that soft blend of precision and power.

Jay’s mouth went dry.

“Hey,” they said, trying to sound casual. It came out closer to a bark.

Linda blinked. “Hi?”

Neutral. Not hostile. Suspicious, maybe. That was fair.

Jay shoved their hands into their jacket pockets and leaned back against the nearest shelf. Or they tried to. They missed, caught the edge weird, and a dusty thump echoed into the silence.

Linda tilted her head. “Are you lost?”

“What? No. I’m not— I’m exactly where I meant to be.” Jay laughed, sharp and too loud. “I mean, I did take a wrong turn once. Into… your eyes.”

Silence.

Utter silence.

Jay immediately wanted to evaporate.

Linda stared, clearly unsure whether she’d just been threatened or flirted with. “...Was that supposed to be a line?”

Jay fumbled for a comeback, found absolutely nothing but regret and the sudden overwhelming heat of their own face. “Forget I said anything. I’m—uh. I was in the area. Thought I’d… check on what your little cult’s been up to lately.”

“Right.” Linda slowly closed her book, expression unreadable. “Because that’s something a loyal Garnok servant casually does. Checks in. Politely.”

“I’m unpredictable,” Jay offered. “It’s one of my many flaws.”

They were trying to smirk but it came out crooked, nervous. They hated this. They didn’t even know why they were doing this — standing here, trying to seem intimidating or charming or something that would make Linda look at them like they weren’t just an intruder in her perfect little world.

Their phone buzzed in their pocket.

They glanced down and swore under their breath.

[SABINE 🖤💀]

how’s the soul rider situation confessed your weird lil crush yet or nah

Jay didn’t answer. They shoved the phone deep in their jacket and looked back up — only to find Linda watching them with that subtle, analytical look she always had when she was about to win an argument.

“You came here just to see me, didn’t you?” she said quietly.

Jay stiffened. “What? No. No, I—”

Linda arched an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. I won’t report it to Sabine that you’ve gone soft.”

“I’m not soft.”

Linda smiled — faint, knowing. “Mmhmm.”

Jay turned, cursing softly as they walked away — fast, awkward, a full retreat.

Once they were out of the room and out of sight, they pulled out their phone and groaned.

[JAY 💀✨]

she knows i wanna die bury me w/ my dignity (rip)

Sabine replied instantly.

[SABINE 🖤💀]

u don’t have any dignity fine i’ll bury u next to ur shame LMAO

Jay typed back furiously.

[JAY 💀✨]

i hate her she’s insufferable i can’t stop thinking about her

And then, one more, sent before they could stop themselves:

[JAY 💀✨]

do u think she ever dreams about me too?

Jay didn't get any intel. fuck.

Linda didn't close the book until long after Jay left.

She sat still, staring at the place they’d stood — a haze of awkward energy and something else she couldn’t quite name. She told herself it was suspicion. That she was analyzing motives, threats, intentions. That she was being a Soul Rider, doing her duty.

But her fingers tapped anxiously at the edge of the page, betraying her.

What was that? Jay had looked like they were trying to flirt and break in at the same time. Their energy had been chaotic in the way a storm is — unpredictable, loud, and unsettling. And for some stupid reason, Linda couldn’t stop replaying the look on their face when she asked if they were lost.

They had looked... terrified.

She shook her head and reached for her journal — not the public-facing one she kept with her notes on magical disturbances and historical patterns. The other one. The one with her dreams.

The one she hid beneath her pillow.

She flipped through it slowly, pages already full of that same figure she kept dreaming about. Cloaked in shadows. Always half-turned. Close, but not near enough to touch. She’d been seeing them for months, sketching the curve of their shoulders, the defiance in their stance.

Last week, she’d written:

“The figure looked at me this time. Just a flicker. Their eyes weren’t cruel. Just… tired.”

And now?

Now she knew who those eyes belonged to.

Linda swallowed hard and grabbed a pen.

“Jay came to Fort Maria today. It wasn’t a dream.”

She hesitated, hovering the pen over the page, then continued.

“They tried to act like they were just snooping, but it was so clumsy it almost felt honest. Like they didn’t know how to be threatening around me. Or didn’t want to be.”

She paused again. Her stomach twisted.

“Why do I feel like they’re hiding something else entirely? Something even they don’t know how to name.”

She capped the pen and closed the book, resting her hand on top of it.

Jay was dangerous. Linda knew that. A dark rider, tangled in shadows and reckless magic, probably following some barely coherent plan that Sabine cooked up while twirling a dagger and laughing to herself.

But Jay wasn’t like the others.

They didn’t move like a soldier. They didn’t talk like someone who wanted to hurt her. They didn’t lie well.

And when they looked at her — really looked at her — it didn’t feel like an enemy trying to figure out how to strike.

It felt like someone looking for a reason to stay.

Linda exhaled slowly and leaned back, closing her eyes.

The worst part? The part she would never admit to anyone?

She kind of wanted to see them again.

Linda sighed and pushed back from the desk, the legs of her chair scraping lightly against the old stone floor. The air in Fort Maria was always cool, but something about it tonight felt different — heavy, like something was pressing in from the edges of her awareness. Like she’d stepped into the middle of a conversation she couldn’t quite hear.

Visions had been getting stranger lately.

Longer. Louder.

And now she thought it was Jay was showing up in them — not as a villain, not even as a warning. Just there. A presence. An ache. A question her magic kept asking and refusing to answer.

She walked through the aisle slowly, fingertips grazing the spines of the books as she scanned the shelves. The familiar scent of old parchment and dust wrapped around her like a blanket, grounding her. This place had always been her safe zone — cold, quiet, predictable.

But nothing felt predictable now.

Jay’s voice echoed in her head, distorted by memory:

“I’m exactly where I meant to be.”

Linda snorted quietly to herself. “You’re full of it,” she muttered under her breath.

Still, her heart stuttered.

She found the book she was looking for — a thick, battered volume titled Transcendent States and Shared Dreamscapes: Aetherial Theory and Reality. Heavy stuff, even for her. But if she was going to keep seeing Jay — in dreams and in reality — she needed to understand what it meant.

She pulled the book free and flipped it open, scanning the chapter list.

Chapter 3: Recurring Entities in Magical Visions Chapter 6: Emotional Signatures Across Planar Connections Chapter 9: The Uninvited Familiar — Soulmate Occurances in Visions

Her breath caught.

She turned quickly to Chapter 9.

“In rare cases, A soulmate can appear in the dreams or visions of the magically enhanced. When this occurs, there is nothing to destory or change the soulmate bond. They are bound forever, forced to revolve around one another in harmony. While some claim to be emotionally disruptive, a soulmate bond through the dreamworld can enhance one another power, creating powerful entities."

Linda snapped the book shut.

Emotionally disruptive.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

She should’ve told someone already. Alex, maybe. Or Elizabeth. But what could she even say?

“Hey, I think I might be dream-bonded to one of our sworn enemies, and also possibly have a complicated crush on them?”

Not exactly strategic intelligence.

She cradled the book in her arms and leaned against the shelf for a moment, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the glass of a nearby cabinet, the rune lights flickering just enough to distort the edges.

Behind her reflection, for a second — just a blink — she swore she saw them. That shadowy figure from her dreams. Standing just behind her shoulder.

She spun.

Empty.

Only silence.

But her pulse was racing again, and her hands were gripping the book so tight the cover creaked.

“Get it together,” she whispered.

But part of her — the part ruled by intuition more than logic — already knew:

Jay was more than a dream. And this was more than just magic, but what if Linda didn't want it?

[starbornsoulrider]

Jay in front of Linda: “LMAO L + RATIO NERD!! WEAK LITTLE SOUL RIDER!!”

Jay back at DC HQ: “Guys I want her so bad” while on the floor like this-

[stable-gremlin]

Posting a new part to Linda and Jay’s story feels like both a blessing and a curse

The second part is up.

Means I have to write the third😔

Ngl I know this is technically a multichap but writing in parts just idk makes it easier to finish a project

[stable-gremlin]

Part 3 of “The Universe Wants Jay and Linda together”

Dreams and Nightmares

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65384896

[stable-gremlin]

Writing part 3 of my Jayda Series that needs a way better name than “The Universe wants Jay and Linda to be together”

Anyway yall are gonna have to trust me with these opening scenes like it might seem whack just trust me

[revengehorse]

jaydajaydajayda jayda brainrot

[revengehorse]

stupid nerds

[paigeswiftsea]

Please please please I need more Sabine x reader fics please we ALL need it 😭.

I love your works! This is the best Sabine's fic I've ever read

well lucky for you i am here to provide!! and thank you so so much i have been loving writing for sabine x reader lately!

this is like a continuation of the equestrian festival fic i have been working on.. but its more like a part 2 to that series? A sequel? idk

enjoy <3

also pspspspsps jaylinda pspsps ( loser jay loser jay loser jay)

wc: 4.3k

You and Sabine had slowly figured things out after the festival. It hadn’t been easy—balancing your place as a Soul Rider while secretly falling for the enemy you were technically supposed to help destroy. But the Keepers had been gone for months, off chasing the lost Light Ceremony pages, so there was no one breathing down your neck. That made being with Sabine feel almost… normal.

Anne and Alex still gave you hell, but you’d reached a quiet truce with Linda and Lisa. You only joined the Soul Riders when it was absolutely necessary. The rest of the time, you lived in the space between: not quite light, not quite dark. But when you were with Sabine, none of that mattered.

You both had secrets, sure. Unspoken deals, unknown missions. But you made a rule early on—no Soul Rider, no Dark Rider stuff when you were together. It wasn’t about sides. It was just you and her.

And honestly, you still felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. Sabine had this way of tilting her head, smirking, saying the exact thing that made your heart skip. She was shameless when she flirted—bold, smooth, always in control. You were completely and utterly in love with her. And the worst part? She knew it.

She’d laugh whenever she caught you staring, and even now, after everything, the blush would rise in your cheeks like clockwork. It didn’t fade with time. Yeah, you were comfortable with her, but the butterflies never really went away. Every moment felt electric. Like the world couldn’t touch you. Like you were invincible.

You flopped down on the bed—her bed, really, since you spent more nights here than in your own. The sheets smelled like her: leather, smoke, something earthy. You sprawled across the mattress, already kicking your boots off, watching as she unbuttoned her blouse across the room.

She caught your gaze in the mirror and gave a little smirk. “You know it’s kinda creepy when you do that.”

You flushed. “What!? No, I’m just… admiring! Can’t a girl admire?”

Sabine turned around slowly, arching a brow as she pulled the blouse off one shoulder. “Admire, huh?”

You nodded, cheeks warm. “With deep appreciation.”

Sabine rolled her eyes with a crooked smirk, tugging the last button free. “Sure, admire all you want. Just don’t drool on my sheets.”

You laughed, kicking off your boots and curling into the pillows. “No promises.”

She tossed the blouse aside and sauntered over, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before flopping down beside you with a satisfied sigh. Her presence always had a way of grounding you, even when the world outside the four walls of her apartment felt like it was constantly pulling at the seams.

“You know, if you’re gonna admire me,” she purred, “you might as well do it properly.”

You blinked. “And how exactly does one do that?”

She smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “With hands. Maybe lips. Definitely fewer clothes.”

You groaned, covering your face with a pillow. “You’re evil.”

“Mm,” she hummed, already pulling it away, “you love it.”

“Kiss me,” you smiled up at her, eyes bright, voice soft—inviting.

Sabine paused for a heartbeat, just long enough to make you squirm, her smirk deepening as she looked down at you sprawled beneath her. Her hands were braced on either side of you, her hair falling slightly into her face, and for a moment, all you could hear was the hum of quiet tension between you.

Then she dipped down slowly, deliberately, until her lips brushed yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was gentle at first—teasing, almost reverent. Like she wanted to savor the moment. Her thumb brushed your jaw as her mouth moved against yours, warm and certain, grounding you like only she could.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes lingered on your face, searching.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” she whispered.

“And you’re still here,” you whispered back.

She grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth before murmuring, “Yeah. I am.”

You reached up, fingers tangling in the collar of her half-undone blouse, tugging her back down into you.

“Then shut up and stay a while.”

The second kiss was deeper—less patient, more knowing. Sabine slid her hand beneath your jaw and tilted your head just enough to get the perfect angle, her lips parting against yours with confident pressure. Her body pressed lightly into yours, steady but unhurried, as if she wanted to memorize the shape of you beneath her.

You gasped softly when her fingers slid into your hair, tugging just enough to make your spine arch. She grinned against your mouth, clearly pleased with the reaction.

“You’re so easy to fluster,” she whispered, breath brushing your lips.

“Not flustered,” you muttered, voice shaky. “Just… overwhelmed.”

Sabine hummed in approval and leaned in again, this time nipping gently at your lower lip before soothing it with her tongue. The kiss deepened—more heat, more urgency, your hands sliding around her back, pulling her closer. She tasted like peppermint and you couldn’t help the way your heart kicked up in your chest.

When she broke the kiss, her breath was a little uneven too, her forehead resting against yours. Her voice came out rough and low.

“You drive me insane.”

“Good,” you whispered, breathless. “That’s fair.”

And then you were kissing again, hands roaming, bodies tangled in the low light of her room. Everything else—Soul Riders, Keepers, destinies—faded to static. Just the two of you. Wanting. Choosing. Staying.

You were tangled up with Sabine, tongues intertwined and hands wandering, when the door suddenly burst open.

“God—can you not!?” Sabine growled, yanking herself away from you and glaring at the intruder like she could kill with her eyes alone.

Jay stood in the doorway, completely unfazed, arms crossed and dramatic as ever. “I can and I will,” they shot back. “Also, Linda won’t answer my texts. She says she’s mad at me but I didn’t even do anything!” They flopped dramatically into the nearby armchair like they owned the place.

You snorted, stifling a laugh behind your hand.

Sabine didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. She huffed loudly and muttered, “Probably because you’re a loser.”

Jay narrowed their eyes. “Wow. Rude. I come here seeking emotional support and all I get is bullying.”

“You barged in during very private activities,” Sabine deadpanned.

“I knocked!”

“No, you didn’t.”

Jay blinked. “Okay, well… I thought about knocking. Same thing. And, I am not a loser! I’m emotionally misunderstood.”

You raised an eyebrow. “By Linda?”

Jay crossed her arms. “By everyone.”

Sabine rolled her eyes. “God, you're worse than Sands. Can’t this wait until we’re not busy?”

Jay glanced between the two of you, then narrowed her eyes. “Wait. You were gonna hook up, weren’t you?”

Sabine didn’t miss a beat. She gave Jay a deadpan stare, voice flat with sarcasm. “What do you think, genius?”

Jay wrinkled ther nose. “Ew. I was hoping I was wrong.”

You couldn’t help but snort, pulling the sheet up a little higher over yourself. “Why do you always come barging in at the worst possible time?”

“Because I have terrible timing and no respect for boundaries, obviously,” Jay shot back, flopping onto a chair like this was her living room. “Anyway, you two are nasty. But back to me, what am I supposed to say to Linda?”

Sabine groaned, dragging a pillow over her face. “Tell her you’re sorry for being emotionally stunted and weird.”

“Helpful,” Jay muttered.

“You could try flowers?” you suggested leaning up on your elbows.

Jay blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Flowers? You think Linda wants flowers?”

You shrugged. “Not roses. She’s more of a—books and tea and... endangered plant conservation—kind of girl. Maybe lavender. Or something weird and old-timey like foxglove.”

Sabine snorted from under the pillow. “Don’t get her foxglove unless you’re trying to apologize and poison her at the same time.”

“Noted,” Jay said dryly, then sighed. “Ugh. You two are so gross and domestic it’s making me nauseous.”

You grinned. “We try our best.”

Jay stood, muttering under her breath. “Fine. Lavender. And maybe, like... a weird little apology poem or food. Maybe food.”

Sabine cracked one eye open. “Write her a haiku. Really confuse her.”

Jay actually considered that for a second. “That might work.”

You raised a brow. “You are not going to win her back with a haiku.”

“She’d probably think I was mocking her, actually.”

Sabine pulled the pillow off her face just long enough to glare. “Only if you hand her a dead bouquet and say ‘for the funeral of our relationship.’”

Jay blinked. “Wait. That’s kind of metal.”

“Jay,” you sighed.

“Okay, okay! I’ll consider flowers. And maybe... a card or something.”

You gave her a mock round of applause. “Wow. Personal growth.”

Jay stood and stretched, then gave you both a look. “Well, if you two are done trying to scar me for life, I’m leaving. Again.”

Sabine tossed the pillow at her, narrowly missing. “Next time, knock.”

Jay grinned as she ducked out. “Next time, lock the damn door.”

Sabine flopped back beside you with a groan, arm slung over her eyes. “What an ass.”

You laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “She’s got a point, though.”

Sabine groaned louder. “Don’t encourage her.”

You rested your head against her arm, quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable—just... still. Familiar. The buzz of Jay’s interruption was fading now, the air settling back into the heavy quiet of late night. You could still feel the press of Sabine’s mouth against yours, the warmth of her skin where your bodies had touched.

After a while, you murmured, “We really should lock the door next time.”

Sabine huffed a soft laugh, turning her head to look at you. “Or maybe you should stop inviting strays into my apartment.”

You raised your brows, pretending to be offended. “no one invites Jay. She just kind of... manifests.”

“She’s like a curse,” Sabine muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. “An overly dramatic, chaos-loving curse.”

“She’s your chaos-loving curse,” you teased, nudging her side.

Sabine gave you a long look, then rolled onto her side to face you fully. “No. You’re my chaos. Jay is just my collateral damage. That I have to clean up”

You smiled, soft and a little breathless at the way her voice dropped, warm and sure. She was close enough now that you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the tiniest curve of her lips, the scar near her temple you’d memorized without meaning to.

“I like being your chaos,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Sabine brushed her knuckles across your cheek, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly, “Yeah. I like it too.”

You slid closer, wrapping your arms around her waist, and she let you, tucking her chin over your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. No sharp flirtation, no biting sarcasm—just her. Solid and warm and here.

“Hey,” you murmured against her collarbone, “when the Keepers come back… what happens then?”

Sabine didn’t answer right away. Her fingers traced idle patterns on your back, thoughtful. Finally, she said, “I don’t know.”

“Do we stop this?”

She hesitated.

You pulled back to look her in the eye. “Because I’m not sure I can.”

Sabine’s jaw tensed slightly, like she was trying to keep something in—something too raw to say out loud. Then she reached up and cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing softly under your eye.

“Let them come back,” she said, voice low. “Let the world burn. I’m not giving you up.”

Your breath caught.

“And if that makes me the villain in someone else’s story,” Sabine added, “so be it.”

You kissed her again—slowly this time. No heat. No urgency. Just a promise wrapped in silence.

You didn’t know what was coming. But in that moment, with her arms around you and the world blissfully quiet, it didn’t matter.

“You already are a villian in most peoples story.”

Sabine let out a low breath—something between a laugh and a sigh—and pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Her expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between amused and wounded.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long. You felt the shift in her body, the way her shoulders tensed, like she was bracing for something. A reaction. A rejection. Maybe just the truth pressing in a little too close.

You reached for her hand beneath the sheets and laced your fingers through hers. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sabine’s eyes flicked to yours, sharp and searching. “Didn’t you?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Because maybe you had. Not to hurt her—but because it was true. In the stories passed around the stables, in the warnings from Elizabeth, in the glares from Anne and the cold silences from Alex... Sabine was the villain. No matter what she did, no matter how you saw her now.

And yet here she was. Human. Warm. Holding you like the world outside didn’t matter.

“Maybe I did,” you admitted softly. “But it doesn’t change the way I see you.”

Sabine’s mouth twisted into something half-bitter. “You see what you want to see.”

“I see you.”

Her breath caught. Just for a second.

And then, very quietly, “That’s what scares me.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just reached up and brushed your thumb along the line of her jaw. She let you.

“Then let it scare you,” you whispered. " Just be here with me?”

Sabine stared at you like you were something she didn’t know how to hold. Something she wanted and didn’t think she deserved. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

“Okay.”

The words were simple. But they felt like everything.

….

The morning was quiet. The world outside was just beginning to wake, but Sabine had already left. She’d mumbled something in your ear—something about errands or meetings or “don’t wait up”—then pressed a kiss to your forehead before slipping out. You were mostly still asleep when it happened, but it sounded like one of her usual half-sarcastic goodbyes.

You’d gotten up slowly, not exactly thrilled about the day ahead. You had a full roster of training sessions to run for the newer horses by your stable—getting ready for the next wave of summer campers arriving in a few weeks. Not to mention your own horse, who seemed dead set on fighting you at every turn. Stubborn as hell, and you were starting to think he had a personal vendetta.

Still, you pulled yourself together. Showered. Got dressed from the bag you’d brought over. Forced yourself into something vaguely functional and tried not to think about how soft Sabine’s bed had been or how nice it was to wake up somewhere that smelled like her.

You passed Katja on your way out—humming to herself as she poured coffee, wrapped in one of her oversized ponchos. You didn’t speak. You rarely did. Sometimes she muttered insults under her breath when you walked by, usually something dramatic and pointed in that quiet, icy tone of hers. But you’d started finding them more funny than hurtful. Especially when she was curled up like a gremlin in the armchair with her headphones on, looking like an angry Victorian ghost haunting Spotify.

The stables were already buzzing with activity by the time you arrived. Someone was raking hay near the main barn. Another rider was mucking stalls. Grooming brushes clinked against gates, and horses shifted restlessly in their stalls. It was the kind of noise that became background music when you spent enough time here.

You spotted Linda by Meteor’s stall, struggling to fit a frankly absurd number of books into her backpack.

“Hey, Linda!” you called out.

She looked up, half-smiling as she shoved a hardcover into place. “Hey! Good morning. What are you up to today?”

“Just horse training,” you sighed. “Not going well. Mine still hates me.”

Linda laughed, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You’ll win him over. Eventually.”

“Not if he throws me again. What about you?”

“I need to drop these off at the library in the manor,” she said, patting her overstuffed backpack like it was a living creature she was trying to subdue. “The Baroness gave me the look when she saw me carting them around yesterday.”

“You do have, like, half her collection. Was she complaining all her books were missing?”

“Oh, whatever. Aideen forbid a girl likes to read.”

You snorted. “I’m just teasing. Anyway, have you heard from Jay lately?”

Linda paused, eyes lighting up with a mix of amusement and secondhand embarrassment. “Yeah. They showed up at my door last night with flowers, tiramisu, and a card with a very poorly drawn dinosaur that said ‘sowwy.’”

You blinked. “Yikes. Should’ve gone with a poem.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So... what did you do?”

Linda snorted softly, finally managing to zip her backpack shut with effort. “I made them sit on my porch in silence for ten minutes while I finished my tea. Then I told them I’d think about forgiving them.”

You laughed. “Brutal.”

Linda let out a sigh and leaned back against the stall door. “Well, I mean after I stopped laughing at the card, I let them in. We talked. Sort of. Jay talked, I mostly listened. It was... messy. But honest.”

“Wow,” you said, impressed. “That’s progress. Emotionally messy is basically Jay’s love language.”

Linda nodded, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “They’re trying. I’ll give them that.”

“Did they say what actually happened? Why you were mad?”

Linda slung the heavy backpack over her shoulder and started walking with you down the aisle of the stable. “Something about ‘accidentally ghosting me for two weeks while plotting emotionally questionable hijinks with Sabine.’ I didn’t ask for details.”

You grimaced. “Probably for the best.”

Linda glanced sideways at you, a hint of amusement in her expression. “Speaking of emotionally questionable hijinks with Sabine…”

You raised your hands defensively. “Hey. I’m not plotting anything.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m not!”

Linda hummed thoughtfully. “You’re just mysteriously spending all your time in Jarlaheim, disappearing at weird hours, and looking like someone who got very little sleep but a lot of... attention.”

You gave her a flat look. “You sound like Lisa.”

“I sound like a friend who notices things,” she said, eyes kind even as she teased. “Just… be careful, okay?”

You exhaled, some of the lightness from the moment slipping away. “I am.”

Linda nodded, quiet for a few steps. Then, with a slightly wicked smile: “Although, if she breaks your heart, I will hit her with a copy of Jorvegian Mythology Volume III.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”

“She won’t see it coming.”

You were about to respond when a loud, indignant whinny echoed from the training paddock.

You winced. “That’s my horse. Time to go lose another round of our ongoing turf war.”

Linda chuckled. “Wear a helmet.”

“Already got two concussions. What’s one more?”

You started toward the paddock, but she called after you. “Hey—seriously. Don’t let the horse win. You’ve got this.”

You gave her a mock salute. “Thanks, Coach.”

As you crossed the field toward the arena, the sun rose just a little higher, warm on your back. And despite the rough start, and the emotional chaos that seemed to cling to everyone lately, something in your chest felt steadier than it had in a while.

Sabine had left early.

Jay was apologizing with dinosaur art.

Katja was being a cryptid in the corner.

And somehow, that all meant things were okay.

For now.

Your boots squelched slightly in the soft earth as you crossed into the paddock. Morning dew hadn’t fully burned off yet, and it clung to the grass and your sleeves. Your horse—currently nameless because you refused to name something you were at war with—stood by the far corner of the fence, watching you approach with the kind of expression you usually only saw on annoyed teachers or judging cats.

"Don't start," you muttered under your breath.

The horse snorted, then deliberately turned away, like it had better things to look at. Typical.

You grabbed a lunge line and a training halter, keeping your movements slow, measured. You’d tried pushing him before. That got you thrown. You’d tried being overly gentle. That got you trampled. Today was about balance. Calm. Controlled energy. Or so you told yourself.

He let you approach, ears twitching back and forth, suspicious but not fleeing. That was progress, at least.

“You hate me a little less today, hm?” you murmured, slipping the halter on.

The next twenty minutes were... mixed. He trotted in circles reluctantly, then refused to canter, then tried to bite you. He tossed his head when you clicked your tongue, like how dare you give him commands.

Linda passed by once with Meteor, giving you a sympathetic thumbs-up. You were sweating and sore by the time you called it a session, both of you breathing hard. But nobody got kicked. Nobody got thrown.

A win.

You led him back to the stables and unfastened the halter slowly, rubbing his shoulder.

“Maybe we’ll make a truce,” you whispered. “Just for the summer.”

The horse ignored you and tried to eat your shirt.

You sighed, gently pushing his muzzle away and stepping out of the stall.

That’s when you saw her.

Sabine.

Leaning against the fence just outside, arms crossed, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, expression unreadable. She was in full Dark Rider mode now—black jacket, tall boots, hair swept back, some of that usual arrogance wrapped around her like armor.

She gave you the smallest of nods when your eyes met.

Then she jerked her chin toward the woods behind the stable, where the path forked between the training grounds and the forest trail.

You knew that look.

You followed her.

You followed her in silence, the gravel path crunching beneath your boots as the barn faded behind you. The trees swallowed you both in shade and birdsong, and for a few quiet seconds, it almost felt like you were just two girls sneaking off to be alone.

But then she stopped.

Not in a soft, dreamy way. It was abrupt—like she hit an invisible wall—and when she turned to face you, something in her eyes was different. Harder. Guarded.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but she beat you to it.

“ I have to go on a mission.”

The words hit you like a cold wave, and for a moment, your brain couldn’t quite process them. Sabine was going on a mission? Now? After everything?

She didn’t give you time to ask the hundreds of questions piling up in your mind. Her voice, as always, was steady, but there was a tightness around the edges.

“They need me to gather something,” she continued, glancing away toward the distant horizon, her jaw clenching as if she was bracing herself. “Something important. I don’t have much time. It’s... necessary.”

You took a step closer, heart thumping in your chest, but something in her stance made you hesitate. This wasn’t just another mission. You could feel it. Something serious was coming, and Sabine was already walking headfirst into it.

“Sabine, you can’t—” you started, but she raised a hand, cutting you off.

“I have no choice,” Sabine said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“ How long?” you asked quietly, trying to lock eyes with her.

“ Couple days maybe.”

A couple of days. That wasn’t nearly enough time for the knot in your stomach to loosen. You reached out, not sure what you were hoping for—answers, comfort, something to make it easier. But she stepped back slightly, keeping the distance between you.

“I can’t tell you everything,” she added, voice quieter now, softer. “But I have to do this. For the Dark Riders.”

You swallowed, fighting to keep your emotions in check, but the weight of the moment made it impossible. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Sabine hesitated, and for a moment, it seemed like she might tell you something she hadn’t planned to. Her eyes softened—just a little—and you could see the battle in her expression. “I will,” she whispered. “I’ll be back.”

The words didn’t make the heaviness in your chest any lighter. You weren’t sure if they were for her, or for you. But in the silence that stretched between you, you could feel everything unspoken, everything you both held back, hanging in the air like a delicate thread.

You couldn’t let her go without something more. You took a deep breath, stepped forward, and reached for her.

Sabine’s gaze flicked down to your hand, then back up to your face. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but you didn’t give her a chance.

You leaned in, your hand cupping her jaw gently, stepping up onto your tippy toes, and pressed your lips to hers. It wasn’t a rush of desperation or a frantic goodbye—it was slow, soft, and full of everything that had been left unsaid between you. The kiss was a promise, a vow, a way of holding on to each other for just a moment longer.

When you pulled away, she looked at you with an intensity that almost made you shiver. Her voice was rougher this time. “I’ll be back.”

You nodded, your heart heavy in your chest. “I’m holding you to that.”

Sabine gave you a small, almost imperceptible smirk, the kind that made everything feel right, even when everything was falling apart. She stepped back, her boots crunching against the gravel as she turned toward the path ahead.

You stood there for a long moment, watching her walk away, the weight of her absence already settling in. And as she disappeared into the trees, you whispered to no one but the wind, “Be safe, Sabine. Please.”