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zeisly · 7 days ago

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“Just trying to make sure you’re okay,” - Garrick Tavis x female reader

Summary: Oren tries to kiss you but you defend yourself before Garrick can intervene

Warnings: almost non-con kiss; mainly fluff

Words: 3.2k

Y/N's POV

The courtyard is quiet tonight, almost too quiet, as I speed walk through it to get back to the dorms before anyone finds me out of bed. But, of course, nothing can go smoothly because suddenly Oren is appearing in front of me, backing me into one of the darker corners of the yard. His hand clamps tightly around my wrist, blunt nails digging into my skin painfully through my riding leathers as he looks me up and down like some piece of meat.

“What are you doing Oren?!” I grit out, trying to pull my arm free, but his hold seems to only tighten, nails probably drawing blood.

Oren doesn’t listen. Instead, he ignores me completely, yanking me closer, and I nearly gag at the stench that hits me. Up close, he reeks of sweat and stale air, his skin slick with it. His breath is hot and foul, making my stomach turn as he leans in, eyes dark with something I don’t want to acknowledge.

My heart pounds in my chest, the courtyard spinning around me as he comes even closer.

“Stop!” I mutter, but the word is stuck in my throat, barely audible as his lips hover just inches from mine. His breath is suffocating, thick and sour, and I want to recoil, but I can’t. My chest tightens, and my heart is pounding so loud it drowns out everything around me. I feel trapped, the space between us shrinking with each breath, with every disgusting inch he moves closer. My skin crawls under his touch, his nails digging deeper into my wrist, sending sharp waves of pain through my arm. I want to scream, to thrash, but it’s as if my body refuses to cooperate, frozen in fear.

I want to cry.

I feel my throat tighten with the urge, tears threatening to sting my eyes as panic bubbles up inside me. My mind races, searching for something—anything—to pull me out of this moment, to make this stop. But my voice is gone, stuck in my throat like a heavy stone.

I can hear Nyx in the back of my mind, a low growl vibrating through our bond. She senses my fear, my disgust, and it only amplifies her anger. Her presence is fierce, hot like the flames she can command, and it’s enough to remind me that I’m not helpless. I’m not weak.

And then I see it—movement. Out of the corner of my eye, two familiar forms lurking in the shadows. Xaden and Garrick. They’re close. Watching. I know they see what’s happening. The sight snaps me out of my stupor, adrenaline spiking in my veins like lightning. Something clicks in me. No. Not me—something else takes over, something fierce and powerful. Before I know it, my body moves on its own. My left fist swings up, and I don’t even think about the impact before it happens. My knuckles collide with Oren’s face, bone meeting flesh in a sickening crack.

The satisfaction is instant, a surge of power and pride washing over me as Oren stumbles back, clutching his cheek. His cry is sharp, high-pitched, almost girlish. My hand throbs with the blow, but the rush of adrenaline drowns out the pain.

He swears, stumbling as he tries to recover. “You—bitch,” he spits out, the word snarled through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of shock and fury. “Fucking crazy”

“Get the hell away from me,” I growl, voice finally steady, stronger than I thought possible. My arm is still throbbing, his nails having left deep indents, but I don’t care. Not anymore. Oren’s curses fill the air, each word sharper than the last as he stumbles, clutching his crooked, bleeding nose. His eyes burn with rage, and for a split second, I see him move forward, his hand dropping from his face as if he’s actually going to try something. My heart races again, but this time it’s different—I’m ready. My body hums with the rush of adrenaline, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

Then, behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Slow. Purposeful.

Xaden and Garrick emerge from the shadows like predators stalking their prey. They move in unison, lethal grace in every step. The tension in the air thickens, and Oren’s fury falters, replaced with something that looks like fear.

“You heard her.” Xaden’s voice cuts through the night like a blade, low and gruff, full of menace. It’s a command, not a suggestion, and it stops Oren in his tracks. His eyes flick between the two of them, the anger quickly draining from his face. For a moment, Oren looks like he wants to argue, but Xaden’s glare alone is enough to pin him in place. He swears under his breath, a mangled sound of frustration and pain, before finally turning on his heel, scampering away like a beaten dog.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding, the tension in my chest loosening as I watch him disappear into the darkness. The courtyard feels eerily quiet now, the only sounds the fading echo of Oren’s footsteps and the faint rustle of wind through the trees.

Before I can say anything, Xaden melts back into the shadows as swiftly as he appeared, his dark form blending with the night. I barely have time to open my mouth to thank him before he’s gone.

Now, it’s just me and Garrick.

The quiet between us feels thick but not uncomfortable. It’s like the night is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. His presence beside me is steady, a calm strength that I’ve come to rely on without even realising it. But tonight, it feels different. More intense, charged in a way I wasn’t expecting. His hazel eyes settle on me, soft but filled with something that makes my heart stutter, my pulse quickening under his gaze.

“Let me walk you back to your room," Garrick says, his voice deep and low, almost gravelly. There’s a protective edge to it, but also a gentleness that sends warmth flooding through me.

I nod softly, glancing up at him. Garrick is…Garrick. Pale skin that seems to glow in the moonlight, dark, messy curls that tumble around his face, and those striking hazel eyes that always seem to catch the light just right. His broad shoulders seem to take up twice the space as anyone else, his hulking frame making him appear almost too large for the quiet intimacy of this moment. He’s always towered over everyone, but there’s something comforting about it now, like his sheer size alone is enough to keep me safe from anything.

As we start walking, his footsteps slow and deliberate, he glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "You handled yourself well back there," he murmurs, the compliment soft but sincere. His voice sends shivers down my spine, but in a good way.

“Thanks,” I mumble, still trying to wrap my head around everything that just happened. My hand instinctively goes to rub the sore spot on my wrist where Oren’s grip had been, the skin tender and red. My heart hasn’t fully calmed yet, the adrenaline still rushing through my veins.

Out of nowhere, I see a flicker of movement in the shadows, and before I can stop myself, I jump, my body reacting before my mind can. My hand flies out, gripping Garrick’s without thinking. My heart slams against my ribs, panic from the encounter with Oren still fresh in my mind.

His hand tightens around mine instantly, strong and reassuring. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hesitate, just holds on, steady and unshakable. The warmth of his palm grounds me, the way his fingers curl around mine making me feel safe, like nothing can touch me as long as he’s here.

“Easy,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “It’s just a shadow.”

I nod, trying to steady my breathing as he leads me toward the dorm building. My heart is still hammering in my chest, but not just from the fear. There’s something else now, something unexpected. The way his hand feels in mine, the way he’s so calm, so present—it makes my stomach flip.

The dorm building looms ahead, dimly lit and quiet in the night. First-year cadets stay on the first floor, second years on the second, third years on the third. I’ve been here long enough to know the routine, and I expect him to lead me straight to my dorm on the first floor.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, we head up the stairs, each step making my pulse race a little faster. My hand stays firmly in his, his grip never loosening as he guides me upward. I glance up at him, confusion mixing with excitement. My nerves tingle as we climb higher and higher, past the first floor, then the second. My heart flutters in my chest, excitement thrumming through me as I realize where we’re heading.

He’s leading me to his floor.

I don’t ask why, and he doesn’t offer an explanation, but I don’t need one. The nervous energy swirling inside me is enough to keep me silent, anticipation sparking with every step.

We stop outside a door near the end of the hall, Garrick’s door. He pulls out a key and unlocks it with a quiet click. The door swings open, and he holds it for me, his broad frame taking up nearly the entire doorway. I duck under his arm, heart fluttering as I step inside.

His room is simple but unmistakably his. There’s a neatly made bed, sheets dark and crisp, and a large window with the moonlight streaming in, casting a silvery glow across the stone floor. A few personal belongings are scattered here and there—a well-worn book on the bedside table, boots tossed in the corner, and his riding gear draped over a chair. The space smells faintly of leather and something distinctly him, something warm and grounding. It’s comforting, yet I can’t help but feel a little out of place, unsure of why he’s brought me here instead of my own room.

Before I can ask, Garrick disappears into the small ensuite off to the side. I stand awkwardly near the bed, glancing around the room, feeling the nervous buzz in my stomach only grow stronger. A moment later, he returns, a small first aid kit in his hand.

It’s only then I notice the blood dripping down my arm, the dull ache in my wrist now sharp and stinging. Oren’s grip had cut deeper than I realized, nail marks leaving angry red trails down my skin.

Garrick’s eyes flick to my arm, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He guides me to sit on the edge of his bed, his touch gentle but firm. I swallow hard, trying to calm my racing heart as he kneels between my legs, settling there as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But my mind goes somewhere else entirely.

The sight of him kneeling between my legs, his large hands carefully rolling up my sleeve, sends a rush of heat through me that has nothing to do with the pain in my arm. He’s so close—so achingly close—that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, the scent of leather and something distinctly Garrick enveloping us. My heart races, each thump echoing in my ears, the quiet of the room amplifying the moment in a way that feels almost intimate.

His hazel eyes flicker to the cuts on my forearm, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s fully aware of the effect he has on me, the way my breath hitches in my throat as he hovers near. It’s as if he knows what this proximity does to me, and a thrill runs through my veins at the realization that maybe, just maybe, I do the same to him. I see the slight dilation of his pupils, the way his breathing slows as he focuses entirely on me, and my body ignites with a mix of nervous energy and undeniable desire.

The sting of the antiseptic pulls me back to reality, yet it only sharpens the knot of yearning tightening in my stomach. I try to remind myself this is just a simple first-aid moment, but the heat in the room feels electric. My mind races with thoughts of how his hands would feel against my skin, exploring in ways that have nothing to do with cuts and bruises.

And before I can stop myself, my fingers find his dark curls, threading through them like they were meant to be touched. They’re even softer than I imagined, silky and thick, each strand slipping between my fingers as if inviting me to pull him closer. I don’t realize how tightly I’m holding on until Garrick lets out a low, choked sound, his breath hitching in the back of his throat, his body freezing for just a moment.

The sound sends a jolt of electricity through me, awakening something primal and teasing in my nature. I can’t help the smirk that plays at my lips as I notice the flush creeping up his neck. He tries to regain his composure, but there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in his hazel eyes as he looks up at me, and I wonder if he feels the same pull I do.

“Sorry,” I murmur, feigning innocence even though my heart races with excitement. But it’s not just an apology; it’s an invitation. I want to see how he reacts, to push the boundaries just a little further.

As he resumes tending to my arm, his hands brushing against my skin send shivers racing up my spine. The intimacy of the moment is almost dizzying, and I can’t ignore the way he leans in slightly, the heat of his body melding with mine, the tension between us crackling like wildfire. I bite my lip, a mix of shyness and daring coursing through me as I realize I’m enjoying this far too much.

Garrick’s fingers linger on the edge of my sleeve, and I can’t help but wonder how it would feel if he slid them higher, if he let himself explore the curve of my arm, the pulse in my wrist. The thought sends a rush of heat to my cheeks, and I catch the briefest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Just trying to make sure you’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, that teasing glint in his eye making it hard to breathe. And in that moment, the space between us feels charged, electric—like the very air around us is begging to be ignited.

Taking a leap of faith, I tug gently on his curls again, tilting his head up just enough to meet his gaze. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, the world outside fades away. My heart races, a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty swirling within me. Is this too far? But as I lean in, I can feel the heat radiating between us, a magnetic pull that draws me closer.

Before I can overthink it, Garrick surges up, closing the gap in a heartbeat. Our lips collide softly at first, a tentative exploration filled with the sweetness of newfound desire. His lips are plush and soft against mine, as if they were made for this very moment. I feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both.

As the kiss deepens, the hesitance gives way to something hotter and more fervent. Garrick shifts, rising over me, and the solid weight of him pressing me into the bed sends a thrill coursing through my veins. The sensation of his body enveloping me, so solid yet incredibly soft, feels intoxicating. His hands find my hips, fingers digging in just enough to elicit a gasp from my lips, while the other hand weaves into my hair, tilting my head to give him better access.

Every brush of his fingers against my skin sends shivers racing through me, igniting a burning desire I can no longer ignore. I run my hands up his chest, feeling the strength in his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. My fingers trace over the defined contours, relishing the solid warmth of him. His chest and abs are firm, but there’s an underlying softness that invites me to explore further, to push the boundaries of what’s possible between us.

The kiss grows more passionate, more desperate, as if we’re both trying to convey everything we’ve felt but couldn’t say. My heart races, each thump echoing in my ears, urging me to hold on tighter, to pull him closer. I can feel the heat radiating off him, our bodies moving in perfect harmony as the kiss deepens into something raw and hungry.

Garrick’s hands move with a gentle but possessive touch, gripping my hips as he hovers above me, his body fitting perfectly against mine. It’s as if we were always meant to be this way, lost in each other’s embrace, with every kiss unraveling a new layer of longing and connection.

As we kiss, I feel a surge of confidence blooming within me. This is right—this connection, this spark between us. I pull him closer, my fingers threading through his hair, deepening the kiss as I lose myself in the moment. Time seems to stand still, the world outside fading away, leaving only Garrick and me in this cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

I never want to stop kissing Garrick. Each brush of his lips against mine sends waves of warmth radiating through me, igniting a passion I didn’t know existed. I get lost in the taste of him, the softness, the way he fits against me perfectly as if we’re two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together.

But eventually, the kiss softens, and I can feel him pulling away, breathless and heated. His hazel eyes, usually so calm and steady, are now dark with desire, filled with a fire that leaves me wanting more. I see the flush on his pale skin, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, mirroring my own racing heart.

Garrick leans back slightly, though his hands remain resting on my hips, grounding us both in this moment. “We should... probably get some sleep,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, filled with a mixture of longing and reluctance.

I can hear the unspoken words lingering in the air, the promise of more to come. “We can continue this later,” he adds, a teasing smile playing on his lips, as if he knows just how much he affects me.

A breathless laugh escapes me, the reality of what we’ve just shared sinking in. “Yeah, later,” I echo, feeling the heat radiate between us even as he pulls away fully.

The space between us feels both empty and electric, the remnants of our kisses hanging in the air like an unbroken promise. I watch him, heart pounding, already anticipating the next time our lips will meet, the next chance to explore this new, thrilling connection but knowing he’s mine and I’m his, sinking into his soft, Garrick smelling bed for the night.

Fourth Wing Masterlist - To be made Comment to be added to tag list

#fourth wing #garrick tavis

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zeisly · 8 days ago

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A Burning Desire masterlist

firefighter!joel x f!reader

artwork by anush semerjyan (uploaded on pinterest)

rating: explicit. 18+ only.

series warnings: joel miller au, fluff, angst, smut. each part is marked with their own warnings. reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns.

series synopsis: you were fine with being single, basking in the freedom and independence of it all—until a handsome firefighter walks into your life and completely flips your world around.

moodboard • part ii

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

holidays with the millers – drabble

part eight

part nine

part ten

sarah’s birthday – drabble

part eleven

part twelve

divider by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller

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zeisly · 8 days ago

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FALLING. RATING Explicit (18+ only) PAIRING Joel Miller x BIPOC OFC (Leela) FORMAT & SETTING Joel's POV & Post-TLOU Jackson AU WORD COUNT PER CHAPTER approx. 12,000+ STATUS Complete

SUMMARY It is said that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future. Now, Joel Miller wasn’t looking to be a saint. Trust was a liability. Love, a memory too painful to keep. But if a sinner like him still had some future, and if that future starts with one night—a baby’s relentless cries cracking through his walls and breaking him open—then maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t lost everything yet. Against all instincts, he steps into that big, white house across his street. Nothing drives Joel to linger, but he does. For the baby at first—nascent Maya, with her bright eyes and fistfuls of Joel’s collar. Then, the strange new mother. What begins as an uneasy coexistence grows into something deeper, which neither of them dares name. Haunted by a narrative she never chose, brilliant but reclusive, Leela’s mind runs into the theoretical—proofs, patterns, chasing solutions to an unsolvable equation—while Joel’s hands are scarred by the practical: protecting, killing, enduring. When that peace becomes fleeting, when a fragile hope in the shape of a mathematical discovery begins to bloom, and the world, as always, threatens to take it away, Joel confronts what it means to fall—not just into the impossible, but into love, into hope, into the fragile rhythms of Leela and Maya’s life, and their quiet home that becomes a rare thing in this decaying tomorrow: a reason to stay. This is a story of healing, found family, and the abnormal, slow math of love—how we factor grief, multiply hope, balance the unknowns, it never adds up but somehow makes perfect sense.

INDEX (might be subject to change as the story progresses.)

part i -> EVENT HORIZON

part ii -> MICROFRACTURE

part iii -> FALSE EQUILIBRIUM

part iv -> MINIMUM VIABLE HOPE

part v -> RECONSTRUCTION ALGORITHM

part vi -> LIMIT APPROACHES GRACE

part vii -> FREEFALL FUNCTION

part viii -> SOFT INFINITY

part ix -> STITCH THEORY

interlude

part x -> DECOHERENCE

part xi -> ZERO CROSSING

part xii -> THEOREM OF BECOMING

part xiii -> HEURISTIC BLOOM

part xiv -> THE FINAL INTEGRATION

epilogue

acknowledgements

FALLING MOODBOARD (a huge bear hug, thank you and shoutout to the incredible @jolapeno !!)

FALLING MOODBOARD (2) (so many kisses and so much love to the talented, sweet @mrsmando !!)

CHARACTER STUDY A deep dive into Joel, Maya, and Leela, answering an ask from one of my sweetheart friends @jodiswiftle who followed along!

AUTHOR'S NOTE Have loads of fun with this masterlist! took me a while to think up a different way to potray these chapters, I'm so glad it came through so great!

TAGS your (ultimate) fix-it fic, The Dad™️ Joel, softest Joel you've ever seen, he is also an old yearner cuntstruck hardass, Joel being down bad for a teeny baby girl, OFC is arabic, OFC being an academic nerd and STEM girlie, the cutest baby (Maya) ever, baby is an actual character, Miller family dynamics, Tommy-Joel-Ellie hooliganisms, life in Jackson town, Ellie being the generally awesome older sister, neighbours-to-lovers trope, found family, slowburn, a lot of math references, lotsa door metaphors, epistolary interlude.

CONTENT WARNINGS eventual smut (the whole kaboodle), big griefs, depression, unbearable angst, violence, gore, blood, alcoholism, substance abuse, post-natal depression, the pains of motherhood, mentions of rape and suicide, childbirth.

#joel miller

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zeisly · 8 days ago

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Drunk of a hunk

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Xaden handles a chaotic bedtime solo while you're out on a wild girls’ night, only to come home to your drunk, unhinged flirting and glitter-fuelled child science experiments. The next morning, you're sick and miserable, Kaheli unleashes a glitter explosion, and Ridoc shows up uninvited with juice and stories. Despite the madness, Xaden holds it all together—barely—because life with you and the kids is as exhausting as it is worth it.

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains themes of alcohol, mentions of sex, mentions of pregnancy, vomiting, biting, hungover, cursing.

Tyrrendor Stronghold — Years After the War

Peace had come to Tyrrendor like spring sunlight: slow, tentative, and almost too beautiful to trust at first. But trust it they did, eventually. The war was long behind them. Xaden bore its shadows still—worn quietly behind his sharp eyes and etched into the scar on his forearm—but his world now was different. Quieter. Fuller.

And tonight, that world consisted of you, off somewhere across the courtyard with Violet, Imogen, Mira, and Rhiannon on what Kaheli had dramatically referred to as “a battle council of the girls”—and Ridoc, for some unfathomable reason, who had tagged along like he belonged there.

Xaden hadn’t even asked. He knew better.

Instead, he was at home with his children—Liam, nine years old and wise beyond it, curled into the oversized reading chair with a blanket around his shoulders like a small scholar—and Kaheli, seven years old and an unrelenting storm in girl form.

“She has your will,” he’d muttered more than once.

And now she had his boots.

“Kaheli,” Xaden called, exasperated, following the sound of stomping down the stone hallway. “My boots are not bedtime attire.”

“But they make me taller,” came the gleeful voice in reply. She appeared around the corner, all tangled hair and sleepy mischief, the massive black boots flopping around her little legs. “And Liam said I couldn’t reach the cookie jar unless I grew two inches. These are, like… four!”

Xaden pinched the bridge of his nose and took a slow breath.

Through his mental bond, Sgaeyl’s voice curled into his mind like smoke and amusement.

“You command legions, and yet a seven-year-old bests you. Fascinating.”

“I didn’t ask for commentary.”

“She has your eyes, but her logic is all your mate’s.”

Xaden snorted softly and shot back, “You’re not helping.”

Kaheli was now tiptoeing her way toward the kitchen again, boots clonking and giggles echoing. Liam hadn’t looked up from his book.

“Dad,” Liam said evenly, “she’s also using one of your belts to lasso the pantry door.”

Xaden swore under his breath and turned on his heel. “Kaheli Riorson, I swear on every battle I've ever fought, if that belt breaks—”

She yelped and sprinted, leaving the boots behind. By the time he got to the pantry, there was a pile of clothing, half a banana, a wooden sword, and a mangled belt left in her wake. She’d vanished into her room.

Back in the living room, Liam finally glanced up. His black hair was mussed just slightly, one of Kaheli’s glitter stickers still stuck to his pajama sleeve. His quiet, steady eyes—the same shade as yours��blinked up at his father with calm resignation.

“Do I still have to brush my teeth if Kaheli isn’t doing it?”

Xaden ran a hand over his face, then down through his hair. “Yes. Because you’re the eldest. And responsible. And possibly my only hope of maintaining peace in this house.”

Liam gave a long-suffering sigh, like a man forty years older, and slid off the chair. Kaheli, naturally, was now in the bathtub. With her socks still on.

“I needed to give my dolls a swimming lesson!” she declared when Xaden opened the bathroom door and froze at the puddle reaching the hallway.

“You’re not even in the tub—why are you soaked?”

“I fell. But it was heroic.”

Sgaeyl’s voice again.

“This one should command legions, too.”

“She’ll command my grave at this rate.”

“You adore her.”

Xaden crouched beside the tub, plucked a soap bubble off Kaheli’s nose, and kissed her forehead. “You are chaos incarnate.”

She beamed. “Mama says you love it.”

“I do,” he admitted quietly.

It took another forty-five minutes—three false starts, two rounds of Kaheli crawling under her bed insisting she was a cat and therefore didn’t sleep on mattresses, and one emergency hunt for Liam’s missing dragon plushie—but eventually both children were in their beds.

Liam, in his favourite green blanket with his book tucked under his pillow. Kaheli, finally clean, hair braided with soft fingers by her father, one foot still poking out of the covers like a rebellion.

“You know Mama’s gonna bring back chocolate from the market, right?” Kaheli whispered as Xaden tucked her in.

He raised a brow. “That’s not guaranteed.”

“It is,” she insisted. “She always does when she hangs out with Auntie Mira. They have dessert secrets.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Go to sleep, little storm.”

The room dimmed as he stepped out. He paused in the hallway, listening. For once, silence. He leaned against the wall, rolled his eyes, and reached for the bond again.

“They live. I live. Barely.”

“Your female would be proud.”

He smiled faintly.

And somewhere in the distance, through the kitchen door left open, he swore he heard the faintest crunch.

“…Kaheli,” he growled, stalking down the hall again. The crunch echoed like a war cry in the silence that had, for a blissful thirty seconds, lulled Xaden into believing he had finally won the bedtime battle. His eyes narrowed. His shoulders dropped. And somewhere behind his temple, a headache bloomed.

Crunch. Again. Louder this time.

“They’re supposed to be asleep,” he sent pointedly through the bond, only for Sgaeyl to offer what he could only interpret as a mental shrug.

“They are small and fast. You, my bonded, are slow and optimistic.”

Xaden muttered something very un-duke-like and made his way down the corridor again, this time toward the kitchen. The light was off, but the pantry door was cracked open. Suspiciously quiet. Dangerously quiet.

He reached the entrance, nudged the door open—and there they were.

Liam, perched on a kitchen stool, pajama-clad and still holding his book like it was a shield between him and the consequences of whatever came next. And Kaheli, standing barefoot on the countertop, one hand in the cookie jar and the other already stuffed with contraband, cheeks puffed like a squirrel.

“…Really?” Xaden asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “This is the strategy you went with?”

Liam looked up. “I wasn’t part of it. I was just… observing.”

Kaheli grinned, absolutely unbothered. “You didn’t say no midnight snacks weren’t allowed. You just said ‘go to bed.’ Which I did. And then I got back up.”

Xaden closed his eyes.

“You raised this one. She learned loopholes from you.”

“I swear to the gods, if you don’t stop enjoying this…”

He stepped fully into the room now, gesturing for Kaheli to get down from the counter. “Boots. Belts. Bathtubs. Now burglary. What’s next, organizing a heist with Ridoc?”

She gasped, delighted. “Can we?”

“No.”

Liam slid off the stool, brushing crumbs off his hands like he had no stake in the crime. “We were hungry.”

“You had dinner.”

“But we’re growing.”

Kaheli nodded solemnly in agreement. ��And growing kids need chocolate. That’s what Auntie Mira said. She has science.”

Xaden exhaled. “Auntie Mira is not a licensed nutritional expert. And she’s banned from this house for a week.”

Kaheli’s mouth opened in a shocked gasp. “You can’t ban her! She brings the good candy!”

“I’m the Duke. I can ban whoever I want.”

“But Mama outranks you!”

He gritted his teeth. “She does, and I hate that you know it.”

Kaheli reached for another cookie, and Xaden plucked the jar from her hand mid-air. “That’s it. Bed. Now. Or I’m telling Sgaeyl to stand guard outside your door.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him with the calculated intensity of a tiny general. Liam quietly backed out of the kitchen, book tucked under his arm, mouthing good luck to his father as he retreated.

Kaheli sighed dramatically, stomped once for effect, and then padded off down the hall. Xaden turned off the kitchen light, placed the cookie jar safely on the top shelf, and stood there for a moment in the quiet.

He let the bond open again.

“Still slow. Still outnumbered.”

“Next time, you’re babysitting.”

“I will eat the pantry.”

He rolled his eyes and headed toward the bedrooms.

When he reached Kaheli’s door, he found her sitting upright in bed, arms crossed, glaring at him like he’d ruined her entire career.

“You’re going to tell Mama, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What if I give you back your belt?”

“…Which belt.”

She produced it from under her blanket with a grin. “The braided one.”

“…The one you used to lasso the pantry?”

“I also tied it to my dresser. For science.”

He took the belt, trying not to laugh. “Sleep. Now. Before I make Sgaeyl your alarm clock in the morning.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He turned off the light. “Oh, I would.”

Xaden glanced at the time, then back at the unsigned form in front of him. His quill stilled mid-sentence. He could feel your bond tug first—buzzing at the edge of his senses with a kind of chaotic, sloshed glee that could only mean one thing.

“You’re almost home, aren’t you?”

The front door clicked.

“Shit.”

He didn’t bother getting up. Just waited.

Sure enough, footsteps echoed unevenly through the hallway. Loud ones. Something clinked against the wall. A thud. A muttered curse. A definite giggle.

Then—your silhouette stumbled into the bedroom, framed by moonlight and the faint amber glow of hallway sconces.

You were holding a nearly empty bottle of vodka in one hand like it was a prize, hair tousled from wind and dancing and whatever else the night had thrown at you.

“Duke Riorson!” you slurred with the pomp of a court herald. “I have returned from battle.”

He looked up from the desk, setting his quill aside, mouth twitching.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

You squinted at him. “Why’re you still awake? It’s, like, tomorrow already.”

“I can’t sleep without you. Also—” he held up a parchment, “—these jackasses in the northern province sent the wrong treaty, again.”

You pointed at him with the neck of the bottle. “You should sleep. You’re sexy when you sleep. Also awake. Also when you’re angry. Also when you yell at people, especially when you yell at people.”

“You’re drunk,” he said flatly, but he was already half-smiling.

You staggered toward him and stopped in the middle of the room like you forgot what your legs were doing.

“My panties are stuck in my ass,” you announced.

Xaden blinked. “…Not where I thought this was going.”

“They’ve been up there for hours. Violet said it’s a metaphor for womanhood.”

“Remind me to revoke her influence in your life.”

You took a sip from the bottle—straight vodka, not a mixer in sight—and then tilted your head, eyes wide and sparkling with mischief.

“Do you wanna help me get them out?”

He barked a laugh, head dropping into one hand. “Gods, you’re a menace.”

You walked over and collapsed dramatically into his lap, limbs sprawling, nearly knocking the ink pot over.

“You know what else is stuck?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“My heart. It’s stuck to you.”

He snorted. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, my standards drop when you’re this hot and I’m this hammered.”

You poked at the collar of his shirt. “You know what I wanna do?”

“I truly don’t.”

“Rip this open. Push everything off this desk. Ruin you.”

He held your wrist, steady but gentle. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m also incredibly horny.”

“And incredibly uncoordinated,” he said as you tried to shimmy off his lap and immediately lost your balance, nearly sliding to the floor before he caught you around the waist.

You blinked up at him, hair sticking to your cheek. “Are you holding me like a princess?”

“Trying to keep you from smashing your face, sweetheart.”

“You’re so strong. Like scary strong. I wanna climb you like a tree.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, head falling back toward the ceiling like he was praying for strength from the gods.

“Stars save me…”

“I’m gonna lick your abs.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’ll be sober in like… an hour.”

“You absolutely will not be.”

“Then I’ll lick them while drunk.”

He cupped your face gently. “Love of my life,” he said softly. “You’re completely gone.”

“I still know I want you naked.”

“You also think the fireplace is judging you right now.”

You turned toward the stone hearth and pointed. “You are, Harold. You judgmental brick bitch.”

Xaden bit back a full laugh and kissed your temple. “Okay. Come on.”

He helped you to your feet, guiding you toward the bed. You promptly faceplanted across it.

“Mmmph,” came your muffled voice. “This is nice. You’re gonna have to undress me though, my fingers forgot how to buttons.”

He crouched beside the bed and ran a hand down your back, eyes softening.

“You are chaos,” he whispered.

You lifted your head just slightly. “But I’m your chaos.”

He brushed hair from your cheek, leaned in, and kissed you once, sweet and slow.

“That,” he murmured, “is the only thing you’ve said all night that makes sense.”

You were sprawled half on the bed, half on your husband, the hem of your dress bunched up around your thighs, and one leg casually tossed across Xaden’s lap. Your arms were draped around his neck like you were trying to pull him into a kiss and/or wrestle him into submission.

“I want you,” you murmured, voice low and hoarse in his ear.

He sighed. “I know.”

“No, like—right now.” You wiggled. “I want you to do that thing where you growl and shove me against something and ruin me for days.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m motivated.”

You tried to slide closer, mouth brushing along his jaw, breath hot against his skin. “I’ve been thinking about you all night. You and your stupid arms and your broody face and the way your hair looks when you’re pissed off and—”

He caught your chin gently, tilting your face up. “You reek of alcohol.”

“Sexy, right?” you whispered.

“I can’t even believe you made it home upright.”

“I was thinking about your thighs the entire walk.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, muscles visibly straining in his jaw. Your hand was already drifting downward, sliding across the waistband of his pants with zero finesse and every ounce of determination.

“Baby,” he warned, catching your wrist.

“But you feel so good,” you whined, rocking against him. “Let me make you feel good. I need it.”

“You need water. And sleep.”

“I need your hands. I need your teeth. I need your—”

He groaned quietly and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re going to kill me.”

“I promise to resurrect you. After.”

“Sweetheart—” his voice was rough, low, “—if you don’t stop grinding on me, I’m going to lose what’s left of my control, and tomorrow you’ll be yelling at me for taking advantage.”

You pouted. “You always ruin it when you’re being noble.”

“You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I’ll climb you in the morning.”

“Fine. You can climb me after you’ve had water, slept off the vodka, and stopped calling the fireplace Harold.”

You glanced toward the hearth and gave it a dirty look. “He’s still judging me.”

Xaden kissed your forehead, then firmly rolled you off his lap and onto the bed. He pulled the blankets over you, tucking them under your arms like you were the most infuriating and precious thing he’d ever seen.

You blinked up at him, pouty and pink-lipped. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m the most fun,” he promised, brushing his fingers down your cheek. “You’ll just have to wait ‘til you’re sober to enjoy it.”

You huffed and turned your back to him—but not before muttering, “You better be shirtless when I wake up.”

He smirked. “I’ll think about it.”

And then, quietly, from under the blankets, your voice again:

“I still want to lick your abs.”

“Sleep, menace.”

For the twenty minutes following that, room was finally quiet.

Mostly.

The kind of quiet that came with you flopping around like a disgruntled sea otter tangled in silk sheets.

Xaden had just extinguished the lantern, letting moonlight bathe the room in silver-blue shadows. He was propped against the headboard, shirt unbuttoned, paperwork forgotten on the nightstand as he tried—and failed—to get you to lie still.

But you had other plans.

You rolled over with all the grace of a tipsy thunderclap and landed half on top of him again, cheek smooshed against his bare bicep like it was a cloud forged by gods.

“Mmmm,” you moaned, dragging your face along it like a cat. “This is the best pillow. Ever.”

He looked down at you, blinking slowly. “My arm?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Specifically this one. Left arm. It's got a thicker energy.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

You traced a lazy finger over his tattoo, swirling where the inky lines wrapped around his muscle. “I think about this arm too much, honestly.”

He smirked. “Do you?”

“I think about wrapping both legs around it. Like, just your arm. Not even the rest of you. I could ride this bicep like a—like a warhorse.”

He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, head dropping back against the headboard.

“And look at the veins,” you whispered reverently, running your palm up from his wrist to his elbow like you were examining marble. “Like lightning. Like a map. Like fate.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“I want to bite it.”

“What?”

“Just a little bite,” you said, already nuzzling the crook of his elbow. “Like a soft, affectionate chomp. Just to know it’s real.”

“That’s not a thing people do.”

“I do. I bite the things I love.”

He looked vaguely concerned. “You’re not a teething toddler.”

“Shh. Let me love you, arm first.”

Before he could stop you, you sank your teeth gently into the top of his bicep—not hard, just enough pressure to earn a twitch and a surprised inhale.

“Did you just mark me?”

You grinned up at him. “Possibly.”

“Stars,” he muttered.

You licked it, too.

“You licked it?!”

“I had to even it out!”

He dropped his head into one hand. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m lucky you’re built like a living weapon,” you mumbled, already cuddling back into his side like nothing had happened. “Your arms should be illegal.”

“Maybe you should be illegal.”

“Too late. I’m your problem now.”

He sighed, threading his fingers through your hair as you tucked your head under his chin.

You murmured sleepily, “Tomorrow I’m gonna try to straddle just one of your arms.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said dryly. “I’ll alert the guards.”

You yawned, kissed his shoulder lazily, and whispered: “Your biceps deserve their own title. Like, ‘Lord of All Forearms.’”

He looked down at you. “Do you want me or my limbs, exactly?”

“Both. But right now? The limbs. Specifically the upper ones.”

He shook his head, biting down a grin. Gods help him, he was going to let you bite him again tomorrow if you asked.

The moon had shifted by the time Xaden felt his eyelids starting to betray him.

You were draped across him like a weighted blanket, your breath warm and steady against the bare skin of his chest. One leg tangled possessively over his, arm flung across his waist. A chaotic goddess in dishevelled silk, your hair tickled his neck and your body radiated heat like you’d stolen the sun itself.

And for once… it was quiet.

No bedtime screaming. No crashing sounds from Liam’s room. No Kaheli leaping onto furniture pretending to be a gryphon. No Sgaeyl mentally snorting her disapproval from somewhere above the stronghold. Just this: you, in his arms, soft and vulnerable and sprawled across him like home.

He looked down at you, unable to help the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He'd never get over this—having you like this. Keeping you. Watching you wreak gentle havoc in his fortress heart and deciding he’d die before he ever let the world take you from him.

You murmured something in your sleep. A soft, slurred little sound like “mmmwarms’good.” Your cheek nuzzled his chest, lips grazing skin, and he melted all over again.

He exhaled, content.

Finally—finally—he let his head fall back against the pillows, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to start slipping into sleep.

And then:

“I want another baby.”

Xaden’s eyes snapped open.

He turned his head slowly, wondering if he’d imagined it. If perhaps you were mumbling again, like you had earlier about how “the fireplace knows your sins.”

But no. You were awake.

Barely.

Your lashes were heavy and your words sluggish, but your hand was now trailing across his chest in lazy, drunken circles, dangerously close to sliding south again.

“You what?” he asked, voice low.

“I wanna make a baby,” you whispered, like it was a secret you were telling the night. “With you. Again.”

He blinked. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m honest.”

“You’re drunk and honest. That’s a deadly combination.”

You turned your face upward, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You’re a really good dad, Xaden.”

That one landed hard. Right in the sternum.

“I watched you brush Kaheli’s hair this morning,” you continued, your voice dreamlike and sweet, “even though she said it hurt and tried to slap the brush out of your hand. And Liam hugged you before bed last night without you even asking.”

His throat went tight.

You looked up at him, eyes glassy but suddenly sharp. “We made them. They’re ours. That’s real.”

“Of course it’s real,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles over your cheek.

You smiled sleepily. “I want more of you in the world. Little pieces. Loud ones. Wild ones. Babies with your eyes and your ridiculous shoulders.”

“I thought you said my shoulders were built for sin.”

“They are. But they also hold sleeping kids without flinching.”

You nestled closer. “I want to make another baby with you, Xaden Riorson. Not tonight. But soon.”

His breath hitched.

You were tipsy and warm and half-asleep and completely sincere, and it made something ancient in him unravel a little more.

He kissed your temple. “You really mean it?”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah. I really do.”

Silence stretched between you. His hand moved automatically, brushing back your hair, stroking your spine.

And after a beat, he whispered, “Okay.”

You sighed, content. Already slipping back toward sleep.

But not before you mumbled, “Can I name the next one? I’m thinking something powerful. Like ‘Dagger’ or ‘Moonwolf.’”

Xaden groaned. “Stars, help me.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

You were asleep ten seconds later.

But Xaden?

He lay there wide awake, staring at the ceiling, heart thundering with equal parts dread and delight, his arm curled protectively around you.

You wanted another baby.

And the worst part?

He wanted it too.

6:04 a.m. — Tyrrendor Stronghold Bedroom

Xaden stirred before the sun broke fully over the spires. Something—no, someone—was shifting against him. Warm and twitching. At first, he thought it was Kaheli again, crawling in to steal cuddles like she did half the week.

But then he heard it.

A soft, pitiful groan. Low and raw.

His eyes snapped open. You were still in his arms, curled into him like the night before, but your body was tense now. You were clammy to the touch—damp with sweat—and your face…

Your face was pale, flushed in the cheeks but drained everywhere else. A sharp contrast to the flushed warmth and rosy glow you’d worn home with that vodka bottle gripped in your hand.

“Y/N?” he whispered, lifting himself onto one elbow. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer at first—only whimpered, pressing a hand to your stomach.

Then came the gag.

Sharp. Guttural. Desperate.

You jerked forward with it, clutching your middle, your other hand fumbling toward your mouth like it might be able to stop what was coming.

“Oh no—fuck, hold on—” Xaden was already moving, trying to help you up, he knew he should have set up a bucket last night, but—

It was too late.

You lurched violently to the side of the bed and retched.

There was no grace in it. No time to even aim for the floor properly. It hit the wooden planks in a splatter, your breath coming in hiccupped sobs between heaves. Acidic. Loud. Violent.

You braced one trembling hand against the nightstand and gasped as another wave hit you. Your body convulsed with the force of it, shoulders shaking. And when it finally stopped—when the worst of it passed—you collapsed forward, moaning softly through gritted teeth.

Tears had gathered in the corners of your eyes. The shame of it, the pain of it, the sheer embarrassment of being sick like this—it carved deep.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, breath ragged, voice tight with emotion. “I didn’t make it. I’m so—shit—I’m sorry—”

“Stop,” Xaden said immediately, kneeling beside you without hesitation. “Don’t apologize.”

You were sweating now, soaked at the hairline, strands plastered to your cheeks and neck. He reached for the cloth draped over the armchair from last night, wet it with the water pitcher on the dresser, and gently pressed it to the back of your neck.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, brushing your hair back as he knelt beside you. “You’re okay.”

You were still trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t mean to wake you up…”

“You think I’m sleeping through that?” he said with a breath of dry humor, though his voice was soft, soothing. He rubbed your back, careful and slow, like calming Kaheli after a nightmare. “You’re sick, not an inconvenience.”

You gave a broken laugh, forehead pressed to your wrist. “Gods, I’m disgusting right now.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, firm and unflinching. “You’re mine.”

His voice was low. Steady. Grounding.

And then, gently but without waiting for protest, he lifted you from the floor—strong arms wrapped around you, one hand warm at your back, the other under your knees.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

The warm light of early dawn spilled across the stone floor as Xaden pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder, carrying you like something breakable. You didn’t fight it—not even a little. You just curled into his chest, exhausted and ashamed, your arms wrapped weakly around his neck.

You hated being sick.

You especially hated being seen like this.

But gods… he made it feel okay. Somehow, he always did.

He set you down gently on the cushioned bench beside the deep, sunken tub, his hands brushing your thighs before he stood.

“Sit. Don’t move,” he said softly, already reaching to turn the taps.

The steam rose quickly, curling in the air, scenting it faintly with the calming herbs he'd mixed into the bath salts weeks ago—juniper, lavender, something else earthy. The same ones you liked when your muscles were sore from training or too much traveling between wards.

You watched him in silence, your heart aching in your chest. He didn’t look annoyed. Didn’t flinch once. His jaw was a little tight—he hated seeing you in pain—but everything else about him was calm, capable. Soft, in that Xaden way that always belonged only to you.

He turned back to you once the water was halfway up the sides of the tub.

“Arms up,” he said gently.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m helping you undress, love. You’re not exactly steady right now.”

You let out a breath, half a laugh, half a groan, but obeyed, raising your arms as he peeled your wrinkled sleep shirt off. You were still sweating, cold and hot all at once, stomach churning weakly. Your skin felt too tight on your bones.

Still, when he dropped to his knees again and kissed your bare knee, slow and reverent, your throat threatened to close with emotion.

“I threw up all over the floor,” you whispered, blinking fast. “And now you’re—”

“Washing you. Taking care of you. Loving you. Pick one.”

Your mouth opened. Closed.

He helped you into the tub slowly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, the other steadying your arm. The water was heaven—warm, enveloping, a balm against your trembling body.

You sank into it with a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut as the heat started to unknot the worst of the shakes. When you opened them again, Xaden was sitting beside the tub, sleeves rolled up, a warm washcloth in hand. He reached in, brushing it over your shoulder. Your collarbone. The back of your neck. All in silence.

Until finally, you cracked a smile.

“I really am disgusting.”

“You’re mine,” he said again, dipping the cloth, “and I’ll clean up your vomit a hundred times over if it means I get to keep you.”

You rolled your head to the side, water rippling around your shoulders as you blinked at him. “That’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He chuckled lowly. “Not exactly how I imagined our morning after your drunken declarations of wanting to name a baby Moonwolf.”

You groaned and sank lower into the tub, covering your face. “Please tell me I didn’t say that.”

“You did,” he said, laughing now. “After threatening to bite my arms and trying to take off my pants with one hand.”

“Stars, end me.”

“Not happening.”

You peeked out from behind your fingers. He was still there. Still smiling. Still steady and warm and real.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely above the sound of the water lapping at the tub’s edges.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger there.

“Always.”

By the time Xaden finished rinsing you off and wrapped you in the softest towel he could find, you were half-asleep again, head lolling gently against his shoulder. He carried you back to bed without comment, tucking you in like he was handling something sacred.

You mumbled something incoherent about toast. Or stars. Or possibly Sgaeyl’s tail. He kissed your temple and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before disappearing into the hallway.

You barely had time to sigh into the pillows before—

BANG.

The bedroom door slammed open like it had never heard of quiet hours. “MAMA!” Kaheli squealed, flinging herself onto the bed and landing squarely on your hip. “Are you dead?!”

You groaned, rolling halfway onto your side. “Not yet.”

She sniffed you. Actually sniffed you. “You smell like… old grapes and sick.”

“That would be the vodka,” Liam muttered as he stepped into the room with far more dignity. He was still in his pajamas, his sleep-mussed hair flopping over one eye.

“Mom doesn’t usually throw up,” Kaheli announced, now bouncing next to your pillow. “Are you gonna throw up again?”

“Not if you stop shaking the damn bed,” you mumbled, dragging the covers over your head.

“You said a bad word,” Liam deadpanned.

“Your dad says worse.”

“Yeah, but he’s the Duke.”

Before you could respond with something equally inappropriate and poorly thought out, Xaden returned—carrying a tray with dry toast, ginger tea, and a glass of water.

“Off your mother,” he ordered, eyes sharp but amused.

Kaheli slid off you dramatically, hands in the air like she was surrendering.

Xaden set the tray down and eased onto the bed beside you. “How’re you holding up?”

You peeked up at him with one eye. “I want to die.”

“Not today, love. You’ve got two tiny monsters with morning breath and too much energy.”

Kaheli stuck her tongue out. Liam climbed onto the bed and curled up beside you, his head on your thigh. “You look better,” Xaden murmured, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“I feel like boiled trash,” you muttered.

Kaheli brightened. “Can we go to the stables now?!”

Xaden didn’t miss a beat. “No. Not until Mama eats two bites of toast.”

You gave him a long-suffering glare. “You are too good at this parenting thing.”

“Don’t let that distract you from the fact you called me ‘the crown jewel of Tyrrendor’s abs’ last night while trying to lick my—”

“Xaden!” you shrieked, smacking his chest, face burning.

Liam made a face. Kaheli cackled.

You flopped back onto the pillows, hiding under your arm. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, smug, already holding the tea out toward you. “Take a sip, Moonwolf.”

You groaned. But you took the tea.

The tea settled warm in your stomach, easing the nausea bit by bit. Xaden sat beside you, leaning on one arm, one leg draped over the edge of the bed, toast crumbs on his thigh and a patient but mildly exasperated look on his face as Kaheli tried (and failed) to braid Liam’s hair.

“I told you it doesn’t twist like that,” Liam grumbled, batting her hands away.

Kaheli frowned. “Well, mine does.”

“Yours is chaos.”

“Thank you.”

Xaden sighed and ran a hand over his face. “If I get you both dressed, will you let your mother rest for at least one hour?”

“Two,” you croaked from under the blanket. “I need two.”

Kaheli beamed. “Deal!”

And just like that, they were gone—scampering out of the room in a flurry of bare feet and loud footsteps. Liam grumbled something about Kaheli being a feral pony, and she shrieked in delight.

Silence.

You turned your head toward Xaden. “Are you sure we shouldn’t have stopped at one?”

His lips twitched. “You’re the one who told me last night you wanted three more.”

You groaned, burrowing under the covers again. “Drunk me is a menace.”

“She’s also very honest,” he said mildly.

When you peeked back out, he was watching you. Less amused now. More… full. That quiet reverence he never voiced aloud, but always wore in the way he looked at you—like you were the only soft thing that had ever belonged to him.

“You really don’t care I vomited on the floor?” you whispered.

Xaden raised a brow. “You think after years of war and blood and shadow wielding I can’t handle a little sick?”

You bit your lip.

He leaned closer. “You think I didn’t wake up with you multiple times while you were pregnant with Kaheli, cleaning up every time you couldn’t even make it to the bucket?”

“Oh. Right.”

His mouth curved as he kissed your forehead. “You’re mine, remember? At your fiercest, at your weakest. Doesn’t matter.”

Gods, you hated how soft he could make you. No one should be allowed to be this patient and this hot.

Your voice was small. “I still feel gross.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Liar.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. “Okay, fine, just a little sexy. Like… dying-forest-dryad sexy.”

He barked a laugh. “That’s new.”

You cracked an eye open. “If I wasn’t seconds from falling asleep I’d jump you again.”

Xaden gave you the most devastating smirk. “And I’d let you.”

His fingers swept your hair back from your face, careful not to disturb the knot of sweat-damp strands near your temple. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Sleep, baby.”

You sighed. “Only if you promise to never let me near Ridoc and alcohol again.”

“No promises,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over your shoulder. “But I’ll be here when you wake up. Like always.”

Kaheli was galloping through the stone hallway, shrieking that she was a dragon-fox hybrid queen of the stables, while Liam trudged behind her with a resigned expression and toast crumbs in his curls.

Xaden stood in the archway, watching them. Arms crossed, mouth twitching.

You were asleep upstairs. Finally. Peacefully. And as wild as it was, as exhausting as this life could be… this was everything he'd ever wanted. A wife with fire in her eyes. Children who shrieked like banshees and made him believe in softness again.

A home that didn’t just have walls—but laughter.

He shook his head, turned, and followed the chaos.

Because honestly?

He wouldn’t survive a day without it.

Bonus scene for my @thelov3lybookworm and @berryzxx in honour of their help and support to my complaining:

10:21 a.m. — Tyrrendor Stronghold, Kitchen

You emerged from the stairwell in one of Xaden’s old war shirts—oversized, threadbare, and your absolute favourite—and a pair of thick socks that kept sliding down your heels.

Your hair was a mess. Your mouth tasted like regret. Your soul whimpered for tea. And yet… you were alive. Barely. You followed the sound of Xaden’s voice echoing from the kitchen. A mix of dry sarcasm and the very specific tone he used when trying not to yell.

“I said no alchemy experiments without supervision.”

“I was supervised,” Kaheli declared proudly.

“By who?”

“Liam!”

Xaden groaned. “He’s nine!”

You stepped into the kitchen and paused.

There was glitter. Everywhere.

Not sparkles. Not a bit of shimmer. No. Full-scale, detonation-level glitter warfare. Coating the stone floor, the counters, Liam’s hair, and the entire left side of Xaden’s black tunic.

You blinked. “Did a unicorn throw up in here?”

Kaheli spun dramatically. “It was for science.”

Xaden turned, spotted you, and immediately crossed the room.

“Why are you standing?” he asked softly, hands bracing your hips.

“Because I didn’t want to die alone in bed while you two summoned glitter demons,” you muttered.

Liam snorted behind you. “I told her we didn’t need the shimmerroot.”

“She dared me,” Kaheli argued, hands on hips.

You looked up at your husband, squinting. “Why does it smell like burnt honey and fear in here?”

Before he could answer, a voice called out from the hall.

“Hey, your guards let me in because I said I brought juice.”

You groaned. “No. No no no.”

Ridoc strolled in, holding three bottles of summerfruit elixir and a smug grin. His tunic was unbuttoned, and there was a lipstick mark on his neck.

“Why are you here?” Xaden asked, his voice so dangerously calm that even Sgaeyl might’ve flinched.

Ridoc shrugged. “Just checking in on my drinking buddy.”

You squinted at him. “I told you to stay behind and distract the tavern keeper while I climbed on the table.”

“Which I did,” he said cheerfully. “Though I think he’s in love with me now.”

Xaden sighed and turned away, muttering, “I need my shadows. I need a drink. I need a damn break.”

Kaheli whispered loudly, “He says that every day.”

You smirked and leaned against the counter.

Ridoc handed you a bottle of elixir and winked. “You told a town guard you were the Princess of Kisses.”

You blinked. “That’s honestly better than what I thought I said.”

Xaden muttered under his breath and wiped glitter off your cheek with his thumb. “You told me your panties had betrayed you and that you wanted to bite my arms like a sandwich.”

Ridoc wheezed.

Kaheli gasped. “Mama!”

You groaned. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You said that after Kaheli’s naming ceremony,” Xaden pointed out.

“She was eight pounds and had claws. I deserved that one.”

Kaheli beamed. “I was powerful.”

Xaden kissed your temple and whispered, “Go lie down. I’ll clean this.”

You narrowed your eyes at Ridoc. “If you glitter my floor again, I’ll throw you in the stable with a chalkboard and let Kaheli teach you history.”

Kaheli gasped with delight. “I love history!”

Ridoc paled. “I have to go.”

“Smart man,” Xaden muttered.

As Ridoc fled and Kaheli began dragging Liam toward her next chaotic activity (“We’re making potions with mud!”), Xaden turned to you and gently steered you toward the stairs.

“Come on, sandwich biter. You need sleep.”

You sighed dramatically. “Only if you come with me.”

“I will. After I scrub this damn glitter out of my soul.”

A/N: I was not intending it to get so long. BUT IM BACK IN BUSINESS BABESSSSSS

Comments, thoughts and reblogs would be really appreciated

Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

#fourth wing #xaden riorson

246 notes · View notes

zeisly · 8 days ago

Note

ANOTHER FW FOURSOME PUHLEASEE??🙏🙏🙏

Soap

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Xaden, Garrick, Brennan x reader

Warning(s): smut, mdni, 18+, nsfw, triple penetration, oral, p in v, p in a, teasing, taunting, light degredation, mention of injury

Summary: Being a younger woman stuck in the same living quarters as three of your older, hotter, superiors was torture... or was it?

SR’s Note: RANDOM pairing this time, but kind of playing on the "older men" theme here... I don't know, I don't care, I'm here for it. And I hope you all are too <3

Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @invisiblepixies @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

It was late in the afternoon when your roommates returned; they'd been out all day in search of the outer isles, looking for more of Andarna's kind while you'd been stuck here, in Riorson house.

It was amazing to you, truly, how little they found you capable -- despite attending the same college, same classes, and bonding with the same species.

But, none of that mattered; you were simply a younger girl that got stuck with them for the time being, seeing as every other bed in every other suite was taken. Somehow, you'd been defaulted to the last open mattress; of course, that was with the recent graduates and upperclassmen that made up the rebellion's leadership.

Of course, that's how it happened.

When they did come back, barrelling through the front door to the spacious living quarters as though they were being chased by a pack of wild dogs, the fingers that delicately held your quill stalled. Bursting through the doors, shoving one by one overtop of eachother, your fingers loosened, dropping the writing utensil as you surveyed the damage.

"Oh my Gods!" You exclaimed, realizing how badly torn up Xaden's shoulders had gotten. His muscles flexed, his face a picture of contorted pain; Garrick on one side supported most of his weight, while Brennan frantically rushed him inside.

"What happened! Oh my-"

"Draw the shower," Brennan ground out, the words coming out more of a command than you'd ever heard from him. You nodded, immediately dashing toward the shared bathing chambers and twisting the knob inside the shower. You'd bounced in place, eager and frantic to help in any way you could.

When the water finally ran warm against your fingertips, you turned from the shower, preparing to run back out into the foyer. Your mad dash was short-lived as you ran straight into Garrick, his hard body sending you backward.

"Oomph!-"

His hand clasped your wrist, catching you before you could fall to the floor. His eyes were dark as they narrowed at you, any trace of patience gone from his usually pleasant face.

"You, need to stay out of the way."

Your jaw dropped, your own brows knitting as you prepared to argue.

"Garrick, I-"

"Out," he interrupted, pulling you upright. Your chest brushed his, the thin fabric of your tank top concealing barely anything. "Of the way."

Huffing, you crossed your arms, a rebuttal readied on your tongue.

"I can help, you know. I'm not a lousy first year who knows... ahh! Hey!"

You squealed as Garrick knelt, his bulging biceps wrapping around your thighs. He hoisted you with minimal effort, your body draped over his shoulder as he stood once more. Your world was turned upside down, literally, as he carried you from the bathroom and toward your own bedroom.

"Garrick!" You shouted, hands curling into fists as you pounded at his back. "Put me down! I can help-"

"You can help later," he growled, setting you down once he'd crossed the threshhold of your bedroom. Your ass hit the mattress as he lie you stop it, tank top doing you no favors as your chest bounced with the impact.

"Garrick-"

"If you really want to help," he said, gaze dark as he flicked it low below your chin. "Change your shirt and calm yourself down."

Scoffing, you sat up on your bed. He stormed out of your room, making way for Xaden once more as Brennan ushered him into the shower.

Glancing down, you realized what this was -- and it went far beyond the need to get Xaden help. He'd definitely noticed, noticed your top, your cleavage, all of it.

And you were absolutely certain it pissed him off to no end how the sight of you riled him up.

✧･ﾟ: *

You'd changed, pulling on one of Brennan's stolen tees folded near the top of your drawer. That coupled with the spandex you felt most comfortable in, you descended from your room again, hoping to find the guys and offer a hand.

What you found though, was only one of them, and the disturbing sounds coming from the shower beyond.

Xaden was inside now, his wounds rinsed in the warm water as small groans and grunts of pain came from him. The other boys had given him privacy, of course... but you couldn't ignore the way his voice drew you in.

You only knocked twice before the moans stopped, Xaden quieting down on the other side of the door. Slowly, you inched the wood open, peering in to see him through the heavy steam in the small room.

"Xaden?" You asked softly, taking only a single step inside. The tile was cool beneath your bare feet, though the air around you was abything but. Misty, warm, and charged, you padded deeper into the room.

"Xaden," you tried again, approaching the shower door. He sighed, his head hung low as the water ran down his back in little red-tinged streams. Brennan hadn't yet healed his wounds, it seemed.

"You're still-"

"I know." He said softly then, not looking up from the floor. Sighing, you swallowed hard -- you'd never seen him like this. Sure, he'd always seen you as the younger girl who didn't quite fit in and was now stuck with the three of them. They all thought that, surely. But to you? Your feelings were, well... complicated.

"Will you please let me help you-"

"Brennan said I need to rinse the wounds before he can start mending," he said lowly, his head turning to look at you now. His gaze wandered when he took in the sight of you; tiny shorts that hugged your skin just right, peeking out from under his friend's oversized shirt. And Gods, the way your hair fell in undone waves, perfectly framing that makeupless face...

"Then, let me help you."

He shook his head slowly, still mesmerized and trying to mask it.

"And, how are you going to do that?"

Without thinking, your fingers reached beneath the edge of Brennan's shirt, curling as they met the hem. In seconds, you were peeling it up over your head, the air warm as it met your exposed skin. Xaden sucked in a breath as your bare chest was shown to him, your eyes locking on his as you bent to remove your shorts next. Underwear discarded, you stepped forward at once, gazing up at him through your thick lashes.

"Let me come in with you?" You asked sweetly, your heart betraying your mind. Xaden nodded once, swallowing thickly as he opened the door and allowed you to step inside.

✧･ﾟ: *

Though your touch was light as it met Xaden's skin, goosebumps erupted over his flesh as he worked to keep himself in check. You stood before him now, the water from the faucet softly misting your hair as you gazed up at him.

Gods, he couldn't take this for very long.

You, however, were in the same boat -- so many unspoken words, so many things unsaid. Your thoughts were now drowned out by the falling water, and with the way he was staring down at you...

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be, and Xaden let out a long sigh, his eyes not leaving yours.

"I just..." he started, stepping forward. Your fingers kneaded at his knotted shoulderblades, careful to avoid the wounds clotting on either side. "I... thank you. For this."

Your breath caught in your throat, especially as you felt his hand slide around the curve of your waist. He stepped closer, his free hand brushing a damp lock of hair behind your ear.

"You don't have to thank me," you whispered, aware of how dangerously close his lips were to yours. "I'd do this for you reguardless of the situation."

Xaden's lashes fluttered as his eyes closed, his lips meeting yours in the silence. Water continued to fall around the two of you as his lips pressed against yours, your entire body alight with the feeling of finality. In truth, you'd waited for this moment for ages... and now, it couldn't be more perfect.

Well...

You shoved the thought of your other two roommates from your mind as you pressed up onto your tippytoes, your arms wrapping around Xaden's neck as you pulled him closer. His hands gripped your waist, his lips sliding against yours as he drank in every soft mewl you gave him. The scene was eerily perfect, a moment so long-awaited that-

Knock knock knock.

"Xaden?"

His eyes flew open as he pulled back from you, so calm as he gazed down into your rounded, terrified ones.

"Hey, have you seen Y/N?"

Garrick. The voice was surely Garrick's.

You gazed up at Xaden, shaking your head feverishly as to convey that you wished to keep this rendezvous a secret. However, Xaden was already on it.

"No, no I haven't..."

You heard Garrick's heavy sigh, and though he'd treated you with disrespect earlier, your heart broke a little at the sound.

"Alright. Well, if you do find her, when you're done in there, I mean, will you just... just tell her I need to talk to her, okay? I was really shitty earlier, and I feel bad and I just need to say sorry."

You swallowed hard, working to keep your emotions in check. Xaden, sighing, reached behind you to shut off the water, ignoring your confused and pleading stare.

"I'll tell her as soon as I see her."

✧･ﾟ: *

Your hair dripped against the back of your shirt as you trudged down the hallway, back toward your room. You were praying to every God who would listen that you wouldn'r run into Garrick, or Xaden once he was dried off.

Little did you know, Brennan would be the first face you saw.

His brows furrowed when he caught sight of you.

"Were you... is that...?"

Looking down, you realized the situation. His now half-soaked shirt clung to your chest, your hair wetting the entire upper half of it. In your mad dash from the shower, you hadn't considered sticking around for a blow dry -- in fact, you wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

"I... yeah, uh-"

"I want it back."

Now it was your turn to narrow your eyes.

"What?"

He folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe of his room.

"You heard me. That shirt is mine."

Scoffing, you tried to push past him.

"I don't have time for this-"

A gasp sounded as he gripped your wrist in his hand, tugging you into his room. You barely had time to think before he had kicked his door shut, staring you down.

"Off."

Folding your arms over your chest as though he hadn't already clocked your nipples poking through you stared him down right back.

"I'm not your pet. You can't just order me around, Brennan."

He chuckled, his sly grin causing you to shiver beneath the wet fabric.

"Oh, really? Because, I'm sure you'd enjoy that."

Your eyes widened as he stepped closer to you, his palms pulling you to him in one swift movement. You could barely form a thought before his mouth was on yours, lips bruising as he swept you away in a punishing kiss.

You hadn't realized, hadn't felt his palms sliding beneath your shirt until his thumbs met your peaked nipples. Shuddering against him, he flicked and circled the nubs, delighting in the way you groaned into his mouth. It felt so good, you actually allowed it when he tugged your shirt up over your head, tossing it aside.

He'd continued playing with you, toying with you like that for what felt like an eternity and five minutes all at once. You were in a trance, a spell he'd put you under that you couldn't come out of; wouldn't, if it meant staying like this.

But, that spell was broken the minute he pulled back from you, yanking another one of his dry shirts over your head.

Your mouth fell open as he grinned down at you, unruffling your hair from the neckline and stepping back toward his door.

"I have mending I need to tend to," he said casually, as if he hadn't just rocked your world. "Be a good girl and go find Garrick. Heard he's been looking for you."

And with that, he left. Left you right there in the middle of his room, panting and wondering what the Hell you'd gotten yourself into.

✧･ﾟ: *

You'd finally made it back to your room, considering turning in for the evening. You had been so set on retiring that you'd slipped back into your comfy camisole, opting to snuggle up on your bed in that and your favorite pajama shorts.

However, the male species had other ideas.

Garrick only knocked twice before entering the room, announcing himself before you could cover yourself with your blanket. His gaze immediately fell to your chest, the thin fabric yet again covering nothing. His mouth opened and shut like a fish, in a kind of adorable way you hadn't seen in him before.

But, as soon as the moment began, it ended.

"Thought I told you to change."

Huffing, you sat up straighter in bed. Garrick gently closed your door, crossing the room to you in a few long strides.

"Thought you were my roommate, not my dad."

Garrick scoffed, sitting atop your duvet beside you.

"But you like that, don't you. That I'm older than you, bigger."

You blinked, realizing the implication. What had these three experienced today that led them right back here, to see right through you?

"I... uh..."

"I, for one, came to apologize. Make it up to you, for acting like a jackass earlier." Garrick explained, his large hand coming to rest on your knee. You surpressed the shudder threatening to run through you, not wanting to give him anything else to taunt you with.

"So... I'm sorry."

You humphed, turning your nose up at him.

"Are you also sorry for always acting like I'm not one of you?" You teased. Garrick's gaze darkened, and his hand slid from your knee to your thigh. Your breath failed you; and suddenly, his skin slowly tracing yours felt more than friendly.

"I'm sorry for a lot of things, Y/N," Garrick breathed, his gaze falling from your eyes, to your chest, then to your shorts. "Mostly, sorry I didn't do this sooner."

He slid down on your bed, slotting himself between your knees. Instinctively, your fingers tangled in his hair; the man literally groaned at the touch.

"Let me make it up to you?" He requested, his fingers now toying with the waistband of your shorts. Nodding silently, you allowed him in, allowed his fingers to prod at your shorts until they had slid down your legs, allowed him to hook his index finger around your panties.

It felt as if the world went black in that moment, all of the things happening becoming blurry. Garrick's fingers slid up and down through your wet folds, admiring the way your slick gathered on his digits. He cursed softly before diving right in, pushing his index and middle finger inside as his lips lightly kissed and licked at your aching cunt. Your head had tipped back, resting against the pillows behind you as he continued eating you out. And Gods, were those soft brown curls delicious as you tugged on them-

"Hey, Y/N? Did you ever find..." Xaden announced, but then halted.

You didn't even open your eyes when Xaden and Brennan entered your room, seemingly to come check on you.

"...Garrick." Brennan finished, sounding more like a statement than question. Only then had your eyes flitted open, widening as you saw your other two roommates staring from your doorway. Garrick didn't slow, he didn't even so much as chuckle as he continued, the lewd lapping sounds echoing throughout the room.

"What in Hell is going on in here?" Xaden said, his stare nearly as dark as his voice. Your fingers still clung to Garrick's curls, not exactly wanting him to stop.

"Uh.... uh-"

"Go on," Garrick mused, pulling back for only a moment while still working you with his fingers. "Tell them. Tell them about how good I'm making you feel; how good we could all make you feel, seeing as we fit your type, hm?"

You swallowed hard, trying and failing to make eye contact with the two males frozen in the doorway.

"It's... I-"

"I think I know exactly what you want, first year," Brennan mused, stepping closer to your bed now. You gazed up at him, wide-eyed as his hand wrapped around your throat. Gasping, he tilted your chin up to look him right in the eyes.

"What you've wanted, maybe all year," he went on. His free hand unzipped his leathers, his bulge pressing out from his torso. You couldn't help but to look, to oogle over it so close.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. Tugging his length free, you gasped as he wasted no time in pressing it between your parted lips.

The gaggin sounds that followed were loud, sloppy... but Gods, did it turn the other two on.

Garrick had removed himself from between your legs, instead opting to wedge himself beneath you. The feeling of your duvet was now replaced by his chest, pressing into your back as his hand reached around your waist to toy with your cunt. Clothes discarded in the process, it was just your skin against his, and his fingers circling your throbbing clit.

"Why choose one," Xaden muttered, stalking closer as he undid his own leathers. "When you could let all three of us play with you?"

Your eyes grew glassy as Brennan continued fucking your mouth, your vision blurred and jaw tight. It was hard to see, but you could absolutely feel it when Xaden's tip prodded your entrance, his tall frame standing at the edge of the bed.

The gurgled, lewd moan that left you when he did finally push all the way in was nothing short of feral.

"I think she likes this," Brennan teased, slowing his thrusts to allow you to catch your breath. "She likes that she can have three older men, all in her bed at the same time."

Your response was muffled as Brennan tangled his fingers in your hair, shoving his cock back into your mouth. Xaden had begun snapping his hips against your thighs, your orgasm already mounting.

"Well, we'll see if she likes this too," Garrick grunted, his fingers still putting pressure on your clit. His free hand had fisted his own cock, jerking himself to the sight of you. It wasn't long until you felt his head pressing against your other hole, slowly pressing in further and further.

Your eyes went wide, and Brennan withdrew himself from your mouth in that moment.

"Oh Gods... Xaden.... Garrick, oh-"

"Shhh," Garrick cooed, his girth stretching you out from behind. You squeezed your eyes shut, the pain and pleasure mixing and melding all into one. "You're a good girl, you can take it."

You never thought, for once in your life, this was a position you would ever be in... but here you were. And honestly, you were enjoying it more than you would have thought.

"Eyes on me, baby," Xaden ground out, his black hari falling onto his forehead. He looked like a God seated there, fucking himself into your aching cunt while you whimpered and meweled for him. Garrick on the other hand, continued your pleasure as he slowly inserted and pulled from you, his hand punishing your clit as he did so. And Brennan... Gods, Brennan-

"You wanna cum for us? Huh? Is that it?" He teased, his grip on your jaw forcing your lips apart once more as he slid his dick back in. Nodding frantically, he chuckled darkly down at you, more feral and authoratative than you'd ever seen him.

"Fuck... oh fuck, Y/N, we're going to fill you up," Garrick breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you. Whining, you wished to convery that you wouldn't be able to hold out much longer... but even without words, it seemed as though these three wouldn't be ablae to either.

"Shit -- baby, I'm cumming, yeah? You want my cum deep in your pussy? Hm?"

Your eyes winked shut at Xaden's words, throat and ass raw from the other two now pounding frantically into your holes. Xaden shuttered, his hands gripping your knees as he pushed in so deep, you felt the head of his cock kissing your cervix.

"Fuck!"

He came, and he came hard. Your insides were warm with the feel of him, his essence filling you more than you'd ever experienced. His release was short-lived, as Garrick's fingers stalled on your clit a moment before his gasps were heard in your ear.

"Yes, Y/N, so good... so so fucking good..."

His fingers pinched at your clit, and though you couldn't cry out in warning, your torso began to shake as your release barelled through you. Yoru walls fluttered around Xaden's sensitive member, your ass clenching as Garrick had still not pulled out. You felt the mixed releases begin to slip out, the warm liquid running in rivlets from both your weeping pussy and abused ass.

Brennan came with a grunt, his seed painting your throat white as he gasped and emptied himself down your throat. The sight of you, shaking and cumming with cocks in every hole... yeah, that's what did it for him.

The room was enveloped in silence, save for the shared breaths and trembles from everyone involved. It was then, as each of them pulled slowly from you that you realized it. Realized that the love you'd been burying, hiding all along wasn't just for one of the males in your life -- but all three.

"I... there's something that I should-"

"Save it," Xaden whispered, leaning in to kiss the inside of your thigh softly. Garrick had taken to running his fingers softly through your mussed hair, the pads working as they massaged at your scalp.

"Save it for the morning, after we've cleaned you up and gotten some rest." Garrick clarified. Brennan's hands were soft and sturdy as he slid them beneath you, scooping you up into his arms.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he suggested, kissing your forehead as he strode for the washroom. Though your head was still foggy, one thing became very, fucking clear.

In that moment though, you simply wrapped your arms around Brennan's neck, watching as Xaden went ahead ot run a bath for you and Garrick followed behind with a fucked-out, mesmerized gaze.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

#fourth wing #xaden riorson #garrick tavis #brennan sorrengail

237 notes · View notes

zeisly · 8 days ago

Text

Home Run Hearts

Pairing: Husband!Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Mom!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky take your son to his afternoon baseball game and its a fun , joyful , beautiful summer day with nothing but love and giggles with your husband , kids and their uncle Steve!

Word Count: 3.1k ish

Warnings/Tags: FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFF kissing , flirty banter , cutie kids , featuring steve and his wife (he's the best uncle ever) literally no real warning or tags!

A/N: hey!! i love love love this and its so cute (crying)!!!

The golden sun was already high and bright when you stirred waking up , the ivory curtains in yours and Bucky's bedroom glowing with the shows of a perfect , sunny summer day.

You started blinking awake , feeling the warm press of Bucky’s right arm snug around your waist , his breath slow and even against your mused hair.

He started to stir as you shifted , his bright blue eyes opening and a soft barely there smile pulling at his lips.

“Mornin’ , sweetheart,” he murmured , voice still rough and hoarse with sleep.

“Good morning ,” you whispered back , pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw , nuzzling your face into his neck.

From down the hall , the sound of tiny little feet pattering across the wooden floor reached your ears , followed by your bedroom door slowly creaking open.

“Mommy! Daddy!” James Jr. or “JJ / J” you called for shorts voice was chipper and excited , his brown bedhead hair sticking up in all different kinds of directions.

Bucky pushed himself up on one elbow , grinning at your guys son as he scrambled onto the bed.

“Hey, bud. You ready for your big game today?” He said with a yawn.

JJ nodded furiously , his little hands clutching the front of Bucky’s grey sleep shirt. “I’m gonna hit the ball so hard , Daddy! And Uncle Steve said he's coming to watch!”

Bucky ruffled JJ’s hair , chuckling.

“That’s right. You’re gonna do great out there today.”

You reached over with a smile , smoothing a hand down JJ’s back.

“Let’s get you some game winning breakfast.”

A tiny giggle echoed from the doorway of the bedroom. Tiny Rebecca— or sometimes she insisted “Becs” , was clutching her favorite stuffed baby pink bunny, her chubby cheeks dimpled with delight seeing her family now up and awake.

She was still in her pink kitty print pajamas , her light brown hair was a soft mess of curls and strands stuck to and all around her face.

“Hi , baby,” you cooed , reaching out a hand to her.

Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed and scooped her up in one strong grab , pressing a million kisses to her cheeks and face.

“Morning, sunshine.”

She squealed and squirmed trying to get out of his hold but secretly loving it. She buried her face in his shoulder out of breath.

“Daddy stop it,” she giggled.

“Okay , okay im done” He began to sit her down with a laugh.

He shot you a wink over her head , making your heart flip in your chest.

Even after all these years , he was still your favorite sight in the world—strong and soft at once , his love for you and the kids shining in every move he made and every word he uttered.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Breakfast was a loud blur of energy and laughter. You made scrambled eggs and toast , and Bucky poured coffee into two mugs , singing along to an old song playing on the radio.

“Daddy , that’s silly,” Becca said again as Bucky swung her gently around the kitchen on his hip, her laughter , out shining the sun outside.

“Hey , what’s so silly about me singing?” Bucky teased , tickling her sides until she squealed.

You caught his eyes , a warm glow in your chest. “I think she’s got a point,” you said with a wink.

He gave you a mock glare , then leaned over to kiss your temple as you dished out the eggs. “Traitor.”

You shrugged , smiling. “It’s hard to argue with the cutest two-year-old in the whole wide world.”

You walked to the table sitting down and sat to eat your own.

James Jr. was busy with his plate , chattering about how he was going to be the best hitter on the team today. “I’m gonna hit it to the moon , Mom!”

“I bet you will Jay,” you told him , leaning over to kiss the crown of his head. “But just remember to have fun , okay?”

JJ nodded , his face serious. “Fun. Aaaand winning baseball.”

That made you and Bucky both laugh.

After breakfast , you helped JJ change into his little uniform , Dodgers blue cap and all—and packed up the gear he needed.

As Bucky was finishing washing the dishes from breakfast he heard your booming voice down the hall.

“James Barnes , pick up your underwear in the bathroom!”

He turned and looked at his son who was headed out the door. “Junior , I know that's not for me.” He said with a hand on his hip.

James Jr. groaned and dropped his gear bag and went to find you “Coming Mom”

After everyone was changed and there was no more dirty clothes littering the floor you guys headed out the door.

Bucky loaded the lawn chairs , an ice chest full of snacks and drinks , and the kids’ sunscreen into the trunk of the car.

Becs watched from her spot in your arms , pointing at everything her Daddy was doing. “Daddy strong ,” she said solemnly , her eyes wide with wonder.

Bucky gave her a playful grin. “You think so , Becs? Gotta carry all this for my favorite people.”

She grinned , snuggling closer to you. “My daddy so strong”

You melted a little at that , resting your cheek against the top of her head.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The short drive to the field was filled with music and lots of toddler giggles.

JJ was already buzzing with energy , bouncing in his seat as you sang along to old rock songs.

Bucky’s voice , slightly off-key but so full of joy—filled the car.

“Daddy’s singing is soooo silly,” Becs announced in the middle of a chorus.

Bucky’s hand slipped from the wheel to rest on your knee , his laughter was warm.

“That's so, baby girl? You’re breaking your old man’s heart.”

JJ joined in. “No , Dad it's true , you do sing funny!”

You laughed , feeling the kind of happiness that only this exact moment could bring.

When you arrived at the field , the smell of fresh-cut grass and sunscreen greeted you immediately.

Parents of the players were already setting up their chairs and blankets , little kids in blue and white jerseys running around with bats and gloves.

Bucky pulled the cooler from the trunk and slung the folded chairs over his shoulder , his biceps flexing under his blue tshirt as he did.

JJ ran ahead of you , his tiny cleats clacking on the pavement.

You shifted Becca on your hip , her warm weight comfortable as she watched everything with wide eyes , her brown hair bouncing with each step you took.

“Hold on tight , sweetheart,” you murmured to her , and she nodded solemnly , her hand fisting in your hair softly twirling what she could grab.

Near the dugout , Steve was already there , wearing a baseball cap and a grin as bright as the sun.

His wife Betty was at his side , waving as she spotted you.

“Hey there , Barnes family!” Steve called , his voice full of affection. He knelt down to JJ’s level. “You ready to knock it out of the park , slugger?”

JJ beamed. “I’m gonna hit it so far , Uncle Steve!”

“I bet you will Champ,” Steve said , ruffling JJ’s hair. “And we will all be right here to see it.”

The game was everything you could’ve hoped for—hours of laughing , cheers , and the soft thud of baseballs meeting gloves and bats.

JJ was a buzzing bundle of energy the entire time , his little feet dancing in the dirt as he waited for his turn at bat.

Bucky sat beside you , one arm around your shoulders , his eyes never leaving the field.

“Look at him go,” he murmured, his voice soft and swelling with pride.

Becs was nestled in your lap eating up a bag of chips her dad opened up for her.

When she finished her head leaned back and rested on your chest. Every so often, she’d giggle and point at her brother. “Jay running , Mama!”

“He’s so fast, isn’t he?” you whispered back , kissing her soft curls.

Steve and his Wife were just a few feet away , cheering loud and proud. Steve’s laugh boomed every time JJ swung the bat , and Becs would giggle even harder at her funny uncle.

“Uncle Steve funny,” she said , echoing the same phrase she’d used describing Bucky that morning.

Steve winked at her. “You’re not wrong , sweetheart.”

By the last inning , JJ’s team was down by one.

The bases were loaded , and James Jr. was up to bat.

You could see the nerves in his little drawn up shoulders , the way he twisted the bat between his hands, a nervous tic you learned.

Bucky leaned in close to you , his breath against your ear.

“He’s got this,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet confidence.

You nodded , with your heart in your throat as you bounced Becca on your lap , your legs bouncing with excitement and anxiety.

JJ looked over at you and Bucky , and you gave him a big thumbs-up , your smile wide and reassuring.

He took a deep breath , squared his shoulders—and swung.

The crack of the bat echoed across the field , and the ball soared past the infielders , rolling into the outfield.

JJ took off running , sprinting , his tiny legs pumping as the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Run , baby! Run!” you shouted , your voice ragged with excitement as you stood tossing Becca to Bucky.

Bucky was on his feet throwing his daughter on his shoulders in one swift movement.

His fists in the air , and Becca clapping her hands , squealing with joy for her brother. “Go , Bubba Go!”

Steve was whistling loud enough to be heard across the whole field , making some parents turn their heads.

JJ rounded third plate and slid into home , his face lit with triumph and pure joy.

The umpire threw his arms wide calling , safe! And the game was over. JJ’s team had won. He won.

You ran out onto the field , Becs back on your hip , as JJ’s teammates swarmed him in a messy and sweaty group hug.

Bucky scooped up his son in his arms , spinning him around as he laughed and clung to his dads shoulders.

“You did it, Jay!” Bucky said , his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so proud of you, buddy.” He placed a quick kiss on his son's mused hair.

JJ’s face was flushed red , his grin wide and toothy. “I did it, Daddy! I hit the ball so far!”

“You sure did,” Bucky said , pressing another kiss to his forehead. He turned to you , his eyes soft and shining. “Best day ever , huh?”

You nodded , your chest so full you felt like you might burst. “Best day ever,” you echoed , leaning forward and kissing JJ’s cheek and then on one of Bucky's , meeting at his lips.

Becca tugged at your hair softly , her sleepy eyes wide with wonder. “Jay good!” she said firmly.

You laughed, nuzzling her nose. “He sure is , sweet girl.”

After many congrats from the family and a teasing headlock from his Uncle Steve , JJ was worn through and through .

The afternoon turned warm and golden as the kids and parents settled in for a little post-game picnic.

You spread out a big red blanket on the grass , and Bucky set up the folding chairs while Steve helped his Wife unpack the sandwiches and snacks.

Bucky cracked open the ice chest , passing out bottles of water and juice. “Alright , team,” he said with a grin. “Let’s eat!”

JJ flopped down beside you , his cheeks still pink from the game.

“I’m so hungry, Mommy.” his head now in your lap.

“I bet you are , sweetheart ,” you said laughing , handing him a juice box. ”You did so good today Jay”

Becca nestled closer against your other side , her tiny hand tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Can have juice, Mama?”

You passed her a juice box , brushing a kiss to her temple. “Here you go, baby.”

Bucky sat beside you , his long legs stretched out in the sun , one hand resting on your leg the other bracing his body upright.

He handed you a sandwich wrapped in foil , his eyes warm and tender. “Here you go, doll.”

“Thanks , Buck,” you said, unwrapping it and taking a grateful bite.

Steve, ever the uncle who never grew up , made goofy faces at Becs until she squealed with laughter , her little hand clapping against his shoulder.

“Uncle Steve stop it , can't breathe ,” she declared again, giggling so hard she nearly toppled over.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m the fun uncle,” Steve said with a wink.

As everyone ate , you leaned back against Bucky’s chest , feeling the solid warmth of him on your back. He rested his chin on your shoulder , his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Look at them ,” he murmured , his voice soft. JJ was leaning back against the cooler , munching on a sandwich and still wearing his dusty baseball outfit, his eyes heavy lidded. And Becs was curled up in his lap , her sticky fingers holding a half eaten cookie.

“They’re happy,” you whispered back , turning your face slightly so your nose brushed his cheek. “I don’t think life gets any better than this.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple , his voice sweet with the scent of mint. “I know exactly what you mean.”

You could hear the low hum of the other families around you , the distant crack of another bat hitting a ball practicing , and the soft rustle of the breeze in the trees nearby.

It felt like the world had slowed down just for a moment , wrapping you and your family in a perfect bubble of summer light and perfect joy.

After everyone had eaten and bellies were full , JJ wanted to play catch with his dad and uncle before leaving.

You watched as Bucky tossed him an easy underarm , his big hands ever so gentle as he guided JJ’s little glove.

Steve joined in too after a while , making a show of nearly missing every throw until it had JJ shrieking with laughter.

Becs was passed out in your arms , her head resting on your shoulder as murmured sleepy things and on and off watched the boys play. “Daddy loves Jay”

“He sure does ,” you whispered , kissing her soft curls. “He's the best daddy in the world and loves you so so much.”

Bucky caught your eye from across the field , seeing Becca asleep , his grin lit up his whole face.

He winked mouthing “Love you”

You mouthed it right back , feeling the truth of it deep in your soul.

As the sun started to dip lower in the sky , everyone began packing up.

Bucky slung the ice chest back over his shoulder , his other hand resting protectively on JJ’s back leading him to the car.

Steve and Betty helped fold up the lawn chairs , while you rocked Becca gently in your arms.

“Did you have fun today, baby?” you asked her softly, and she nodded , her thumb in her mouth.

“Jay play,” she said, her little voice full of sleepy wonder. “Daddy strong. Mommy soft.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “That’s right , baby. Daddy’s strong and Mommy’s soft.” Laughing , snuggling her closer.

The car ride home was peaceful and quiet.

The radio played softly , Bucky humming , his hand on your thigh rubbing soothing motions absentmindedly , thumb tracing soft circles.

And every now and then he’d glance over at you with that look that still made your heart race and check in the mirror seeing his babies sleeping and safe.

Becs stayed asleep the full ride home , her head on your shoulder and her soft breath tickling your neck as you scooped her out of the car seat.

JJ woke with drowsy murmurs , his words slurring as his eyes remained heavy.

“Best day ever,” he mumbled, his head bobbing.

“You’re right, buddy,” Bucky said, his voice low and warm. “The best.” as he pulled him into his arms.

Inside , you carried Becs straight to her room , laying her down in her pink princess bed. She stirred just enough to murmur something you couldn't quite make out before she drifted off fully again.

You padded barefoot to find Bucky who was in JJ's room , helping him change out into his favorite dinosaur pajamas after his quick shower.

JJ’s head drooped as he leaned against Bucky’s shoulder, his little body worn out from the day , as Bucky helped him step his feet into the pant holes.

“Daddy?” JJ asked sleepily , looking up , now fully dressed. “You think I can be in the big leagues one day?”

Bucky tucked him into bed , brushing back his hair. “I think you can do anything you want , Jay. And me and mama and Becca will all be right there with you cheering you on.”

JJ smiled , his eyes already half-closed again . “You’re the best, Daddy.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours over JJ’s head seeing you leaned against the door frame , soft and shining a little glassy from his son's words. “Right back atcha , kiddo.”

When you and Bucky finally made it to your own room , you both showered all the dirt and fun from the day off till you were both squeaky clean.

Laying in bed , in soft pajamas and tired limbs he pulled you into his arms , his lips brushing your forehead.

“Thank you for today,” he said softly, his eyes full of love. “You make everything feel like it's the best thing in the whole world.”

Your heart melted at that. “I think we all did that together.”

He leaned in and kissed your lips softly , lingering just long enough to make your stomach flutter. “Still,” he murmured against your lips pulling away, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

“And you’re the absolute best mother to our kids and partner to have alongside me.” he said softly , his voice thick with love and slowly falling into sleep..

You wrapped your arms around his waist , resting your head on his chest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Barnes.”

He laughed, the sound low and sweet, and kissed you again. “Here’s to more days like today.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and sinking into the warmth of him. “Here’s to-” murmuring falling asleep through your sentence.

Outside the window , the last light of the summer sun faded completely into that dusky pink purple glow. And inside , everything was right and safe and full of love—exactly how it was meant to be.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

#bucky barnes

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zeisly · 8 days ago

Text

Too Sweet

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/female!reader

Summary: Xaden never understood how opposites could attract — not until he meets you and realizes that he doesn't have to understand your sweetness to cherish it.

Anonymous requested: I was thinking in a xaden fic based in "too sweet" from Hozier, where he's all like wanting the reader but also thinking like she deserved more, but with a happy ending ( maybe smutty too ✋🏻

Part 2

Xaden never understood that opposites were supposed to attract. On a physical level, sure. But when it comes to personality and ideology? How could anyone be with someone so wildly different from themselves that they can't possibly understand the other? Someone whose whole attitude to life is completely unlike their own? To him, it just seemed like a recipe for heartbreak. Then again, the saying only claims that opposites attract, not necessarily that they're compatible.

Since meeting you, this is something he's been thinking about a lot.

You're everything he is not; happy, bubbly, energetic, adored by just about everyone and making friends left and right. You're... sweet. There's no other way to put it. What someone like you is doing in the Riders Quadrant, Xaden doesn't know.

He tries to keep his distance at first — liking people is dangerous, and you're much too likable. Needless to say, it doesn't work. Being in the same squad, he constantly finds himself in your presence, and while he keeps to himself as much as he can, he finds it hard to outright avoid you. Almost against his will, he slowly gets to know you. He can't exactly help it, seeing as you sit next to him in almost every class, seek him out at mealtimes, asking him to come sit with the rest of your squad, offer smiles every time you pass him in the halls. You're everywhere, a persistent ray of sunshine piercing into the darkness of his life.

He doesn't understand you. Doesn't have a clue why you're so nice, or how you always manage to be so sociable, no matter what time it is or what lethal bullshit you're about to face, let alone why you seem to genuinely like him. Unlike most others, you have no prejudices against the marked ones, but even so, Xaden is not an easy person to like these days. He can't afford kindness, weakness. Not with all the lives that quite literally rest upon his back.

But no matter how curt he is, no matter how often he only gives one-word answers to your steady stream of chatter or declines your offers to study together, your friendliness never wavers. Every morning your beaming smile greets him in the gathering hall at breakfast, and as days turn into weeks, he often finds his gaze automatically scanning the room for you upon entering, hoping to catch a glimpse of that precious smile. Your presence becomes a comforting part of his routine, always there and yet never intruding. For all your persistence in trying to include him, you're never overbearing. You don't push him when he doesn't join your squad's study session, give him opportunity to join a conversation should he want to, but accept when he doesn't.

He shouldn't get too used to your presence — two of your year-mates have died already, and there's no guarantee you won't be next. Life is dangerous in the Riders Quadrant, and Xaden keeps wondering why someone so sweet would choose this life. You seem more like the type who would be a healer — or maybe even a baker or gardener, far away from the cruelty of war. And yet you thrive even in this environment. He supposes he could just ask you about it, but he doesn't want to get to know you, gods damn it.

Thinking back later, Xaden will realize that the superficial attraction he felt for you from the first starts to grow toward something more the first time your squad leader pairs him with you for a sparring session.

He has already seen you fight at Assessment, but facing you on the mat himself, he gets a much more intimate feeling of your fighting style. You're fast, full of the same energy that is in everything you do, smiling even as you struggle to dodge his punches and get past his defense. You're good. Not as good as him, but your enthusiasm makes up for that. Xaden has to admit — at least to himself — that sparring with you is actually fun. The training session seems to be over in the blink of an eye, and as you step off the mat, both of you sweaty and breathing hard, Xaden is already looking forward to the next, hoping he'll get you as his sparring partner again.

For once he allows himself to be drawn into conversation, answering your questions on how to improve your technique as you walk out of the gym side by side.

The better he gets to know you, the more he has to keep reminding himself to stay away from you, that you're too sweet for him. But, oh, it's hard; he enjoys your company so much. Garrick has caught on, too, teasing him about what he calls his crush on the sunshine girl every time he sees him talking to you. And though Xaden vehemently denies having such a silly thing as a crush, he can't even convince himself of that, let alone his best friend. Having known him as long as he does, Garrick always sees right through him.

The relief Xaden feels at Threshing when he lands and spots you already standing on the flight field in front of a Red is immense. He quickly shoves the feeling down, preferring not to think about what it implies. He does not have a crush, and the last thing he needs is for his dragon to think him a lovesick fool and change its mind about bonding him while it still can. He feels the unfamiliar presence of her in the back of his mind, her golden eyes piercing into him after he dismounts.

He feels all the other people's gazes on him, too, the disapproving stares from where leadership is seated on the dais, their disdain for him permeating the very air. He keeps his head high as he walks to the rollkeeper, refusing to so much as look at the people who'd doubtlessly been hoping he would meet his end in the woods today.

Blood keeps trickling into his eye from the cut Sgaeyl gave him. It stings, but the annoyance of it is worse than the pain. Pain is fine. But constantly having to blink away the blood blurring his vision, feeling it run down his cheek like tears — it makes his skin crawl with discomfort. He's not going to seek out the professors giving first-aid, though. Bothersome as it might be, it's just a little cut, and he can't afford to look weak.

As he walks back to Sgaeyl, his eyes automatically find you in the crowd of mingling first-years, just as they always do. You're watching him, too, but unlike everyone else whose gazes darken, you smile at the sight of him. When you notice him looking, you wave and start toward him. As you get closer, Xaden notes a split in your lip and a blood-soaked bandage around your thigh, but since you're hardly even limping, Xaden assumes that the injury can't be very bad. No, if anything, there's even more of a spring to your walk than usual, your hair bouncing with every step.

Instead of stopping in front of him when you reach him, you throw your arms around him, squeezing him tight, and suddenly, Xaden doesn't remember how to breathe. No one just hugs him out of nowhere like that. No one would even dream of hugging him at all. And yet here you are, doing just that and apparently thinking nothing of it, judging by the easy smile on your face when you let go after a couple of seconds.

"I'm glad you made it," you say. "I mean, I never doubted it, but still."

"I'm glad you made it, too," he admits, quiet enough that none of the people nearby will hear. He allows himself to return your smile, just for a moment, absentmindedly lifting his hand to wipe blood from his eye again. Your gaze immediately snags on the cut, a small crease appearing between your own brows.

"Your dragon?" you ask.

Xaden nods.

"You'd think the relics they'll give us should be enough to mark us as theirs, but apparently not. Mine stabbed me in the thigh."

"Daggertail?"

"Swordtail. Went right through and back out on the other side, but luckily she didn't cut through anything important." You shrug, the grin reappearing on your face as you tilt your head to the side, studying him. "That'll be one hell of a badass scar you're gonna have there."

Xaden bites back another smile, watching with slight confusion as you remove the kerchief you're wearing around your neck today. For a moment, Xaden catches a flash of glitter dotting the black cloth, then it's too close to see clearly as you bring the balled up fabric to his brow and dab up the blood. Your touch is much gentler than his own, and, with the cloth soaking up the blood, much more effective, too.

After a few seconds you pull back, pressing your now bloody neckerchief into his hand. "Keep it."

"Thanks," he mutters past the lump he suddenly seems to have in his throat.

He'll never get used to how kind you are. It's such a little thing, to notice how much the blood in his eye was bothering him and do something about it, and yet it means more to him than you could ever know. It'll probably take a while until the wound completely stops bleeding, but with your kerchief to wipe at it, at least it won't bleed all over his face anymore.

He pretends to listen as you start rambling about your dragon and the thrill of the short flight here, and though Xaden agrees that there's nothing that can compare to the feeling of flying, he can't focus enough to keep up with the sheer endless rush of words. It should be annoying, he thinks. The constant happy babbling, the needless touching — even now you're standing much closer than necessary, shaking his arm as you bounce on your feet while telling him about a particularly exciting part of approaching Milis. If anyone else did that, he'd shove them away to get some space, tell them to stop being so childish. But for some reason it doesn't bother him when you're the one doing it.

Spotting Garrick in the crowd, Xaden hurriedly uses the excuse to walk away toward his best friend. Turning his mind to more practical matters, he forces his thoughts away from you with great difficulty, still reeling from your unreasonable kindness.

After Threshing, something changes, and Xaden finds himself spending more and more time in your company. Maybe it's just that you and him are slowly crystalizing out to be the most powerful in your squad. Or maybe he's going down a slippery slope, no idea where it might lead but unable to stop the descent.

Too sweet, that's what you are. But then, Xaden has always liked sweet things. He remembers when he was a child, being told that all those sugary things he liked so much would hurt his teeth. With you, he feels similar to how he did then; afraid of the hurt he might be causing himself in the long run and wishing to preserve himself from it, but unable to resist the immediate temptation of sweetness. He craves it, that contrast you bring to the usual bitterness that is his life.

And it's refreshing to be around someone who isn't scared of him, even if he still doesn't understand why you aren't intimidated of him like everyone else. Despite your easygoing attitude and bubbly personality, you're far from a fool, unrelenting and self-preservative when need be.

It's an uncomfortable thought, the idea that maybe you're seeing past the stoic facade he keeps, know that he wouldn't hurt you unless you hurt him first. He's not used to people seeing him for who he is anymore, only for who he has to be. The Great Betrayer's son, the heir apparent, the revolution's leader. Traitor or hero, depending on who you ask. But with you, he can simply be Xaden. It scares him, that vulnerability you bring out in him, but he'd be lying if he claimed not to like how simple everything seems when he's with you.

The only difficulty is the secrets he is forced to keep. Luckily, you're very understanding when he says he doesn't want to talk about anything to do with his father's rebellion, and if you suspect that he's up to anything illegal, you don't show it. Some of it — like the meetings with all the marked ones in the quadrant to make sure everyone is helping each other get by — he could probably trust you with. By now, he knows you well enough to know you wouldn't immediately jump to the worst conclusions, would probably even help him sneak out. But in a way, the worst possible conclusions are uncomfortably close to the truth, and he can't risk revealing even such a comparatively harmless secret. No, the less you know, the better — for both of you.

Enjoy your company as he might, sometimes it does grate on his nerves, that seemingly endless happy energy you radiate. Like today, sitting at breakfast and tired out of his mind as he sips on his second mug of coffee when you come bouncing into the gathering hall, fresh from the gym. If he didn't know you get up before sunrise every morning to lift weights with another girl from your squad before breakfast, he'd think you came straight from your bed after a full night's sleep. Of course, even with getting up almost two hours earlier than necessary, you're most certainly still getting more sleep than he is.

Sliding into your usual seat beside him, you greet everyone with more enthusiasm than anyone should have at this time of morning. Xaden returns only the barest of nods, which is more than he's spared anyone else so far. He can already tell this is not going to be his day, and he doesn't feel like wasting energy on being sociable.

You know better than to take it personally, humming a happy little melody under your breath as you start to eat.

As much as Xaden normally enjoys the sound of your voice, the noise in the hall is already bad enough, and he doesn't need you adding to it. "Would you stop that?" he snaps, more harshly than he had intended.

You fall quiet with an apologetic smile, and Xaden immediately feels bad about losing his patience on you.

He downs the rest of his coffee, contemplating whether or not getting another mug of it would help his mood. Probably not, but it's worth a try to keep from snapping at you again. You're trying to be considerate, doubtlessly having noticed that the dark circles under his eyes are even more pronounced than usual, but it simply isn't in your nature to be quiet for long. He likes that — most of the time, at least. The silence he takes refuge in can feel suffocating at times; having you around to break it makes life decidedly more bearable.

"Maybe you'd be less tired if you tried going to bed a little earlier," you tease.

The glare he levels on you is the kind that would have a lesser person shrinking in their seat, as evident by the wary looks from your squadmates, but you're not intimidated in the least. If anything, your smile only widens.

Unbelievable.

"How do you want to know what time I go to bed?"

You shrug. "You know I have the room next to yours. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and when I look out of the window then there's always light coming from your window."

"Stalker," he mutters, rolling his eyes when you giggle. The sound effortlessly melts away the worst of his irritation, leaving him still tired and moody, but decidedly less likely to kill anyone for testing his patience.

"I wasn't stalking you on purpose," you defend yourself, the laughter lingering in your voice, "I just like looking at the snow in the moonlight. It's always so pretty, don't you think?"

Xaden shrugs. It's been a long time since he's spared any thought to the beauty of nature. The next time he can't sleep — which is almost all the time — he'll try to enjoy the nightly view from his window too, he decides, if only so he can understand what you like about it.

"The snow would be all nice and well if we didn't have to fly in it," your squadmate inserts themself into the conversation. "Have you seen how much is coming down right now?"

You nod. "Maybe it'll let up until our turn on the flight field. Milis says if this keeps up, she and the other dragons might just refuse to show up." Quieter, only for Xaden, you add, "Let's hope they don't, then you can use the time for a nap instead."

"I don't need a nap," he grumbles back, just as quietly. Truth be told, he probably could use one, but if he were able to sleep, he wouldn't be this tired.

"You sure? I'll even sing you a lullaby if you'd like."

You wink at him, grinning in that way only you can, and Xaden knows that despite your playful manner, you're serious about helping him fall asleep if you can.

He shakes his head, smiling against his will. "You're a dork."

"And you're an insomniac."

"I'm fine."

"Whatever you say."

People's intimidation of him turns to outright fear once his signet manifests, shadows stirring wherever he goes. As usual, you're the exception. Your eyes shine with awe and something like pride as you watch him demonstrate his newfound powers to you with rapt fascination, not a trace of fear to be found.

"That's amazing!" You bring a hand to the shadow closest to you, gingerly brushing your fingers along it. Xaden feels goosebumps rise on his skin, as if it had been him you touched. "They're actually solid! How is that even possible?"

"No idea," Xaden admits. "I'm only just starting to figure out how it works."

As his signet grows stronger, your shadow is the one he's most aware of. Even when you're not in the same room — or even the same building — as him, he always knows exactly where you are and what you're doing. It's not what he should be using this power for, but the shadows seem to have a mind of their own. They're very attached to you. Or maybe he's just making that up to excuse his embarrassing lack of control. It's not like he wants to be some kind of obsessive stalker; he simply can't help the fact that you're constantly on his mind.

If you have noticed that the shadows near you always seem more alive than is natural as of late, you haven't mentioned it. Not very surprising, considering you're occupied with trying to control your own water wielding signet. Xaden has taken more than one involuntary bath since it manifested a couple weeks ago, and has learned to keep his distance from you while drinking water. When you lose control, it's always him getting drenched, as though your water is drawn to him the same way his shadows are to you. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't the middle of fucking winter. You always try to remove the moisture from his clothes afterwards, but while you have already gotten a little better at it, even your best efforts don't get them any less than damp, so Xaden — or whoever else falls victim to your flood — is left either freezing his ass off in wet clothes, or making himself late to the next class by returning to his room to get changed.

Worst of all, Xaden can't even bring himself to be mad at you about it. He's no better; the only difference is that, so far, his shadows haven't tried to drown anyone.

He probably shouldn't be thinking about that incident as often as he does, and he definitely shouldn't be so giddy about it. It was hotter than it had any right to be, watching you almost murder someone on his account. It also made his heart flutter with a whole array of feelings he can't even begin to name. While Xaden obviously doesn't need your protection, the fact that you're willing to publicly stand up for him means a lot. The knowledge that you got so angry in defense of him, that you wielded enough water to flood a whole stairway without even meaning to because someone had been talking shit about him... Just thinking about it makes him more emotional than he'd like.

But while your signet can be wild and destructive, the water is usually gentle. It's an accurate reflection of you, he thinks, untamed and unpredictable, inherently soft but just as capable of terrible harm when provoked. When you're calm and in control, the water flows steadily along like the ever present stream of your chatter, lively and somehow soothing at the same time. Xaden enjoys watching it, how it can flow through even the smallest crack, how it glitters in the light. He enjoys watching you wield it even more, the look of concentration on your face, the beaming smile when you get it to do what you want. It's hypnotizing. A dangerous distraction he really can't afford. He loses track of everything else all too easily when he's with you. You're an undertow, irresistibly pulling him in, and Xaden would happily drown in your sweet waters.

When his lips finally meet yours for the first time, you taste as sweet as Xaden's favorite chocolate cake, and he's instantly addicted.

Afterward, he's not even sure how it happened. You'd been sitting in commons after doing homework together, enjoying a few more minutes of quiet in each other's presence before turning in for the night. You'd rested your head on his shoulder, smiling up at him as he teased you about already being tired so early in the evening, the only other sound the dripping of the melting snow outside the window. Then, before he even knew what he was doing, Xaden had leaned down and kissed you.

Lying in bed that night, he still can't believe it. Even harder to believe is the fact that you'd kissed back, smiling from ear to ear and gracing him with another peck of your lips when he'd wished you a good night and fled to his room. He still feels the ghost of your lips against his, imagines he can still taste you as he licks them.

Trying to form a coherent thought feels like swimming through an ocean of thick, cloying sweet honey. When he closes his eyes, there's only you. Your bright smile and soft eyes, the sound of your laugh, the feeling of your lips, over and over again. The tiny part of him still capable of logic is telling him he made a mistake, that he should stay the fuck away from you. Indulging the feelings for you, which he is no longer able to deny, can't lead anywhere good. He should turn back while he still can, for your sake as much as his own.

You deserve someone nicer, someone you won't be in danger for associating with, who doesn't have so much to hide. Someone who can openly worship the ground you walk on, prioritize you over everything else. Xaden wishes he could be that person, but the burden he took on after his father's death won't allow it.

He plans on telling you as much, but when he sees you in the hall the next morning, he can't bring himself to get the words out. Your face lights up at the sight of him, the awareness of the joy his presence brings you making his heart ache. Then you come skipping over and peck his cheek, first making sure nobody is watching, which has Xaden melting all over again. No, as much as he knows he should end this before it can really start, he simply can't.

You walk to breakfast in companionable silence, which Xaden is very grateful for. He's not ready to talk about whatever this is that's developing between you. You'll have to, eventually, he knows. He'll have to decide if he wants to accept that he's smitten and just see where this will go, vulnerability and problems that would come with it and all, or if he wants to try and shut you out. It's barely a choice, considering how he loathes every moment he's apart from you. He should have never allowed himself to get this close in the first place, but now it's too late.

"You shouldn't be seen with me so much," he tells you a few days later. The both of you are late for math because you'd been too busy making out in an empty corridor to hear the bells, and he can't help but worry what everyone will think when they see you walk in together, kiss-swollen lips and all. "People will say you associate with traitors."

The roll of your eyes is a stark contrast to the gentle tone of your voice when you reply. "People see us together all the time, Xaden. It's not any different just because we're more than friends now. And I don't care what they think, anyway. You're not a traitor, and anyone who thinks you are is an idiot and doesn't matter."

Xaden has to bite his lip to keep silent. If only you knew what he's been up to. Dragging you into the revolution is the last thing he wants, and yet, he can't help but imagine how much nicer it all would be with you by his side. With a sense of justice as strong as yours, you would certainly want to help if you knew the truth of what's out there. No matter. He's not going to put you into that danger, not with how uncertain everything still is.

Twice him and Garrick have managed to smuggle weapons out now, chancing upon a friendly drift by mere luck the first time. Twice is not enough to determine whether they'll get away with it in the long run. For all he knows, someone could already be suspecting them — which is exactly why you should not be seen with him. Even unaware as you are, it's not safe.

And what if you catch on? Xaden knows you know he has secrets, and adores you even more for not pushing the matter, but eventually, your curiosity is bound to get the best of you. If you find out about the weapons runs, he'll either have to tell you what leadership has been hiding — which will sound like madness when he has no way to prove it — or let you believe him to be a traitor without reason. He can't imagine either.

Unfortunately, you choose just then to say, "You know, I missed you at dinner yesterday."

Xaden acknowledges your comment with a nod but doesn't reply, unwilling to lie but unable to tell you that he'd snuck out with Garrick to deliver the weapons they'd stolen for the fliers.

"I'm not saying that because I want to stalk you or anything," you continue. It's become sort of a running joke between the two of you to call the other a stalker for such observations. "It's just that you had me worried. Maybe next time you could let me know when you're going to be busy?"

"Yeah. I can do that," Xaden says, praying you won't ask where he's been.

"Thank you." You smile, briefly halting your steps to give him another kiss, and Xaden is too lost in the sweetness of it to notice you've already reached the classroom until you open the door.

Despite his resolution to not let your relationship — or whatever it is — progress any further, he does. It's like any time he's near you, he loses all common sense.

Sgaeyl is getting annoyed with him, telling him to make up his mind. It is clear he's already made his decision, she says, so he might as well commit to it. She's right, of course, even if Xaden hates to admit it.

He doesn't want to be the selfish asshole he feels he's being by letting himself bask in your presence every chance he gets, by allowing himself to dream of a future with you by his side. It's unattainable, no matter how much he wants it, and yet there's a tiny part of him that dares to hope and refuses to settle for less. You may not have actually talked about your feelings so far, but Xaden knows you want a real, deeper relationship with him as much as he does. It could all be so perfect, if there weren't all those responsibilities Xaden has to think of, the lives depending on him. He can't drag you into that mess in good conscience; just imagining that inherent joy leaving your eyes as the truth destroys your faith in humanity makes him feel sick.

Maybe he could be with you without letting you find out? You always respect his privacy, never probe about the secrets you know he has.

But no, he can't keep you in the dark forever. He'll tell you, sooner or later. You deserve to know the truth, terrible as it is. You deserve to fight by his side, if you so choose. Whatever horrors the future holds, Xaden wants to face them together with you.

"I don't know if this is such a good idea," he admits one night, lying in your bed. One last, half-hearted attempt to make you see he's bad for you. And if you brush it off like you always do, he'll accept that you want him too, consequences be damned.

"What isn't?"

"Us."

"Why not?" you ask, voice as soft as the drizzle of rain falling outside the window.

There's more than a dozen reasons he could list, but most of them have to do with matters he can't — won't — tell you about. Someday he will, if the world keeps turning long enough, but for the time being, it's better you don't know.

"I'm not sweet like you," he mumbles instead.

You just smile, the way you always do when he's being difficult. "No, I guess not. But you're not the bad guy you want people to think you are, either."

"You can't possibly know that."

He thinks of everything you don't know, the secrets he's hiding. Would you still think the same of him if you knew the truth about him, everything he really is?

"I do, though. You're not a bad guy," you repeat with a gentleness he doesn't deserve. "You're just you. A survivor. Maybe a bit broody. But that's okay, 'cause I love you just the way you are."

Your fingers brush a few stray hairs from his forehead, and the last of Xaden's resolve crumbles. Neither of you had dared use the word love so far; hearing it now, Xaden wants you to say it over and over again.

"Good. Because you're not getting rid of me anymore."

"No?"

"No. Even if you probably should."

"Good." You smile, ignoring the second half of what he said, and brush your lips against his. "Now stop worrying so much and go to sleep."

#fourth wing #xaden riorson

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zeisly · 9 days ago

Note

Hey!! I hope you’re doing GREAT! I was just wondering if you were going to do a part 2 to your Xaden x Tauri!reader fic? Have a great day!

I hope you are doing well!! I'll happily write a part two! x.riorson x tauri!reader Part one

Was it right, what you were doing?

Gods, no. It was cowardly. Shameful. You could admit that much, at least in the quiet dark of your own mind.

Avoiding everyone for a full week? Not answering a single knock on your door? Not even saying goodbye to Xaden before he left?

Pathetic.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” you’d said. Like a liar. Like a coward. You hadn’t meant it. You would’ve said anything to run, to just breathe.

Then you’d climbed straight onto your dragon’s back, whispered a single word—“Fly”—and she hadn’t stopped until the mountains blurred below you like water.

The Swordtail hadn’t said a word at first. Just kept flying. Far. Fast. Away. And you’d let her, curling into yourself as the sky turned from near night to morning.

She didn’t take you back until she felt the Blue Daggertail had left campus airspace the next day. Only then had she banked, circled low, and landed with a bone-shaking thud on the edge of the quadrant cliffs.

“You are being a coward,” she’d said flatly, her voice crackling in your mind like embers on wind.

You shoved the bond aside. Hard.

And she let you. For now.

You didn’t expect to get cornered so soon after. And certainly not by him.

Not Imogen, not any of the other third years.

No, it was Bodhi.

Which felt almost worse.

He caught you just outside the mess hall, grabbed your arm without preamble and yanked you into a shadow-drenched corridor, the one near the war college that always smelled faintly of damp stone and full of suggestive memories.

“Crown princess?” he hissed, his eyes dark and wild with disbelief. “And you weren’t just going to mention that to anyone?”

You ripped your arm from his grip. “How did you—?”

“How do you think?” he snapped. “Xaden. He’s barely said five words before he had to leave and two of them were your name.”

Your heart twisted. A fresh wound over a bruise.

“Look, I didn’t—I never meant for any of this to happen.” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted. “I wasn’t trying to lie. I just…”

“No,” he agreed, crossing his arms. “But you sure didn’t stop it, either.”

You swallowed hard, guilt clawing up your throat. “Do you think I wanted to be found out like that? In front of him?”

He looked at you then—not with anger, but with something that felt almost like pity. “He loved you. Still does, I’m sure. But you’ve got to know what this looks like to him. To all of us.”

“I never used him,” you said, firmer now, stepping closer. “I never once used who I was to gain anything. I kept it buried so deep I forgot what it even meant. I bled beside all of you. Fought beside all of you. Earned my place like anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Bodhi said, voice low. “You did. But now we all have to ask ourselves—was she an ally, or was she a royal pretending to be one?”

That landed like a punch to the ribs.

You didn’t have an answer.

He stepped back, eyes narrowing. “Fix this. Or at least talk to him before he starts thinking it was all a game.”

You stared at the wall long after he left.

Because it wasn’t a game. Not to you.

It never had been.

So really, what other choice did you have?

Your dragon knew before you did. Before your hands even reached for the flight jacket still slung over the back of your chair, before you shoved the nearest things into a pack with little care for what you grabbed. Before your feet started moving—fast, frantic—toward the flight field like the wind itself might carry you there faster if you just begged hard enough.

It was Violet you spotted first.

Tairn’s black form casted a long shadow over the clearing. The outpost rotation. Fourteen days. You’d nearly forgotten. Or maybe you’d tried to.

Fourteen days apart. It had already been that long?

Gods, it felt longer. Like the air had been thinner since the moment he left.

You moved before you could think.

“I’m coming with you.” The words left your mouth as your hand closed around Violet’s forearm.

She blinked at you, startled, brows knitting. “You—what? Are you even allowed to—?”

But the Red Swordtail landed with a heavy thud beside Tairn before she could finish the sentence, the wind from her wings blasting across the clearing like punctuation.

“I’m the Crown Princess of Navarre,” you said, too tired to flinch from the truth now. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a fact. Mostly. One you’d spent your whole life trying to outrun, and now, for the first time, you were owning it. Because maybe the only way to fix the damage was to stop hiding what you were.

Violet looked at you like she wasn’t sure whether to hug you or deck you.

She hesitated, then glanced over at the dragons. Tairn eyed the other like he’d expected this exact kind of trouble, and your dragon simply lowered herself to the ground in a clear, get on with it motion.

Violet turned back to you. “This… isn’t just about the outpost, is it?”

“No.” You met her gaze. “It’s about Xaden.”

“Thought so.” She sighed. “You ready for that conversation?”

You swallowed hard. “Not even a little.”

“Well,” she said, already moving toward her dragon again, “then it’s going to be a hell of a flight.”

And a hell of a flight it was.

Your thighs were screaming by the time Samara came into view, the cliffside outpost jutting from the mountains like a jagged secret. You could already see the dragons circling lazily above, familiar shapes in unfamiliar sky, and—

Gods.

You definitely weren’t expecting to land and be met with the unmistakable bark of Violet’s older sister.

“Princess?!” Mira Sorrengail hissed the moment your boots hit the stone.

You winced.

Violet landed seconds behind you, clearly bracing for impact.

“Mira,” you greeted, barely managing to keep your voice level.

“What in the actual hell are you doing here? Does Command know you’re—”

“It’s a long story,” Violet interrupted, stepping neatly between you both like a shield. “That I will explain. Later.”

You could’ve kissed her. Honestly. If you weren’t already in love with a certain moody, infuriating, shadow-wielding ex-wingleader, you would have kissed her. Right then and there.

But you didn’t have time.

Not when you felt it.

The pull.

That familiar gravity sinking into your chest like a second heartbeat.

Your eyes lifted, and there he was.

Xaden Riorson. Standing in the stone archway of the fortress like some damn storm god had carved him from shadow and control. Arms crossed, jaw tight, unreadable.

And his eyes?

Locked on you.

Seeing you.

Not just looking—seeing.

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up, walking fast, maybe too fast, trying to play it off like you weren’t practically sprinting. Like your legs weren’t trembling with every step, like your heart wasn’t thundering loud enough to echo.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t let him say a word.

You reached him and grabbed his arm, the familiar heat of his skin through his leathers nearly undoing you right there. “We need to talk. Now.”

His brow lifted, and you heard the softest huff of breath—almost a snort, like he couldn’t help himself—but before you could yank him toward some direction that only felt right, he moved.

Fast.

His fingers slid down your wrist, trailing fire in their wake before his hand settled low on your back. Firm. Right. Possessive in a way that shouldn’t still make your breath hitch, but gods, it did.

“Wrong way,” he murmured, voice low and maddeningly calm. Then he tugged you with him, pulling you against his side like it was how it was meant to be. Like your body belonged right there, pressed to his.

You stiffened, instinctively resisting the pull for half a second—because how dare he still touch you like that after everything? After Alic? After the truth?

But you didn’t move away.

Couldn’t.

Because, saints, you’d missed this. Missed him. Missed being seen and known, even when it hurt.

He guided you through the inner halls of the outpost without another word. No fanfare. No audience. Just the two of you, your steps too in sync for how fractured things were.

And when he pushed open the door, you didn’t even wait for it to close.

It wasn’t a decision. It was second nature.

You reached for him like you were starving. Like the absence of him had left something cracked open inside your chest and only this—only him—could make it stop hurting.

Your lips found his before the door even clicked shut.

There was no pretense. No buildup. Just fire.

Your hands cradled his face, fingers sinking into the dark curls at the base of his skull, holding him like you were scared the world might end if you let go. And maybe it would.

His hands were on your hips, not rough, just there. Holding. Desperate. Like he was terrified you’d vanish again. Like if he let go, it would all unravel.

You felt the shudder in his chest before you heard it, the way he breathed you in like he didn’t believe you were real. Like part of him thought this was a dream, and any second now, he’d wake up cold and alone.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his mouth, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

And still, he didn’t speak.

He just kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, with all the careful reverence of someone trying to memorize every shape and sound of something he thought he’d lost.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breath ragged, shadows curling faintly at the edges of your vision like they couldn’t stand to be far either.

His voice, when it finally came, was hoarse. “You left.”

You closed your eyes. Gods, that hurt more than it should have. “I know.”

“You ran.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a long moment, and then—so softly you almost didn’t catch it:

“I thought I ruined it.”

Your heart cracked clean down the middle.

“No,” you whispered. “You didn’t. I just— I didn’t know how to be everything at once. The rider. The liar. The princess. The girl in love with the one person I should’ve stayed away from.”

His breath caught. You felt it more than heard it.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. Like the floor had just shifted beneath him.

“You love me?” he asked, quiet, stunned.

You let the silence hang for just a heartbeat longer, let him feel the truth of it. Then you said it.

Not soft.

Not shy.

But clear.

And honest.

“No,” you said. “I’m in love with you.”

His eyes widened, barely perceptible, but it was there. That break in his walls. That flicker of something real and raw.

“Every part,” you continued, voice gaining strength now. “The asshole side, the protective side—even when it makes me want to gut you on the spot. The soft side you pretend doesn’t exist, the one that leaves chocolate on my bed and carries me to the med ward like I don’t weigh a damn thing.”

You stepped closer, if possible, pressed your palm against his chest, right over the heart you weren’t supposed to have. Right over the part of him that you’d fallen for, piece by infuriating piece.

“I love the side of you that growls at anyone who gets too close,” you whispered, your hand curling into his shirt, “and the side that looks at me like I might be the only thing holding you together. I love the way your shadows curl when you’re worried. I love that you care, even when you pretend you don’t.”

He still hadn’t said anything. Just stood there, breath shallow, like you’d knocked the air out of him.

You gave him a crooked, watery smile. “So actually, yes, Xaden. I love you. And it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt. But gods help me, I do.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, his mouth crashed into yours again, and this time it wasn’t careful.

It was want and need.

No hesitation. No restraint. Just heat—raw and unfiltered, like a storm finally breaking after holding itself back for far too long.

His hands found your waist again, but this time they didn’t just hold. They claimed. Fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, calloused palms dragging along bare skin, bracing and igniting all at once.

You gasped into his mouth as he walked you backward, slow and sure, never breaking the kiss. One step. Another. Until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you had no choice but to fall back.

He followed you down, towering over you, shadows curling behind him like wings made of want. His pupils were blown, jaw tight, and he was breathing like he’d just come off a battlefield.

“Say it again,” he rasped.

Your heart stuttered.

“What?” you whispered, even though you’d heard him perfectly.

His hands were on either side of you now, caging you in, his mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your throat—never quite kissing, just close enough to set your skin on fire.

“Say it again,” he said, rougher this time. “I need to hear it.”

You looked up at him—really looked—and felt your chest ache with how much you wanted him to believe it. To feel it. To know he wasn’t alone in this.

So you reached up, slid your hand to the nape of his neck, and pulled him down until your lips barely touched his.

“I love you, Xaden Riorson.” you breathed.

He groaned like the words undid him.

And then he was kissing you again—deep and hungry, like he was trying to memorize every part of this moment. Like he didn’t want to just feel you, but devour you. Like he’d spent weeks trying to forget the taste of your mouth and was punishing himself for ever letting it go.

You barely had time to breathe.

His hands slid under your thighs, shifting you back further onto the bed with ease, his body pressed flush to yours in a way that left no space for doubt—or anything else.

He kissed you like a man losing his grip on restraint, like someone who’d been holding back for too long and had finally decided to let go. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, to the underside of your throat, where he lingered—breathing you in, brushing his nose against your pulse like he could feel the truth of what you said there.

His hands found the hem of your shirt again, tugging this time—not demanding, but asking. A silent question pressed into your skin.

You lifted your arms without hesitation.

Because this—he—wasn’t something you feared.

His eyes flicked up to yours once the fabric cleared your head, like he needed one last confirmation. And what he saw must’ve been enough, because he exhaled a curse against your collarbone and ran his hands up your sides like he was relearning you by touch alone.

Every brush of his fingertips sent heat racing along your skin, and when his mouth returned to yours, it was slower, deeper—possessive in a way that made your spine arch and your breath hitch.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, voice frayed and low, like confession and apology wrapped in one.

And you, already left dizzy by his touch, whispered back, “Then don’t let go.”

He didn’t.

#fourth wing #xaden riorson

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zeisly · 9 days ago

Text

As Long as You Know Me

Pairing: Liam Mairi x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: As a child of the rebellion, your birthday failing on Reunification Day stirs up a swarm of emotion. When your friends try to celebrate, Liam comes to your rescue... in his boxers.

Warnings: Grief, parent loss, fem!reader. Little angsty, but lots of fluff included. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Long time no see :) You can send in any requests, sign up to join my tag list, and read my previous works all through my bio, tehe! I have lots more Fourth Wing content on the way. I hope you enjoy, comment for a part 2!

July 1st was an open wound. As a child of the rebellion, it marks the day that I was forced to watch my parents be executed for fighting for a better life. July 1st is the day that Lillian Sorrengail ruined my life.

It’s the day she ironically declared “Reunification Day”, as if she hadn’t torn apart families and orphaned so many children.

July 1st was also the day that I was born. Every year since I turned eleven, my birthday has been tainted by the cruelty of the General and her misguided sense of justice.

This year, my birthday starts with her drunk daughter knocking on my door.

“Take it!” Violet urges, trying to pass me a shot of liquor. I make no move to reach for it.

Her, Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Sawyer are all standing at my door with cheery grins across their faces and dazed looks in their eyes. They don’t have nightmares of watching their parents die. On the worst day of my life, they were probably out celebrating with their families, smiling at the rebels’ defeat. I spent that night alone. I spent it with a cursed mark running up my skin forever.

“What’s going on?” I stifle a yawn behind my hand, wrapping my blanket tighter around my shoulders as I face them.

“You’re twenty-one!” Rhiannon’s words slur as she claps me on the shoulder. “Drink up, birthday girl!”

“What time is it?” I blink at them. Ridoc’s smile falls into a line of annoyance quickly.

“You’re really ruining this, you know?” He chastises. I raise my eyebrows and look across the rest of the faces in front of me, eight eyes watching me with weaning anticipation. Sawyer sways on his feet and I notice the moonlight coming through the hallway window behind him.

“What time is it?” I ask again, staring at Sorrengail this time. She’s chewing her bottom lip. The shot in her hand is about to pour over the edges.

“It’s midnight,” Rhiannon explains as if it’s obvious.

“For fuck’s sake,” I complain, running a hand down my face. I move to shut the door, but Ridoc protests, pushing it open and letting himself into my room. The rest follow him without question. My stomach rolls at the smell of booze they bring into the room.

“It smells nice in here,” he compliments, sitting on my bed. I disagree.

“What are you guys doing?” I sigh in frustration. “It’s late. You woke me up.”

There’s a part of me that feels guilty for my lack of enthusiasm at their excitement, but the larger--tired-- part of me is overwhelmingly disappointed by their lack of thoughtfulness. It doesn’t take a lot of tact to refrain from initiating a celebration on the day of someone’s traumatic event. Yet somehow, they still managed to surprise me in the worst way.

Have none of them thought that maybe I wouldn’t want to celebrate my birthday? Have they possibly considered that I didn’t tell them about it for a reason? The mark that swirls up my arm was no secret. They know what today means to me.

“We’re celebrating. It’s your birthday. Quit whining,” he complains. “What do you want to do? We could still go into town.”

“I want to go to bed.” I lean against my open door frame and stare at my friends who are now scattered across my room. Violet places the shot on my desk before dropping her body on to my chair. Rhiannon has a handle of liquor in her hands and is drinking from the bottle. I cringe.

“But it’s your birthday,” she whines.

“Happy birthday,” Sawyer coos, pulling me into a hug. I groan and gently push him back.

“I appreciate you all, but it’s really late, and I’m tired, and I don’t celebrate my birthday, so I think you guys should take this party elsewhere,” I explain, hoping that my reasoning can make itself known without me having to spell it out. My rebellion relic tingles on my skin. Rhiannon whines loudly and shrieks as she almost drops her bottle of liquor. I cross my eyebrows.

A loud slam of a door echos down the hallway and I hold my breath, hoping that nobody else has come to join this dreadful birthday party.

“Are you okay?” Liam is in my room immediately, and I feel my shoulders relax slightly. The first thing he does is place a hand on my shoulder, scanning my face for injury and finding none to warrant the pained expression on my face. His eyes starts searching the room wildly before he seems to put the pieces of the scene together himself. “Oh. I heard a scream.”

“Sorry.” Rhiannon frowns. Violet stifles a giggle. My eyes catch the liquid dripping out of the corner of her mouth before she wipes it away with her sleeve.

“Now you can join the party,” Ridoc says from my bed. Liam says nothing.

I step toward him, letting his strong arm loop around my waist and bring me into his side. I let out a deep breath and he pulls me in tighter, the both of us exchanging a thousand words without speaking.

“What’re you wearing?” Violet asks him, wobbling as she stands from my chair. She stumbles over the edge of my rug as she approaches him, and Sawyer is quick to catch her before she hits the ground. I turn my face into Liam’s side, unable to watch this shit show any longer. He straightens beside me, bringing a hand to cradle the back of my head.

“Are any of you guys sober?” Liam asks. I feel his voice rumbling in his chest as he does.

“Nope!” Ridoc pops the p and pulls a flask out of his pocket. He tosses it to Liam, who watches it fall to the ground two feet in front of him. “Oops.”

Sawyer has his arm around Violet’s waist, steadying her as she clings onto his shirt for balance. Rhiannon is sprawled on my floor, shoes kicked off, with the bottle to her lips again. Ridoc is now under my covers with his head on my pillow. I grumble.

“What’s going on here?” A new person steps into the drunken circus that has invaded my room and I throw my head back in frustration, not having asked for any of this.

I miss my life ten minutes ago, when I was fast asleep in bed.

“Couldn’t tell you.” I look across Liam and meet Xaden’s eyes. The two of them whisper something back and forth before Xaden nods once and takes a further step into my room. His first stop is the flask on the floor, then the bottle in Rhiannon’s hand, then the now-empty shot glass on my desk.

“Back to your own rooms, cadets. Be sober by morning, we will be having a discussion about this with Aetos.” He walks toward the door, holding it open with his foot as Sawyer drags Violet out of the room. Liam and I step out of the way, breaking our embrace to give them room to move. I notice Violet’s eyes lingering on the wingleader, but he doesn’t so much as look her way as she’s pulled to her room. Rhiannon leaves next, smiling cluelessly as she carries her shoes in her hands.

“Happy birthday,” she says, throwing her arms around my neck in a hug. Her boots slam against my back and I wince. She leans all of her weight on me and nearly drags me down as she hangs from my neck. I unwrap her from me and she walks out.

“Love you.” Ridoc slings an arm around my shoulders and tries to guide me out of the room with him.

“Cadet Gamlyn.” He lets go at the sound of Xaden’s voice. The older boy shuts the door as soon as everyone is out, leaving only myself, Liam, and him. We all breathe out. “What was that all about?”

“They found out it was my birthday. I don’t know if they’ve even put together that it’s the same day,” I answer, not needing to expand on what ‘same day' means to this crowd. Both of the men in front of me were there to watch their loved ones die alongside mine. They understand the storm of grief stirring in my stomach. I sit on the edge of my bed, huffing at the disarray of my comforter.

“You were with them?” Xaden accuses Liam, who moves to sit next to me.

“No. I came in when I heard someone scream. I thought someone had come in and tried to hurt her or something.” He yawns, and I remember that it’s midnight. He must have been asleep just before he came in. His light hair is tousled on top of his head, and I notice for the first time that he wears only a pair of loose, black boxers. I avert my stare and bite my lip as my face heats at the realization of his muscled legs pressed up against the thin fabric of my nightdress. I swallow hard.

Xaden, on the other hand, is still wearing his training gear. I’m not surprised. I can’t imagine that he’ll be attempting to sleep tonight. Being the son of Fen Riorson makes today a little more complicated.

He sits in my desk chair and puts his head in his hands, sighing deeply. I lean my head to the side and lay it on Liam’s bare shoulder. His head turns and he presses a soft kiss to my hair, leaving his face to rest there.

The three of us sit there silently grieving with one another.

I let my mind wander to the birthdays I celebrated before the dreadful day I turned eleven. I remember my father making heart-shaped waffles for breakfast every year and letting me drown them in whipped cream and chocolate syrup. I remember my mother waking me up by climbing into bed with me and kissing my forehead. I remember my last happy birthday with them, when we were all crying from laughter because the bakery spelled almost every word on the cake wrong. When we were all alive.

I think of my mother’s laughter, her loud snorts that would send us all further into a fit of giggles. I think of how my father would always put a hand on his gut when he was really tickled by a joke. I’ll never forget either of their joy, throughout everything.

I’ll never forget that Lillian Sorrengail robbed me of experiencing that ever again. I’ll never forget that she robbed my future children of their grandparents. I’ll never forget that she had the audacity to grieve for her son and her husband when they died years later, as if she hadn’t inflicted that pain onto so many other families.

My mind flits back to the present when Liam begins rubbing his hand up and down my bicep. I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to ground myself back in reality. The boy beside me smells like citrus and rain, and I breathe it in again. His touch is soft and delicate, such a loving motion that sweeps my heart into a flurry. I sigh into him.

My eyes wander my room, landing on the confiscated liquor Xaden set on my desktop. His large body is still in my tiny chair, but now he’s slumped forward, eyes closed, and breathing deeply. My lips turn upward.

I sit up straight, facing Liam. He looks back at me, his eyes glossy. I feel my heart crack in my chest at the sight, but shove the pain down where I store the rest of today’s feelings. My finger rests on my lips to warn him to stay quiet and he nods, licking his lips. I pull my eyes away from the action and then point to where Xaden is asleep in my chair. A small grin rises on Liam’s mouth and I raise my palm to my mouth, stifling a laugh.

In all the years that I’ve known Xaden Riorson, I’ve never seen him without the crease between his eyebrows and the tension tightening his jaw. Looking at him now, he’s perfectly peaceful. His breaths are even and deep in the too-small chair. His skin is free from any stress lines. His lips are slightly parted and his hair is hanging loosely. Gentle snores fall from his mouth.

I draw my eyes back to Liam to see him sitting back on his hands and staring at the rare sight, too. In this position, every muscle in his upper body is perfectly displayed. His forearms, biceps, shoulders, chest, abs. I drag my eyes up his body and back to his pretty face.

“Do you want to sleep in here, too?” I offer to him in a whisper. We both know that, despite my wandering eyes, I’m offering because of the pain we are both going to be in once we’re alone. It’s easier to ride the grief out together. He nods once and adjusts himself on my bed.

Now, he’s sitting up straight against my headboard, legs extended out. He holds my gaze and shoots me a boyish grin as he kicks his feet into my lap. The look on his face is enough to seize my thoughts for a moment, and I have to blink to regain my senses.

With a roll of my eyes, I lift his legs off of me. I slide my throw blanket off of my shoulders and move across the room, draping it gently over Xaden’s body. I move back to the bed quietly, where I grab the top corners of my comforter and pull them up with me as I scoot to where Liam is perched at the head of the mattress. We sit shoulder-to-shoulder. I gather the material of the comforter and pull it over our laps.

“Should we move him?” His voice is loud enough for me to hear, but low enough that the sleeping boy couldn’t hear it from across the square room.

“I don’t think so.” I match his quiet tone. “He needs the sleep. If we wake him up he’s just going to leave. I think it’s best for him to be with us.”

“You’re very thoughtful,” he praises, and my stomach flutters. Liam Mairi has always been a kind boy. For him to be kind under the covers with me in his boxers was a whole new experience, though, and it was one I hoped to find myself in again as soon as possible.

His toned stomach is expanding and deflating so hypnotically that I find my lips parting as I watch helplessly. My eyes drift to the trail of hair that begins below his navel and continues into the waistband of his bottoms.

“What’re you thinking about?”

My face heats as I tear my eyes away from his body and meet his burning gaze, and I shrug.

“I’m a little rubbed the wrong way by my impromptu birthday party,” I supplement instead of revealing my actual thoughts. He lifts his arm from next to mine and drapes it around my shoulders, bringing me closer to him until my head is resting on his chest again. I adjust my legs on the bed and let myself get comfortable against his solid wall of muscle.

“I’m sorry. I get it. Do you remember that guy who tried to kill me during our first training fight?” I nod against his chest, tracing lazy circles along his skin with the tip of my index finger. “Well I kept an eye on him after that. He fought four other people, and only tried to kill the ones with rebellion relics.”

“Oh, Liam.” I turn my head to look at him and find his soft blue eyes looking toward Xaden’s sleeping form. “I’m so sorry. I wish things were different.”

“Me too. It’s just hard whenever we have to deal with things like that and our friends don’t. They probably don’t even realize what today means for us, because they’ve been celebrating it for so long without having to think about what we went through on the other side.” He shrugs his arm off my shoulder and moves it up and down the back of my night dress, making me shiver. It feels like the heat of his touch is burning right through the fabric and into my skin. I have to remind myself to breathe.

We sit like that in silence for a few minutes until he speaks again. “Can I turn the light off?”

I nod, holding back a groan when he moves his body away from mine and leaves me in my bed that suddenly feels too big without him. His footsteps are quiet as he moves across the room and flicks the switch. I lift the blanket up for him and he laughs softly, sliding in and laying his head on my pillow. He extends his arm for me to lay on, and I do, resting my head where his shoulder and bicep meet.

“Thank you for staying.” I’m staring at him under the faint moonlight that’s coming through the window. The shadow of his full lips curves upward as a grin stretches across his face charmingly. My chest flutters. His blue eyes flick to mine.

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think my first night spent with you would include my brother sleeping in your chair, but I guess it’s still pretty nice,” he teases with a wink. It takes all my strength to contain the bark of laughter that threatens to escape at his sudden boldness. A breathy chuckle leaves me instead, fanning over his freckled skin.

“Are you saying you’ve thought about spending the night with me, Liam?” I fiend upset, pushing myself up with the hand on his chest so that my face is hovering over his. “I’m shocked.”

“Oh please.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, moving his hand along my head until it reaches the back of my neck and stays there. My eyes flick down to his strong arm flexed beneath me before I can stop myself, and his smile widens impossibly. “You know every guy in this wing has thought about spending a night here with you.”

“What?” I furrow my brows. “Are there other guys in this wing? Could’ve fooled me.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest and into my heart where it twists itself into nervous ropes.

Liam and I have had an undeniable chemistry for as long as I can remember, but I’ve always been too afraid to act on it. His friendship meant too much to me, and I didn’t want to risk pursuing something that might cost me that. Now though, with his hand on my neck and his bare skin on my sheets, I find myself willing to risk anything to have this. I pull my eyes away from his lips only to find him staring at mine.

“The boys of Fourth Wing will be very sad to know that their fantasy girl doesn’t even know they exist.” He wets his lips with his tongue and meets my eyes with a mischievous smirk. “I don’t feel bad for them, though. As long as you know me that’s all that matters.”

The hand on the back of my neck draws me closer, slowly, giving me time to protest. Instead, I meet his eyes and nod once. The smirk that graces his lips is enough to send me into overdrive. Liam parts his lips beneath me and I pause, only centimeters away, inhaling his exhales. His large nose turns as he moves to close the distance between us. My eyes flutter shut.

A loud crash comes from across the room to interrupt our moment, and Liam wraps both of his arms around me immediately, pinning me to the curve of his neck and protecting my head with his free arm.

There’s a passing moment of silence before a pained groan follows, and then Liam is laughing loudly under me. He takes his hands off of me and throws his head back against the pillow in an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

“Shut up,” Xaden moans into the darkness.

I swing my legs off of the mattress and hurry to the lightswitch, but trip and fall halfway there. Xaden and I both groan in unison, and Liam’s laughter only grows louder and more humored.

The loud sound came from Xaden crashing to the ground along with my now-broken chair.

A rough hand shoves my shoulder and I roll off of him, cursing under my breath. Landing on top of him was far more painful than I would have expected. I lay on the floor beside him and laugh shortly.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask over the chuckles in the background. Xaden grunts in response. “How did my chair break?”

“Stop asking me questions,” he grumbles. “I’ll get you a new chair for your birthday.”

I laugh again at that.

He sits up on the floor and runs his hand through his messy hair. Liam manages to navigate his way to the lightswitch without tripping over one of us, and as soon as the bulb flicks on, all three of us are closing our eyes and mumbling our protests.

“Neither of you are wearing enough clothes for me,” the older boy complains as he adjusts to the light, throwing the blanket I left on his sleeping shoulders at me. His attention turns to Liam, narrowing his eyes as he looks up at him. “What’re you still doing here anyway?”

“I wasn’t gonna leave her alone in here with you snoring like that. Someone had to cover her ears so that she could sleep,” he deflects, moving to sit on the edge of my bed. Xaden rolls his eyes so hard that I wonder if it hurts.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand and yawns. I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“You’re always welcome to stay here. Once I get a new chair, I mean,” I tease him.

#fourth wing #liam mairi #xaden riorson

858 notes · View notes

zeisly · 9 days ago

Note

Hi! love your writing!! would you please write about garrick and reader being in a relationship (still at basgiath) and everyone knows they are perfect for each other or something cute like that

Terribly In Love

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Garrick x reader

Warning(s): fluff

Summary: Just a scene where Garrick impersonates a lovesick puppy for the girl of his dreams... and has no shame in showing her off in public. In fact, he rather enjoys the comments, the sweet words reminding him of just how perfect his girl is for him.

SR’s Note: This is *sickly* sweet, and I am sure your teeth will rot out after eating this one up... reguardless, I hope you enjoy this treat. You deserve it. xoxo

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You feel the familiar flutter in your chest as you spot Garrick across the courtyard, his broad shoulders unmistakable even from a distance. The morning sun catches the copper highlights in his dark curls as he gestures animatedly before Xaden, and you can't help but smile at the way his hands move when he's explaining something he's passionate about. Even after eight months together, the sight of him still makes your heart skip.

"There goes your lovesick expression again," Rhiannon teases from beside you, nudging your shoulder. "Honestly, you two are going to give everyone cavities with how sweet you are."

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your attempt at nonchalance. "We're not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Violet laughs from your other side, adjusting her flight jacket. "Yesterday I watched him literally stop mid-conversation with Colonel Aetos just to wave at you when you walked by. The man is completely gone for you; absolutely, and completely gone, Y/N."

Before you can respond, a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you're pulled back against a familiar chest. Garrick's chin settles on your shoulder, and you feel him press a soft kiss to the side of your neck that makes you shiver despite the morning warmth.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmurs against your ear, his voice still rough with sleep. "How is your morning going?"

You lean back into his embrace, feeling the solid strength of him behind you.

"Better now," you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. The smile he gives you is soft and private, meant just for you, and it makes your knees a little weak.

"Get a room!" Ridoc calls out from across the courtyard, but it's followed by good-natured laughter and a few appreciative sighs from some of the first-years who always seem to be watching you two with starry eyes.

Garrick chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back.

"Jealous," he says loudly enough for Ridoc to hear, then drops his voice again. "Can't blame them though. I'd be jealous of me too if I had to watch someone else hold you."

"You're terrible," you laugh, but you make no move to step away from him. His arms tighten around you slightly, and you feel him press another kiss to your temple.

"Terribly in love with you," he agrees without shame, and you hear Rhiannon coo a soft "aww" behind you.

"Garrick," you start to protest, feeling heat rise in your cheeks, but he's already turning you in his arms so you're facing him.

"What? It's true." His hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with practiced gentleness. "I love you. Everyone knows it. I'm not going to pretend otherwise just because we're in public."

The sincerity in his golden brown eyes makes your breath catch. Even after all this time, he still looks at you like you're something precious, a prized posession made for royalty. It's in the way his touch is always gentle despite his strength, the way he positions himself between you and any potential threat without even thinking about it; the way he says your name like it's his favorite word.

"I love you too," you whisper, and his smile grows radiant.

He leans down to kiss you, soft and sweet and completely unhurried despite the fact that you're still standing in the middle of the courtyard with dozens of riders around. His lips are warm against yours, and you can taste the hint of mint from his morning routine.

When he pulls back, it's only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes half lidded as his gaze searches your own.

"There they go again," a first year sighs dreamily from nearby. "I want what they have."

"We all want what they have," another female voice agrees. "Look at the way he looks at her."

"And the way she melts for him," a third male voice adds. "It's like something out of a romance novel."

You feel your cheeks burning hotter and hotter, but Garrick just grins, clearly pleased by the commentary.

"Hear that?" he says, yet again loud enough for your growing audience to hear. "Romance novel worthy. I'll take that as a compliment."

"You're... just, impossible," you mutter, smiling as you chastize him.

"Impossibly, yours," he corrects, pressing a quick kiss to your nose that makes you scrunch it up in that way he says is 'adorable'.

The warning bell rings across the courtyard, signaling that morning formation is about to begin. Garrick sighs dramatically, his hands sliding down to take yours.

"Duty calls," he says, but he doesn't immediately let go of your hands. Instead, he brings them up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each of your knuckles. "I'll see you at lunch?"

"Always," you promise, and you swear the smile he gives you could power the entire war college.

"Good." He releases one of your hands but keeps hold of the other, walking with you toward where your respective squad is lining up. "Try not to miss me too much during morning drills."

"I'll do my best," you say solemnly, tossing him a playful wink. "But no promises."

He laughs, that rich sound that never fails to make you feel warm all over. When you reach the point where you have to separate, he stops and turns to face you fully. His free hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so tender that you hear someone nearby sigh in admiration.

"Be careful today," he says, and there's something more serious in his tone now. "I know you're working on more advanced maneuvers with Lyseraie, but—"

"I'll be careful," you interrupt gently, squeezing his hand. "I promise. ANd, besides -- Lyseraie knows how much I can handle."

He studies your face for a moment, then nods once.

"Good. Because I have plans for us tonight, and they don't involve visiting you in the infirmary."

"What kind of plans?" you ask, now curious.

His grin turns slightly wicked. "The kind that involve just you, me, and that bottle of wine I've been saving."

You feel heat pool in your stomach at the promise in his voice, and from the way his eyes darken slightly, he notices your reaction.

"Garrick," you breathe, and he leans down to brush his lips against your ear.

"Tonight," he promises, his voice low and rough in a way that makes you shiver. "But first, we both have to survive the day."

He pulls back and gives you one more quick, soft kiss before finally releasing your hand.

"Go on," he says, nodding toward where your squad is waiting. "Before Xaden starts timing how long our goodbyes take again."

You laugh, remembering the wingleader's exasperated commentary from last week about "excessive displays of affection during formation." But before he starts to walk away, Garrick catches your wrist gently.

"Hey," he says, and when you look up at him once more, his expression is soft and serious. "I love you. More than anything."

The simple declaration, spoken with such quiet conviction, makes your heart swell.

"I love you too," you reply, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

He nods, satisfied, and finally lets you go. You watch as he jogs toward the front of your section, and though you continue to face forward, you can feel his eyes on you. That damned protective gaze that follows you everywhere. It should probably annoy you, the way he watches over you like you're something fragile -- but instead, it just makes you feel cherished. Safe.

"Finally," Rhiannon says, falling into formation beside you. "I thought we were going to be here all day watching you two be disgustingly perfect together."

"They really are perfect though," Violet muses from your other side. "I've never seen two people more suited for each other."

You glance ahead toward where Garrick is standing, finding him already looking your way. He winks when he catches your eye, and you have to bite your lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

"Yeah," you agree softly, watching as he turns his attention to the other leadership, immediately slipping into his role as section leader with the same confidence and care he shows in everything he does.

"We really are."

✧･ﾟ: *

#fourth wing #garrick tavis

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zeisly · 12 days ago

Text

eyes closed. (1) . liam mairi (fourthwing)

Unlike the other marked ones, you despised having that symbol branded along your back and spent your entire life running away from it. But the charming smile and the captivating blue eyes of a certain cadet going by Liam Mairi might just convince you otherwise.

genre: slowburn! rivals to lovers (ish), Liam is smitten. He fell first but she fell harder. Happens before the fight at Resson. Reader's name is Kaelle Loo, a first-year.

----part one | part two -----

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

He's always finding you, one way or another.

You scurry over to a stack of books, glancing back over your shoulder as you make quick work of blending into the cream textures of the library. It's void at this time of the day, the hot afternoon sun beating down and gleaming over the arrays of shelves, the kind of weather that cadets usually thrive in. Not you. You hate the heat, and you hate being outside when all it does is either make you sweat or renders you cold.

Most of all, you hate it here. Which is why you try to find ways of making this experience as bearable as possible. And that is finding solace in the library.

Suddenly stumbling upon a cream-coloured figure, your face softens into a smile when you're met with Jesinia's kind eyes.

"Hey Kaelle," she signs with quick motions of her hands, "hiding again?"

"You know it," you sign back, shoulders lift into a shrug, "anything new?"

"None yet," Jesinia turns to point at the bookshelf in the far corner, "but you might want to check out this one. A lot of returned books recently.”

“Thank you,” and you’re off, winding through the smell of paper and faded ink pen until you find what you’re looking for.

Unfortunately though, it looks like you’re not alone.

“Hey Kaelle.”

Liam Mairi— with his lovely blue eyes and that dimpled smile. The kind that would make everyone falter for a second.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out colder than expected.

He holds up the book from his lap, “reading?”

“Why are you telling me like it’s a question?”

“Because I’m not quite sure I understand it, whatever it is that’s written there,” Liam’s grin deepens tenfold before he straightens up, making some space for you as you slowly resign yourself to crouch by his side, your eyes already scanning for book titles that seem unfamiliar to you.

Finally, you let out a long prolonged sigh, “who sent you this time?”

He shrugs, but you can read him like an open hook. He’s always been so easy to decipher. Which is probably for the best when he’s basically stalking your every move.

“Liam,” your tone sharpens, “tell me.”

A soft sigh escapes his lips, “who else?”

“What is it this time?”

“You know we’re smuggling weapons,” his voice softens into a hushed whisper, hlue eyes darting around to scan the area before flicking back to your face, “he needs all the help he can get. It's--getting tougher."

"Well maybe that's something he shouldn't do."

Liam throws you a pointed look, as if whatever you suggested is completely irrelevant, "you know we can't do that. You know what's at stake--"

"I don't want to know," you cut him off suddenly, annoyance trickling through you at the thought that Liam might believe you're still one of them after you made it clear you had no intention of helping out with their vendetta when all you wanted was to be normal, "I don't want anything to do with whatever stupid, life-risking plan you guys are trying to come up with. So save your breath, my answer is already no."

You're straightening up before the words are barely out of your mouth and would've already been charging out of the library if not for Liam's hand snapping up to grab your wrist.

"Wait," he murmurs softly, "Kaelle. Just--hear me out."

It's probably the emotion in his voice that makes you falter, that makes you turn back to him with pressed lips and a clenched jaw. But he takes your silence as cue to continue, looking up into your eyes as he bites his lower lip, "you know the youngest Sorrengail right? Violet?"

"Yeah, how can I not?" you snort, "she's made herself an easy target with that mouth."

"What if you helped me?"

You blinked, "I don't quite follow."

Liam's gaze is steady and unflinching as he gazes up at you, "what if you help me, not as a marked one. But as a friend."

"We're not friends."

"I--" he bites the inside of his cheek and lets out a soft breath, hand unconsciously tugging you closer in the gentlest manner, "please?"

Sighing out in annoyance, you allow yourself to turn as a hand comes up to press against the bridge of your nose, "what do you need?"

You swear you're making a huge mistake, helping Liam out when he's been nothing but trouble for you. But one look at him makes all your resolve crumble. Maybe it's the emotion swimming in his eyes, the desperation lining his face that reminds you so much of your own, that has you folding over like a leaf.

You decide not to dwell on it. As long as you have nothing to do with Xaden Riorson, the one and only marked one who seems to be in charge and who's self-appointed himself as some kind of fatherly figure that makes you want to hurl the entire contents of your bedroom at him.

Then it should be fine. Right?

Right?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

"I can't believe I signed up to be a babysitter," you grumble into your vest.

Liam chuckles from your side as he buttons up his flight jacket, "just think of it as trying to get to know her better."

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm not particularly keen on making friends," you retort.

"Yeah I've noticed," he throws you a thoughtful look, one that makes you snap, "what?"

"Nothing," his lips curl into a half-smile, one that you cannot read. It's not the kind of thing you're used to seeing. People don't tend to smile at you when the first thing they see is the marks climbing up your neck like a collar.

The only reason why you are here currently is due to none other than Violet Sorrengail, who Liam has apparently been put on duty to babysit. Because of the lack of manpower that Xaden needs in order to smuggle weapons out to the fliers, Liam has been dispatched to help in all ways he can, leaving you to look after Violet like some kind of mother hen just to make sure she doesn't cut her own head off.

The idea of it is downright ludicrous to you and you have half a mind to yell about it to the Riorson descendant later.

Your first mission? Accompanying Violet as she practices flying with her big-ass dragon that scares the shit out of you.

On cue, as if they've been summoned by your own thoughts, you feel the warm vibration of wingbeats at your back and a moment later, the rocky shattering of the earth as the weight of your dragons land behind you.

Feeling the softest brush of heat at your back, you turn and can't help but grin up at your dragon. A tiny one in comparison to all the others, but one that you'll choose again and again, no doubt in all the lives to come.

Hey Dionne, your hand comes up just as your dragon lowers his head so that your palm presses against his snout, sorry for bothering you. I know it's usually your nap time.

His amber eyes blink back at you gently, I would be mad to let another Dragon carry you, even if it's Deigh.

"Oh I know," you say aloud with a grin as you rub his purple black scales, "you're too proud to let that happen."

Another growl resounds to your right and you force yourself not to look, despite the fact that you can feel Tairn -- Violet's dragon -- from a mile away. You hear Violet's hushed murmurs as she speaks to him, but decide to climb your dragon instead, manoeuvring yourself with ease since Dionne is of a slimmer build. As if he's made just for a rider of your size.

"Ready?" Liam calls out from where he sits along Deigh's back.

You nod at him, and when he confirms the same with Violet, soars up into the sky.

You follow, grabbing hold of Dionne as he proceeds to follow Liam's dragon into the open air. Off you go, feeling the wind trickle through your hair and the coldness seeping through your skin -- a nice welcome from the scorching heat below -- as you all but crouch against your dragon's spine. He's all speed and agility, whipping through the clouds and causing your hands to numb with the sheer force needed to stay on his backside. He banks left, following Deigh and the giant form above you can only recognise as Tairn, before doing a little spin that leaves your head reeling.

Was that really necessary? you ask him through the shimmering silver bond.

My apologies, it's been a while since I've seen so much sun, Dionne chuckles, I get excited about that.

I can see that.

You fly for what feels to be two hours -- judging by the numbness of your limbs and the fact that you can't feel your face. It's only when Dionne finally manages to land right outside Basgiath's courtyards that you feel the warmth finally seep through your palms. Descending from your dragon and checking his scales for any debris that might've gotten stuck to him, you don't notice Violet approaching until you hear her clearing her throat.

"Hey," she says, looking a little guarded. You don't blame her. You're not the picture of wholesome and welcoming, "thanks. For accompanying me. Liam," she gestures towards the said young man looking busy as though he's having an argument with his dragon, "he told me how he asked you for help. And I--well, thanks."

"You shouldn't thank me," you cross your arms, "thank Liam."

“Still,” apprehension flickers in her eyes, her posture rigid and taut, “thank you.”

You nod, not knowing what else to say, and turn back to Dionne.

You don’t hear Violet leave, focusing on your bond with Dionne so that you won’t say something you don’t mean. It happens to you at the worst of times and you’d rather not show it off to anyone in the near vicinity.

Are you alright?

Dionne’s gentle words are a soothing caress against your mind.

You nod, hiding your face in his scales as your knuckles turn white. Yeah, I just don’t know why Xaden’s obsessed with her when her mother’s the reason my entire family is dead.

The matters of the heart is always a complicated thing, Dionne says as he blinks down at you, but she is not her mother, Kaelle. She is just another cadet trying to survive, just like you.

You’re right, you sigh and rub at your face, I shouldn’t be so mean to her.

“What’s gotten your face so sour?”

You swivel on your feet and press back against your dragon in surprise. So deep in thought you’d barely noticed Liam until he stands a few feet away from you.

His hair is tousled and he has goggle marks along his cheekbones, the sight surprisingly adorable on him as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on one leg, “that wasn’t so bad now was it?” He asks with a grin.

“Tolerable,” you replied, “but completely irrelevant to my life. I could be using my time more productively.”

“You’re training on Dionne, that surely counts for something.”

You hate it when he’s right, and just turn your head away before patting Dionne on his chest, a sign that he may leave.

A few heartbeats later, the wind whips at your hair as your dragon leaps into the sky and you watch his figure for a moment— a dot against the afternoon sun — before heading towards your dormitory.

Liam falls into step beside you, something that he rarely does out in public. Everyone knows that you’re not well acquainted with the marked ones despite forming part of their community. You always kept yourself to your own, never wanting to share whatever experience you had with the others despite the fact that you’d shared the same branded marks. The only one capable of getting anything out of you was probably Imogen, and even she struggled sometimes, guided by the fact that she saw you as a little sister despite everything.

So whatever Liam’s trying to do only causes you to narrow your eyes at him, “what are you doing?”

He shrugs, “walking with you?”

“I don’t need you to walk with me.”

He gasps dramatically and holds a hand to his chest, “You hurt me,” he says, shaking his head, “where are you headed to anyway?”

“My room,” you arrive at the staircase and ascend the tower, your boots clicking along the stone steps. Liam follows with ease, long legs striding alongside yours, “so if you’re done playing shadow with me, you can run back to Riorson and tell him that I won’t murder his precious lady.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Gods. He’s so unshakeable. Your eyes narrow in annoyance, “what?”

If Liam notices your glare, he decidedly ignores it, “why do you hate Xaden?”

A pause. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Silence is your answer. You keep on walking, a ball forming in your throat as the words seep through you like lead.

And then, as if spurred on by his courage, Liam adds in a soft murmur:

“Why do you hate us?”

That makes your throat constrict and suddenly it’s a little too stuffy inside the corridor. You’ve thankfully arrived to your floor and that’s when you turn to lock eyes with those icy blue pupils swimming with open, genuine confusion. As though there’s nothing to hide, as though he’s never been through what you’ve been despite the fact that you know he hurts as much as you do deep down hidden between the grooves of your heart.

Your throat goes a little dry the more you stare up at him in silence. Tension cuts through the air and you swallow thickly.

“I don’t… hate you,” you finally murmur out, a hoarse whisper that speaks volumes, “I never could.”

Liam’s eyes are startlingly blue and pierce through you as he waits in silence for you to go on.

You do, “being with the marked ones, being with the people who know what it feels like to lose everything—that hurts more than anything else,” your teeth find your lower lip and you chew onto it unconsciously. Your hands slide up your arms, holding them to your chest like a shield, “seeing the marked ones just makes me remember. And I don’t want to, I want this part of my past to be gone. I don’t want to think about it, and I don’t want people to know about it. If I—“ you let out a shaky breath then and dipped your head to the ground, “—if I could disappear from Basgiath, I would.”

When Liam speaks next, there’s a gentleness in his tone that you’ve never heard before. It’s soft and coaxing, almost gravelly, “what would you do if you weren’t forced to be a rider?”

No one’s ever asked you that before. You’re left to blink at him, brows furrowed, taking note of how he’s leaning towards you like he actually wants to know.

Not because you’re marked. Not because he has to.

Because he wants to.

Somehow, it stirs something in your chest.

You feel a bit vulnerable. Exposed somehow.

“I’m not sure,” you finally say, “maybe I’d hide in the mountains. Travel. Visit towns. Gods, I certainly would not be trapped here.”

Liam’s features soften with sympathy, “that sounds amazing.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “it does.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The days go by at an alarmingly slow pace, and Liam stays persistent throughout it all. It’s almost like your confession, that little door he’d nudged ajar to step into your innermost personal thoughts had him believe that you were more than just this ice cold wall that no one dared approach.

As the summer turns to autumn and the foliage transforms into beautiful hues of yellow and orange and blazing auburn, you find yourself spending more and more time with the blonde despite your reluctance to do so. He finds you everywhere— during your breakfast duty and sneakingly exchanging places with your partner so that he could keep you company, joining you during your sparring sessions, sitting next to you in battle brief despite your initial scowls and grumbles. He even goes as far as to find you amidst your afternoon jogs around the campus.

At some point, you can’t help but snap at him, “are you following me, Mairi?”

To which he merely raises a brow, “no, I’m just keeping you company.”

You have nothing to say to that, face reddening with embarrassment as you quickly swat away your emotions.

No need for him to figure out that he’s getting under your skin.

A little too easily, you might add.

It’s not like you to let people in so easily. Hell, you’ve been fighting to cut strings the moment you’d gotten painted on with those scars that reminded you of who you were. But Liam, he makes it so easy. One quick smile and a glimpse of the glimmer in his eyes and you find yourself unconsciously drawn to him for god knows what reason.

A little too soon, you find yourself searching for his blue-eyed gaze across the room.

A little too soon, you start to impulsively expect him to be at your side during Battle Brief.

A little too soon, you start to look forward to the conversations exchanged in the dim light of the corridor every night as he accompanies you to your room. It’s become customary, almost natural, that his warmth graces your side, that his familiar baritone echoed through the walls of the dormitory.

The first time your signet manifests, you’re currently in a head-to-head spar with none other than Imogen. She’s currently holding you in a headlock and threatening to tap you out when your skin suddenly flares up, searing in pain.

You scream.

And a moment later, you’re out of her arms.

Imogen blinks, surprise flashing through her face as you turn slowly, wondering what the hell happened.

Her smile is slow as it breaks across her features, “your signet,” she announces, “fucking finally.”

What? Your signet?

Your mind races, shock slamming into you as your eyes widen. But it’s not until you hear Xaden’s voice fill the arena that the realization of it all crashes into you.

“Time-wielder.”

Everyone’s ecstatic. Imogen practically runs you over, picking you up as you’re suddenly crowded in by all your classmates congratulating you on this amazing gift. The professors standing from the far side walk over with proud smiles, and throughout it all you spot Liam’s grin from the other side of the room, his face a pool of genuine happiness that makes your heart race through your chest.

“Time wielder huh?” He says a bit later in the courtyard. He found you sitting in a small patch of sunshine, head tilted up to the sky with an expression so peaceful it jars him for a few seconds.

Your eyes flicker towards him, down to the small wooden sculpture in his hand, before you settle your attention onto the lush landscape spreading beyond, “I still don’t understand how it works.”

“It’s only been two hours,” Liam replies as he shaves off a piece of wood, “it’s already great that you’ve manifested it.”

Sparing him a glance, you wrap your arms around your knees, “how does yours work?”

“Well,” he leans back, shoulder brushing yours as he does so, “I have to focus on the object I want to see up close. If it’s too far, I focus on the closest point I can make out first,” he points a finger towards the sea of orange and brown, “and then it’s like— I force myself through it and suddenly I can see up close, like I’m standing right in front of it.”

He explains it as if it’s that simple. And for him, maybe it is. He seems to have no trouble in seeing past what people project of themselves.

Like he does with you.

Don’t be so hard on him, the shimmer of the bond ripples through your mind. It’s Dionne, making an appearance when he usually keeps to himself most of the time, he means well.

It’s not that easy, your jaw flexes, as do your fingers in your lap, he’s too good for me. Has always been.

“How does Dionne feel about it?” Liam leans over his knees and tilts his head to look at you, his blonde locks catching the afternoon sunlight.

I knew you’d have an incredible signet, Dionne chuffs proudly, it was just a matter of when. Not if.

“He’s … happy.”

That’s not what I said.

You scoff and shake your head, “fine. He’s very proud.”

Better. But not quite.

Liam’s face breaks into a grin, “as he should. Your signet is one that’s never been heard of. You’re going to be written down in history.”

“I’d rather not,” you pull a face, “I don’t fancy being a hero. Not like Riorson,” that’s when you spare him a glance, hating the way your heart squeezes at how beautiful he looks, “not like you.”

“I’m not a hero.”

“But you want to be,” you look away before you do something stupid like brush his hair out of his face, “you’ve always been good. Better than most.”

The blonde cadet says nothing in favor of continuing to sculpt the little object between his hands. He has nice hands, you note. Firm and big, with long fingers that emit strength and quiet confidence.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Your eyes flit towards his face, lock onto his blue pupils.

“I’m not.”

He cocks his head, “you are, though.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Mairi.”

“Why?” His lips tilt up into a smile, eyes crinkling, “am I rubbing off on you?”

“No,” you snort. But you’re smart enough to say nothing else, for there’s a small part of you niggling the back of your mind, telling you that indeed, he is rubbing off on you more than he should.

The next few weeks are filled with sparring, training, and fighting for your life whenever you try to train your signet. Xaden takes charge, pushing you to your limits until you see stars, until your knees slip out from under you and you all but fall back onto the mat, breathless. Slowly, you start to build on small increments of time; you fast-forward five seconds, then ten, then twenty. You’re sweating and boiling hot so that you’re stripped down to a sports bra and shorts, and still Xaden pushes you to try, try harder. Try now to push back in time.

“Up,” Xaden orders when he stands before you, looking just as sweaty as you look, “Now, Kaelle.”

“I—“ you gasp and curl in on yourself, “—I can’t.”

The power is simmering like lava fusing with your skin, burning you from the inside out and threatening to make you scream. Your hands curl into fists and it’s like you’re being scorched alive, the thrum of Dionne’s power so overwhelming that you have the urge to throw up.

Footsteps echo onto the mat before you feel a rough hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Xaden’s brows are furrowed, “you alright?”

You don’t trust yourself to talk for fear that you’ll scream. So you just shake your head no, jaw clenching as another wave of pain sizzles through your abdomen.

“Shit. Wait here.”

You don’t know how long you lie there like a dead weight, eyes half-closed and dazed, before you feel another set of arms wrap around your frame.

You tense instantly, eyes snapping open only to see a pair of familiar azure blue.

Kind. Tender. Your breath halts.

“Hey,” Liam’s voice is a gentle caress, “s’alright. I got you.”

And before you know it, you’re being gathered into his arms and cradled against his chest like a rag doll before he starts striding out of the sparring grounds. Protests make their way up your throat, only to die halfway through when you hear Dionne’s familiar rumble echo through your bond.

Let him help you, child.

So you do despite your brain screaming at you that this— all this is wrong. You fight against every instinct to push him away until he’s pushing his room door open. Like he’s handling gentle porcelain, he places you onto his bed and then proceeds to kneel by your side. Not close, but not far enough that you’d consider him scared of your response.

He ducks his head to look into your eyes, as if surveying your features, “feeling better?”

The simmer is still there, as angry as a coiled string snapping against you, but it’s less prominent if you try to focus on Liam and his scent overwhelming your senses.

As though sensing your thoughts, the said young man disappears into his bathroom for a few moments before walking back with a wet towel. Dropping to his knees once more, he hesitates slightly before pressing it against your nape.

The relief is astounding and a small moan slips past your mouth as you all but lean into his touch. The cold, a stark contrast to the heat sizzling your skin, is a welcome distraction while Liam takes hold of the other end of the towel before placing it over your arm.

He continues his ministrations until finally, finally, you feel like you can breathe again. The fire ceases to a warmth and you sigh as your muscles slowly relax. You don’t realize that you’re practically leaning into his hold until your hand accidentally brushes his arm.

Jumping away like he’s burnt you, you quickly clear your throat and right yourself, look away, “thanks.” You mutter.

His silence answers in his stead. His blue azure searching your features like he can’t quite believe that you’re telling the truth. A small sigh escapes his lips after a moment, and he falls back onto his carpet and uses his arm to lean against his bed.

“What happened?” He asks in a murmur.

“I was training,” you reply, “I think my signet overloaded.”

“And Xaden was okay with that?”

“Like he cares,” you snort, “he’d be glad to get rid of me, if he could—“

“You know that’s not the case, Kaelle,” Liam says gently, “he’s not the best at showing he cares.”

You shrug, eyes finding your lap as your hands knot together. There are questions burning at the back of your throat, questions that you’re not sure you want answers to.

“Why were you there?” You blurt out before you can think about it.

Liam’a blue eyes blink up at you in confusion.

“Did Xaden send for you?” You ask, “when I overloaded, he just— he left. And next thing I knew, you were there. So what did he do? Did he call you?” You take a breath, “do you always clean up after his mess?”

“That’s not why I was there,” Liam replies sharply, “he called for me, because he knew you wouldn’t want him to help you.”

At least he’s right about that. You can only stare at his door in growing annoyance. That’s what is is, isn’t it? Liam isn’t here because he cares. He’s here because Xaden told him to, just like he would for Violet.

Why does that leave such a bitter taste in the back of your tongue? You can barely look at the blonde in the face, not trusting yourself with whatever demons are dancing in your brain.

You get to your feet so abruptly that the blonde cadet lurches in surprise, arms already reaching out for you, “what are you—“

“Don’t.” You hiss at him over your shoulder, “touch me.”

Hurt flashes across his face for a second, before he schools his emotions into nonchalance. Liam steps back, weary and hesitant, as you throw yourself at his door and barge through without a backward glance.

You bolt.

You don’t look right nor left nor behind you.

You just make a run for it, legs pumping with adrenaline as panic and anger and irritation rages through you like a storm. You run and you don’t stop, down the staircase and out into the courtyard, not caring that the wind whips at your clothes and nips your skin with icy bites, not caring that you’re currently barefoot and you can’t feel your toes.

It’s getting harder to ignore the fact that your heart melts at the blonde with the blue eyes that makes your heart skid and skip with cartwheels. You realize it, as you stare up at the moon and watch the shadows in the courtyard dance with the wind tangling in your hair.

You’re letting Liam in, and you’re not sure how to stop it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

As it turns out, you don’t need to dwell too much on your emotional feelings and detours, as life in Basgiath takes priority. Soon, you’re focusing on wielding your signet, understanding where the Wards are failing and which cities are being invaded, while also babysitting Violet Sorrengail at every chance you can. Xaden calls for you and you haven’t heard of Liam ever since your spat with him, your declaration that has created a crevice so deep in your relationship that you’re not sure how to fix it. If you want to fix it.

Part of you is recoiling at the fact that maybe you’ll never be subjected to his kindness again. That you’ve ruined it all.

But the logical part of you is happy about it, glad that there are no expectations, nothing that can hurt you if you push everything away and build stone walls as high as your college itself.

Imogen asks you if you’re okay, a few days before the Reunification Ball, while you spar with each other. You tell her yes, you’re fine, and there’s no need to worry.

But the look in her eyes tell you otherwise; she’s not buying your lie.

Xaden finds you in your room a few hours before the Ball itself, his presence inviting lingering shadows as they dance around the corridor.

“What is it?” You ask as soon as you open the door.

Xaden’s dark brow raises in amusement, “you have a way of greeting people.”

“What is it, Riorson?” You repeat without patience, annoyed that he’s disturbed your peace.

“You don’t seem dressed,” he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway, “why?”

“Dressed to do what?”

“The Reunification Ball.”

“Ah,” you grimace, “I’m not going.”

He stares you down, “you are.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he retrieves a bag from behind his back and dangles it before your face, “I want every Marked one at the Ball. Consider it an order from your Wingleader.”

You don’t take the bag, instead glaring at him, “I’m not going.”

“Like I said, cadet,” his tone grows cold and firm. The tone of a Wingleader. He shoves the bag into your hands, “it’s an order.”

So you have no other choice but to attend.

“I knew you’d make it,” Bodhi says when he sees you storming out of your room, no doubt ordered by Xaden to ensure you’re actually keeping your word with the dress that he made you wear, “Imogen told me you were sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” you don’t fail to notice that it’s not Liam that’s waiting for you today, and the thought unfortunately causes a sting in your heart that you truth to brush off.

But who are you kidding really?

“Sorry, you must be disappointed blondie boy isn’t here today,” Bodhi says like he can actually read your thoughts.

You chortle and kick him in the shins for good measure. He yelps before he throws you a scowl, “ow! Damnit Kaelle was that really necessary?!”

“Yes it was. If it serves to shut your mouth.”

“Gods woman. You’re so brutal,” he moans dramatically, “pretty sure you left a lasting bruise.”

The great Mess Hall where you usually eat your dinner has been scraped clean to give way to beautiful red drapes and arrays of foods, snacks and drinks along the far corner. Riders, Healers and Infantry are all present, a mix of blue and beige and white blending into a mixture of color that for once seems to be in harmony. A stark contrast to the reality that lives behind these walls.

The lights have dimmed and everyone looks more relaxed than usual. You follow Bodhi across the floor, trying not to let the wandering gazes of other people get to you despite the fact that it makes your skin crawl with unease. Soon enough, you spot the squad of Marked ones huddled together like a pack of tuna and can’t help but wonder if that makes it worse; the fact that they’re all clinging to each other in a sign of defiance.

Finding Xaden’s eyes involuntarily amidst the sea of faces that greet you, you can’t help but throw him a scowl. One that he responds with a wicked grin of his own.

“You look gorgeous,” he says to you.

You narrow your eyes at him, “why are you all huddled together like sheep?”

He shrugs, “they feel safer around each other I suppose,” and then throws his hands up in mock surrender, “I don’t know. I don’t make the rules.”

You can’t help but chortle because he does, actually, make the rules. He’s practically the king of all these ministrations happening under Basgiath’s nose.

It’s almost impulsive, the way your eyes do a quick scan of the area as if searching. No, you’re not actually searching, but you find him anyway; the blonde hair and the blue eyes and— gods, that dimple.

His gaze collides with yours and you wrench yourself away. Heat permeates your skin, embarrassment flushing through you as you look at everything, anything, to make it go away. To make your heart stop galloping like a wild horse.

Fuck. He’s seen you, hasn’t he?

You’re so filled with your own self-loathing that you barely take note of the little push that makes you stumble.

You frown, look down at you feet.

And see shadows. It should be normal. It is normal.

But then you feel it again, the way they tug you, push you slightly, causing you to stumble slightly.

Whipping your head into Xaden’s direction, you’re rewarded with his dark gaze glittering with mischief, as if he knows damn well what he’s doing, even lifting a brow as if to ask; go on. Go to him.

Xaden’s shadows are insistent as they push you further towards Liam and you’re cursing under your breath until you’re just a few paces away from the him. He’s beautiful tonight; hair slicked back and away from his face, tall broad frame filling out in a black suit that seems to hug his silhouette. It almost makes your mouth water.

He spots you before you can do anything — like run for your life— and dips his head into a nod.

“Hey,” your voice comes out small.

“Hey,” he answers.

It’s wary, guarded even.

“I—“ the words feel like sandpaper along your tongue, your eyes drop to a point on his chest, “I’m sorry.”

He blinks, then turns towards you, “for what?”

“For what I said,” you shift from one foot to the other, “for how I am.”

He’s quiet and you think that maybe he doesn’t want to divulge, so you opt for silence as well, taking this time to watch the couples on the dance floor and laughing like there’s no tomorrow.

You don’t know how this kind of happiness feels like. You wish you did. But somehow, it seems always out of your reach.

But then a small nudge along your arm makes your head turn to see Liam, who tilts his head towards the said couples.

“Wanna dance?”

Your first response is to make a run for it. As it is, your legs are itching to turn the other way and break into a sprint. But another small nudge from Xaden’s shadow — the one curling around the arch of your foot — has you stumbling straight into Liam’s chest.

His face breaks into a dimpled grin and before you know it he’s grasped your elbow and tugged you to the dance floor.

The first thing you take notice of is that he’s warm. Warmer than you’d expected. You don’t know where to put your hands, panic taking over as your palms hover over him. But that’s before he clasps one of your wrists to place it along his shoulder before his other hand grips the remaining one so that he can draw you to him.

There’s a small smile dangling along his lips as he leads you onto the floor, “you’re looking a little green, Cadet Loo.”

“I’m fine,” you retort, your hand automatically flexing along his shoulder.

The silence reigns for a while as he sways you to the music. For a minute, it's almost peaceful, almost relaxing. His scent, it's everywhere, wrapping you in a soft cocoon of warmth; a mixture of sandalwood and fresh laundry sheets and something else, something spicier that just defines Liam in general.

But when Liam speaks next, there is a weight to his words.

"It's not easy to trust people," his azure blue pierce through your dark maroon. It's like he can see right past you, right past the facade you've built for people to fear and cower. But not him. Never him, "especially when you've been let down your entire life."

Your eyebrow quirks up in curiosity. Where is he going with this?

"You asked whether I clean up all of Xaden's messes," he continues and you swear you can taste the bitterness in his voice. He twirls you around before clasping your waist back to his chest, "there's one thing I'd like you to understand, and that is that I owe Xaden my life."

Of course, your initial response is to ask why. But you decide to opt for silence as an indication for him to go on.

"When he asked me to look after Violet, I had no choice," Liam continues in a softer tone, "but that day, after he sparred with you, was not his mess that I needed to clean."

Oh, so that's what he's getting at. He's still not over the horrible things you'd spewed about him that particular night and wants to set things straight.

You were quite harsh on him that night, adds Dionne at the other end of your bond.

You don't bother replying. She's right, no argument there.

Part of you wants to run away, make a dash for it when he's not looking. But you can't, not when his blue eyes are piercing yours with an intensity that makes you want to squirm.

"I helped you, because I wanted to," Liam hesitates for a beat, bites onto his lower lip, "because I cared enough to worry about whether you were burning yourself out."

You blink.

"Maybe that wasn't what you needed," he makes a turn and you follow, dress billowing as you do so, "and I overstepped. I'm sorry, Kaelle."

You blink again.

This time, confusion springs through your mind. What is he on about?

"Why are you apologising?" you blurt out.

Liam looks at you in surprise, lips parting, "well uh--like I said, I overstepped when I shouldn't."

"No," you snap, suddenly annoyed by how kind he can be. How stupid. This kind of gentleness will never get him anywhere at this rate, "no. You shouldn't apologise. I'm the one that should, and I did. Let's leave it at that."

"Why are you mad then?"

"You're apologising when you did nothing wrong," you scowl at him, "kindness does not get you far, not at Basgiath."

"I wasn't just being kind," Liam lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, "gods, you don't get it, do you?"

"What?"

"That I--" he presses his lips together and for a minute, all you can do is stare up at him with narrowed eyes.

`'You know what? Never mind," he sidesteps to the right, just about avoiding another couple before he twirls you around one more time, "you look beautiful, by the way."

His sudden compliment causes your cheeks to blaze, "thanks," you choke out.

You're more than glad to escape his arms when a group of Marked ones make their way over, looking drunk over their heads and high up their arses. Making quick work of slipping out through the throng of cadets and upper years, you don't hesitate to grab your skirts before making your way out of the Mess Hall, into the courtyard. The breeze is a cool, gentle caress against your cheeks and you all but collapse against one of the big, marble columns lining the main staircase that leads to the courtyard.

The moon is high up in the sky, and there's no doubt that there's a splatter of stars streaking through the night if you tilt your head up to search for them.

That's when you notice Xaden, lingering by the staircase leading towards the First Year's Wing. He leans casually against the wall looking deep in thought, not even bothering to glance up as you approach.

"Bold you of you," your voice carries over through the wind, "to let your shadows manipulate me like that."

His dark gaze finds yours for a heartbeat, before he re-focuses his attention on the darkness beyond, "you needed a little push. All I did was give you that."

"I don't need your help, Wingleader."

He sighs, "you're so stubborn."

"Thanks, I got it from my Wingleader."

Xaden finally cracks a smile before he looks at you, "so there is something that makes Cadet Loo's heart soft."

You almost choke on your own spit, "I'm sorry--what?"

"I'm not blind Kaelle," he shifts from one foot to the other, "why are you so insistent on shutting him out?"

You know without the shadow of a doubt that he's referring to Liam. His sweet, dimpled smile flashes through your mind and your heart tugs at the ache it brings.

So you decide to turn this on him, "why are you insistent on keeping your distance from Cadet Sorrengail?"

Xaden tenses, "that's out of your rank, cadet."

"I don't think so, not if we're going to talk about my love life," you can't help but smirk, "so? are you going to answer my question?"

"Not if you don't answer mine."

Hm. He has a point and your ego doesn't want to be trampled on. You lift your chin up in defiance, "fine. An answer for an answer."

"Fine." his dark eyes glimmer with amusement, "do you like Mairi?"

Gods. Isn't he a little too blunt? "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying--"

"Fine. I was asking the wrong question," his lips curl up at the edges, "do you think Mairi likes you?"

"I--no."

"No?" he cocks his head.

"I don't know. I don't care," your scowl deepens, "why don't you ask him if you want to know so badly?"

"Just do us a favour and stop denying it, cadet," Xaden says with a sigh, "It's starting to get really frustrating watching you two rotate around each other but never fucking taking risks."

"It's my turn now," you remind him, "do you like Cadet Sorrengail?"

His nostrils flares, but he does reply, "I believe I do."

You blink at him, not having expected him to be so brutally honest with you, not when it comes to feelings, "oh."

"You'll keep this quiet if you know what's good for you."

"Yeah yeah I got it," you shoot him a look, "I'm not a tattle tale, in case you couldn't tell."

It's not Xaden's sudden confession that has you tossing and turning all night, but rather the admission that maybe Liam might have feelings for you. You're not sure how you feel about it; on one hand you don't want to have anything to do with him when there are so many other things to care about; like Xaden's rebellion and the Squad Battles and trying not to die every single day you make it to tomorrow. But on the other hand, another part of you is screaming at yourself, running around in circles, trying to find deeper meaning into any of your interactions. That part of you wants to revel in Liam's attention, wants to know what it feels like be loved for who you are, for what you are.

Why does he torment you so? asks Dionne through the bond link a few days later as you make your way to Battle Brief, her energy thrumming like a vibrant white light in the back of your lids.

I don't know, you tell her truthfully, it's not like I want to. He's just--always there. He haunts me.

Maybe the Wingleader is right, she says, maybe you do have feelings for the Mairi boy.

Having feelings in the Rider's Quadrant will only serve as a weakness.

Having feelings for someone is not something you can control, Dionne replies flatly.

"Hey Kaelle," Bodhi says as you enter the Battle Brief room. He is seated up int he furthest corner he could find, stowed away like a shadow along with Garrick and a few other Marked ones. You can't help but roll your eyes at how cliquey they're being, and stroll on to find an empty seat only to spot Imogen waving at you and motioning towards one beside her.

Quickly slipping through the aisles of disgruntled cadets, you make your way towards the pink-haired second year when you spot none other than Violet Sorrengail and-- low and behold, Liam.

You haven't spoken to him since that night at the ball. And Xaden's words just keep replaying in your brain, making you unable to act as you would around the blonde.

The sight of him and Violet sitting together has your stomach churning with a queasy sensation.

"Morning Kaelle," chirps Violet.

"Morning," Liam's eyes are bright as they find your face.

You nod, mutter out a "good morning" and turn towards the front before they can continue on with conversation.

That's how your day goes, with you trying (and failing) to ignore Liam so that you don't do anything you'd regret in the long run. You stick by Imogen's side throughout the rest of the classes and despite being stuck in the same squad, quickly find another sparring partner so that he doesn't have the chance to even ask you. But if Liam notices of your reticence, he doesn't show it. He still comes and finds you during your afternoon run, still talks to you about his day as he carves into his dragon figurines like you're not blatantly answering in monosyllables, still manages to find you amidst a sea of riders during dinnertime, though it's not that hard, considering the Marked ones (namely Bodhi, Garrick and Imogen) seem to suddenly have an interest in sticking by your side at all costs.

You're still training your signet at every chance you can get, practicing on Xaden and increasing the number of times you can wield as the weeks go by. It's a routine that you've set for yourself, along with your Wingleader, to ensure that you're up to speed about defending yourself. So imagine your shock when you turn up one early Thursday morning to discover that Xaden's gone-- apparently on a mission outside of Basgiath -- and that in his place is a half-awake Liam Mairi looking like he'd just rolled out of bed.

"What are you doing here?" shock lines your tone.

"Here to train you."

"Why you though?" it could be anyone. Imogen, Bodhi, Garrick...all of them flash through your mind, until you come to the realisation that Xaden has done this on purpose.

The little shit.

You're so going to get him and Violet into the most fucking embarrassing situation and we'll see who will be laughing then.

Oooh a sabotage plan, Dionne purrs from the bond, I like the way you think.

He deserves it after everything he makes me go through, you reply with gritted teeth.

Liam merely raises a brow in amusement. He crosses his arms, "am I not good enough for you, Cadet Loo?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then I see no issue," amusement glitters in his blue-eyed gaze, "shall we?"

Turns out, Liam is a great opponent.

He fights with the quiet confidence that Xaden has, but is so much more precise in his moves, Rather than raw power that Xaden uses, Liam is careful, deft, his movements calculated with intention. And he adapts as easily as water, dodging and swiftly evading before you can reach him. You get a few punches in though, with the use of your signet, but one wrong turn and Liam's punch sends you flying to the other end of the mat.

You scramble up as fast as you can, but his arms grab your elbows and he all but tumbles you over onto your back, one knee between your thighs and his weight pressing down onto your chest until you let out a quiet gasp.

"Good effort, Loo.” he murmurs. With him on top of you so scandalously, you can't help but feel every inch of his firm build pressed against your curves, a temptation that causes heat to build in your lower stomach.

It worsens with butterflies when you feel his nose brush against yours.

Your mouth parts.

You blink up at him. His breath mingles with yours.

His eyes are a darker shade of blue in the dim lights of the sparring gym. But they darken even more when he holds your gaze.

There's something there. Too much emotion. The kind that makes your chest ache. The kind that makes you forget to breathe.

Oh.

He's so close.

"Let me go," you wish for the words to come out strong. Confident. Instead, they sound just like a restrained whimper.

Liam is still searching your face, as if dazed by the sudden proximity between your two bodies.

Too close.

You shove him without warning and with a cry, he topples onto his back as you straddle his hips this time, hands pinning down his arms with a victorious smirk.

"Not so cocky now, are we?" you murmur out, hating the way your heart sputters upon taking note of his dimple when he cracks a grin up at you, "hate to admit it but," he shakes his head, "you fight good."

You retreat and help him up to his feet before you're finding your water bottles for a little break. God knows you need it when all you can feel is the residual heat in your cheeks from being so close to the said blonde.

A distraction, surely.

"How are you feeling about the Squad Battle?"

Liam's question causes your eyes to flit towards him. You shrug, "I'm not too worried, to be honest."

"Confident," he quips.

"I’m being realistic," you lean back against the bleachers, "we’ve been training for this ever since parapet. There’s no reason we’ll lose.”

“You were pretty badass on the Gauntlet.”

“Yeah,” that reminds you of the cadets who didn’t. The ones whose lives were cut short as soon as their grip had slipped.

Your fingers unconsciously tighten on your bottle. It can be you, or it can be Liam at any point in time. The thought makes your stomach curl and you’re surprised by your own reaction.

“How’s Sorrengail holding up?” You ask him then, sparing him a glance.

He looks at you in surprise, “she’s good. If you don’t count the amount of times she gets her ass kicked on Mat.”

“I think everyone gets their asses handed to them on mat at some point.”

“Not me.”

You roll your eyes at his confidence, but a small smile tugs at your lips nevertheless, “confident.”

But he is right. Liam is one of the best fighters of your year and you haven’t seen him falter, not once.

“How’d you fight so good?” You can’t hell but ask.

He shifts forward until his shoulder brushes yours. The warmth sends ripples down your spine, “the Orphanage I was placed in after our parents…they didn’t like having weaknesses. I was trained from very early on.”

“Makes sense. My foster parents wanted me to sit still and be pretty so that I could marry as quickly as possible.”

Liam looks at you grimly, “that must’ve been pretty tough.”

“Tell me about it,” you take another gulp of your water, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “they just wanted money and status so that they could live their lives without having to lift a finger and I—“ your throat tightens, memories of their faces, of the disappointment and guilt washing over you, “—I thought they loved me.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Kaelle.” Liam whispers hoarsely, “that’s— that’s sick.”

You stay quiet. There are so many other things they did to you— that they let other men try to do to you— but you don’t want to speak the words aloud, for fear that they’ll haunt you in your sleep.

A warmth brushes against the back of your hand. It’s Liam’s. Gentle, light. Almost tentative. A sign of comfort. One that you’d usually shove away with all your might.

But you don’t.

Instead, you watch the way his knuckles brush against yours in a way that makes your heart sputter, causing you to bite your lip and look away as a horde of butterflies threaten to explode along your ribs.

This softness, it’s not something you’re used to.

“Hey,” his words are tender, practically a whispered breath, "you okay?"

"I'm fine."

His eyes are on you. You can feel it without looking at him, probing you, searching for answers in your features.

Your chest feels tight with secrets practically bursting along your tongue and suddenly, you blurt out without thinking, "I still trusted them, despite everything. I thought that maybe if I listened to what they said, if I did whatever they told me to do, no matter how scared or angry I was, maybe--" tears burn at the corner of your eyes and you look away, hating that Liam is seeing that side of you. Loathing that you can't even hold yourself together, "--maybe they would love me like I'm one of theirs."

Liam hooks a finger around your thumb, slowly sliding along your palm until his hand engulfs yours.

The act is too intimate, he's too close for you.

And yet, you can't seem to find the energy to pull away.

You stay there for a while, fingers interlaced as you listen to the slow hum of the generators a the back of the training room. The blonde's thumb has slowly started tracing soft patterns over your outer knuckles, an act that leaves tantalising heat spreading up through your arm, permeating the back of your neck.

You swallow thickly. Your eyes flit towards your conjoined hands. They dart back up to his face, quickly averting towards the floor when you notice he's been gazing at you all along.

You swear you feel a smile spread across Liam's face when he asks, "what?"

"Nothing," you mutter. You don't have to look at yourself to know you're blushing. The heat is practically rolling off your cheeks at this point.

You hear him chuckle before he tugs you towards him.

“Hey,” crystal blue eyes search yours with the kind of open vulnerability that triggers your heartstrings, “no one can hurt you here.”

“I know that.”

His lips press into a thin line, “your face says otherwise.”

“I—“ you suck in a breath, your voice trailing off into a broken murmur, “I can’t help it. The things that I endured… their voices haunt me. It almost feels—“ you bite your lip, “— like they’re still here.”

A warm hand comes up to cradle your face and you yelp, flinching back on instinct as panic soars through your chest.

Liam’s hand falls away, “sorry,” he lifts the limb up in mock surrender, guilt etched in his features, “sorry I—not the face. Got it.”

“Sorry,” you mutter out.

“Don’t apologize,” his other hand distracts you with his soft touch, probably the only piece of you that you’ll give him for today, “you can talk to me, yeah? If things get hard?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it,” his gaze locks on yours, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t answer, but you’d be lying to yourself if that doesn’t make your heart hurt in all the best of ways.

You pray that Malek doesn’t take Liam’s soul that night.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It starts off really slow, at first.

It’s so slow that you barely notice it, the tiniest shifts of skin against skin. The tiniest movements ebbing with warmth with every step that Liam takes towards you.

If you were anyone else, you’d probably say that’s as romantic as you can get.

“He likes you,” signs Jesinia for what seems to be the hundredth time this past hour as you all but deny her words. You’re currently hiding away in the library so that you don’t have to think about the upcoming War Games. It’s a surprise that you even made it through the Squad Battle, though knowing that Liam’s Squad had won does send bitterness down your throat. Their squad is the strongest after all, one that you’re pretty certain you won’t beat no matter what.

You try not to focus on the fact that you lost three of your teammates during this mission.

“He’s just being nice,” you sign back upon realizing that she’s been waiting for your response. You lean against the cream colored couch with a sigh, forcing away thoughts of Liam from your brain.

“That’s not just being nice. He actually likes you, it’s written all over his face,” Jesinia responds.

“Shut up Jesinia.”

“Rude,” she sticks out her tongue, “tell me when you guys kiss though.”

Your face flames, “not funny!”

In truth, he has been paying a lot more attention to you ever since that night in the training gym. Not quite touching you, but definitely finding your hand whenever he deems it possible.

During Battle Brief for instance, where he’d slide his palm over until he engulfed your hand under the table, not letting go despite you going red, despite you trying your best to tug your hand away.

“What are you doing?!” You’d hiss at him with narrowed eyes.

“Hm?” He’d hummed, hiding his smile into his other palm as gentle blue eyes would finds yours with so much emotion you’d feel your chest tighten and look away.

Or during sparring sessions, where his touch would linger longer than necessary; hand finding the back of your spine to pull you up, arm circling around your waist when your legs gave out, tugging you so hard you tripped right into his chest in a blushing mess that made you want to combust on the spot because— really? You could survive Threshing, you managed to survive Squad Battle and yet, this was what could be the death of you? Really?

You’d spent so long running away from people, outrunning the past that would still haunt your dreams and the touches that would send your mind reeling with disgust, that you’ve forgotten how it feels like for someone to touch you for reasons other than to hurt you. It’s more than a little foreign, but Liam does it so easily, worming his way into your heart without you knowing, like sunlight reaching for your skin before you have time to process how good it feels, how alive it makes you feel.

It’s on a late evening as you’re walking back to your dorm that things start to change. The walk is innocent enough, casually exchanging conversation as you ignore the way your shoulders brush, the way your hands drift towards each other’s. But you’re not surprised— not anymore — when his hand finds yours in a firm, comforting grip.

“How does it feel,” you’re asking him, trying not to sigh in bliss at how good it feels to have his thumb brushing your knuckles, or how stupidly pathetic you feel for being putty into his hands, “to have won the Squad Battle?”

“Honestly?” His brow furrows, “I was a bit worried.”

Your expression matches his, “hm?”

“I was worried about you,” his admission is soft, barely audible amidst the soft croon of trees and foliage dancing in the wind.

You stop in your tracks, “no,” you look at him dead in the face, “no. You don’t get to do that.”

“What?”

“You—“ you shake your head, “you don’t get to worry about me. That was not our deal—“

“And what, exactly, is our deal?” He asks softly, pulling you to him to decrease the distance.

“I…” but you’re distracted because he’s so close so suddenly. You have no choice but to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, “I’m not quite sure… I follow.”

Liam’s gaze searches your features, assessing, still treading unfamiliar waters. It’s hard to keep logic and reason above the sudden roaring of emotions taking hold of you and all you want to do is wrench yourself out of this predicament as quickly as possible because dear god you feel like you’re losing control of all your senses.

When Liam speaks next, his voice has dropped an octave and you feel it vibrating through your very bones.

“You can berate me all you want about worrying. But I can’t help it,” he lowers his face to yours. Your breath hitches, “you make it impossible not to worry about you.”

Surprise slams into you, “what—are you saying?”

Instead of answering, the blonde tugs at your hands and pulls it up so that you can see it, “does that—“ he squeezes your palm softly, “—mean anything to you?”

Heat swathes the back of your neck and you lower your eyes, “I—I don’t know. You tell me what you’ve been doing with me all this time.”

Liam chuckles, the sound so deep it rumbles through his chest like a storm, “gods, Kaelle. You are dense for someone so smart.”

“Excuse me?! That’s—“

He gives you no time. Pulls you so that you crash into him and wraps his arms around your waist before you have a clue about what’s happening.

Before you know it, he’s gotten you engulfed in a hug, his cheek pressed against the side of your head as he pushes yours into his chest, tucked underneath his chin like he believes he needs to protect you.

Alarms go off in your brain. Your body tenses, as if on alert, but his voice is soft as it echoes through your ear: “relax for me?”

It takes some huge effort from your part.

Like flight or fight reaction, you’re at odds with your brain.

But you do, after a few beats of hesitation. It’s not easy, and you have to keep reminding yourself that this isn’t at all like your past, that Liam is not anything like your parents, that this— whatever this is— is made out of warmth and comfort and love.

Things change after that night.

There’s a shift in the air, like a new door has been opened. But soon you find Liam a little bolder with his touches, and dare you say, you actually don’t mind it.

He keeps things private whenever there are eyes around; finding your hand under tables and pressing his knee against yours as a gesture of comfort, leaning his shoulder into yours as he listens in on Battle Brief, and merely resorting to ruffling your hair during your banters.

But it’s the small acts of tenderness that he does whenever you guys are found alone; pulling you to him behind trees only to hug you, his knuckles drifting along your cheekbones whenever you had dirt, blood or mud along your face, leaning over you from behind when you sit at your desk with piles and piles of homework, adding on his comments and guiding you through material you don’t quite understand all while you feel his breath brush the side of your head, the heat of his chest permeating your back. The sight is surprisingly too attractive and you’re always reduced to a blushing mess afterwards, hating how your face gives you away so easily.

“Are you guys dating?” Imogen asks you suddenly after Battle Brief one day and you almost lose it, dropping all your pens and papers in shock.

You gape at her with stuttered heartbeats, “I—No—it’s nothing like th—“

“Oh save the excuses,” Imogen throws you an exasperated look, “do me a favour instead and just hook up with the guy.”

“What the fuck Imogen!” You splutter in embarrassment.

“She is telling the truth,” Garrick says from your other side, a surprising appearance considering he’s always shadowing Xaden for stuff. God knows what, you don’t want to know, “his balls are probably blue at this point, and it’s definitely not because of winter.”

Your face flames at his joke, heart practically falling out of your chest at his insinuations. You and Liam? No way. You can’t imagine a world where that’s a possibility.

You’re too unstable. Volatile. Liam is… everything that you’re not. And you cannot fathom a future where that might be possible.

Because you’re used to ruining things. That’s what you’ve done your whole life.

Nevertheless, their words stick to you like caramel and you're unable to shake them off no matter how hard you try. So that's how you corner the said blonde cadet a few days later as he's leaving for the flight field.

"Kaelle?" His brow raises in question before his face breaks into a dimpled grin, "need anything?"

"I--" you flex your hands, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto your pants for something steady to hold, "Can I ask you something?"

He placed his flight goggles on his head and tugs it down onto his neck, looking more and more confused, "sure?"

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Liam practically chokes on his own spit, "wha--I'm--sorry?" He splutters out as his face turns bright, beetroot red, flushing all the way up to his ears.

"Do you--" you're blushing too, you can feel the heat sizzling off you, "do you want to fuck me?"

"That's--" he keeps on shaking his head and looks at you in a mixture of shock, surprise and horror, "where--what are you talking about?"

"Just answer my question, Mairi."

You're glad that your voice, at least, doesn't give away the fact that this is probably the most embarrassing thing you could've ever done to yourself.

"I--" he presses his lips into a thin line, "I would be lying if I said no."

Heat spreads across your stomach, dips down into your lower belly, "why?" you croak out.

"What--" Liam looks like he's about to make a run for it, eyes flickering back and forth between you and the flight field a few meters beyond, "what do you mean--why? I--Yes, I mean--No, that's not the sole reason why I'm talking to you but--"

"But?"

"But if you ask me this, like that, then..." his jaw flexes, "Yes. Yes I would."

"I asked you why," you replied, "are you a player? Are you bored? Is this normal in the rider's quadrant, to be hooking up with everyone you want?" A pause, as realization dawns, "is this why you've been all--touchy with me? Holding my hand and shit?"

"Gods no," He looks absolutely mortified, "hey, that's not why I'm--"

"Then why are you being so--so--" you can't find the words, motioning at the air instead in hopes that he'd understand.

"I--" but you hear the sound of the Flight Commandant's voice starting roll call in the distance and you know now is not the time for answers.

Liam grasps your shoulder and tugs you closer, "listen, I'm sorry. I gotta go," he throws you an apologetic look, squeezing your shoulder blade, "but I'll answer all your questions tonight. I promise."

You gaze into his bright blue eyes, "You mean that?"

"Promise," and before you know it he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss along your temple before he's jogging off and sprinting for his life, leaving you and your heart racing like you've just ran a marathon or flew over the gauntlet thrice without stopping.

He finds you in your room that night.

A knock resounds off your door and you turn, book still in hand and currently buried in piles of homework, to find Liam -- all washed up, hair still sticking out and dripping from his shower, in soft cotton pants and t-shirt with a towel slung around his shoulders.

In the dim amber light of your room, he looks softer. Bathed in a golden halo that stirs something in your heart.

"Hi," he murmurs, clear his throat, "can I come in?"

You nod silently and he takes a step inside, closing your door in the process with a firm push. You close up your book and put your pens away as he strides over to the bed, glancing at you with hesitation as he allows himself to sit by the edge.

He still has those darned eye goggle marks along his face and your hands ache to touch them, run over his skin and his freckles and count how many he has.

But you don’t. You curl your hands into your lap, wrapping them around your knees to keep yourself sane, "how was Flight Field?"

"Tough,” he ruffles the back of his head with his towel, “never gets easier. But Deigh is a lot more cooperative than most.”

“Which means?”

“He catches me when I fall,” he shakes his head, “some dragons are not as merciful."

That is quite cruel. Horrible, almost inhuman. But then again, dragons aren't like humans. They don't live by the same rules, the same way human society is built.

Sometimes, just sometimes, you wonder about a life far, far away from all this.

"So," Liam leans his elbows onto his knees before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, a look of masked indifference on his face. Despite that, you still catch the wariness, the unease in his eyes. They speak more truths than anything you've ever said this year.

"What was that all about earlier?" his question is a soft murmur. Probing. Not quite aggressive. But firm, not quite soft either.

He wants to know. He has questions. Questions that only you can answer.

You shift, wary about his closeness. He can engulf the space, swallow it whole in a heartbeat if he wants to. But still, Liam sits on the edge. Waiting, patient. Always so patient.

Your heart twists painfully in your chest.

"I don't do hook ups," you start off slow, trying to gage his reaction through each word that spills from your lips, "I don't like meaningless sex. I've never done it. But people have, and people talk. Imogen and Garrick," you lift your chin, eyes meeting his, "they think we should hook up."

"Do you?"

You blink at him. Your lips part, "I--" you look away, towards your hands. Anything to get away from these stormy aquamarine pools that makes your insides simmer with heat, "I don't know. Is that what you're looking for?"

"No," he responds almost immediately. His voice is clear, like he knows exactly what he's saying. What he wants, "I'm not doing this for the sex."

Your mouth presses in a tight line, "hm.”

“I’m not playing with you,” he continues, turning fully so that he can lock gazes with you, “and I definitely don’t do meaningless sex.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

He blinks, “doing what?”

“This," you motion towards the air, "the hand-holding, the fact that you're always so close within touching distance, hugging me when you think no one's looking and earlier--" the thought of his lips against your forehead has you seeing fireworks for a split second, "--why?"

He takes his time, letting the weight of your words settle across the room like a blanket. It should've been jarring and annoying, that he's not quick to deflect your words with a response all because he's seeing you all riled up and worked over something that people might've thought to be trivial in another context.

No.

He just shifts closer until his knee brushes yours. His lips part into a silent breath before he dips his head down to hold eye contact with you, one hand sliding up slowly -- so as not to shock you -- to cup the back of your elbow in a hold that makes you feel like you're something precious, something akin to a baby.

When he speaks next, you swear your heart does a 180-flip.

"Because I like you."

You stare.

And stare.

And would've kept staring, if not for Liam's sudden little chuckle that has you snapping back to reality and shutting your mouth just in case you drool.

"What--" you swear your ears are ringing with the aftermath of this literal verbal bomb, "--what did you say?"

"I like you," he repeats it as clear as day and your heart does another flop around on its other side, "actually," his thumb brushes over your elbow as he murmurs out, "I might love you."

"Shut up, Mairi," your voice is shaky as you tug your hand away, "you don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes dance with emotion in the dim light of the room, golden flecks in his hair where the light bounces off, "I'm simply answering your question."

"But--" your face flames red with embarrassment, "you cannot say things like that."

People don't just say these words. They have to mean them, and you haven't lived long enough for someone to actually say these aloud to you. Not your foster parents, not any of your friends, definitely not anyone you'd met on Basgiath grounds.

"Why not?" Liam murmurs.

"Because this isn't a game. It's not a joke. I might be dead tomorrow, you might be," you snap, "this isn't the time to be talking about feelings and--"

"Kaelle, does it ever occur to you that I don't give a fuck about whether we'll live or die tomorrow?" he cuts you off.

You blink, "what?"

Liam shifts so that he's pressing even closer and the reduced distance between his face and yours has your tummy twisting so hard it makes you press your lips together, "you asked me why I hold your hand," his hand trails down as if on cue to tangle his fingers through yours in his lap, "why I hug you, why I'm being like this. The truth is, I'm doing it because I can't help myself," he lets out a slow, ragged breath, "and I'm not looking for anything from you. I promise."

The look you give him is filled with so much doubt that he laughs half-heartedly and leans back to flick your forehead.

"I mean it," his voice is a soft murmur. Impulsively, his hand goes up to brush against your cheekbone, "I don't need anything else, I'm not expecting anything else. Just--gods, don't push me away."

He's so sweet it's sickening. And yet, the butterflies in your stomach are telling you otherwise, practically bubbling up with the kind of heat that drizzles right down to your lower belly and flushes you straight up through your neck.

Liam doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to.

He tugs at your arm. Softly, gently, so as not to startle you, until you're being pulled into his lap. Your lips bubble up with a protest, only for the words to die on your tongue the moment his arms come around your middle to anchor you to his chest.

With one swift move, the blonde swivels you round so that he's the one resting against your headboard, you on him, practically cushioned in his lap like a child.

You blink, cheeks fiery with embarrassment as you attempt a frown, "what in the world are you doing?!" you snap at him, though your words don't hold much bite.

Or, well...they do. But Liam has long since been able to read between the lines with you.

He just grins, dimples flashing. Your heart stutters and before you know it he's got his face buried in the crook of your neck.

He nuzzles into the crevice of your collarbone, sighing like this is exactly what he needs to calm him down.

"Mairi," you poke at his arm. Still rigid, still tense. Is he--is he going to stay this way? "Mairi."

You groan and attempt to squirm, "Liam?"

He hums. His nose moves up, nuzzling your ear, "can we stay like this?"

"I--"

"Please."

It's the way he says it that has your heart caving in like a fucking damsel in distress and you really want to pull out your hair at this very moment.

But you cannot deny him. And he senses it, for he merely pulls you even closer until your bodies are meshed together in one single, solid piece.

And that's when he says, "relax for me."

You doze off into his arms that night, for once your knife forgotten along your bedspread.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: Part 2 will be up as soon as I'm done with it, but here's what I have so far. I was supposed to publish it earlier but honestly I got stuck halfway through because I just want to do a good job writing and fleshing out Kaelle and Liam's characters TT3TT

#fourth wing #liam mairi

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zeisly · 12 days ago

Note

Shadow daddy is finally a real daddy!!

Hi there! Not necessarily a new one-shot idea, but would you consider adding onto Maybe Us Soon from where it left off? More Xaden and their baby girl, along with all the family fluff 🥰 thank you thank you and you’re amazing!

Finally us

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Xaden's life has changed completely. Ever since he became King of Tyrrendor, your lover, overcame venin, his life has been perfect. Hs squad now grows, in many ways, and the old Xaden Riorson would have not suspected this to be his faith, now you, his wife, are pregnant with your daughter but the problem with you is that you can't sit still.

Stand alone but could be part 3 of Maybe us one day and Maybe us soon

This contains mature themes: mentions of giving birth, kidnapping, blood, injury, throwing up, war I don't think there is any spoiler in fairness, it's just what I'd love the ending to be.

The world around you was soft and hazy, painted in the dim glow of lanternlight and the low hum of post-birth stillness. The sheets clung to your skin, damp with residual sweat, and your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache—your muscles trembling, your limbs heavy, your chest hollowed and full all at once.

But none of it mattered.

Not when you looked to your left.

Xaden stood shirtless beside your bed, cradling your newborn daughter against the bare skin of his chest. His broad hands were impossibly gentle—one supporting her tiny back, the other cradling her head, his fingers almost engulfing her entirely. She was so small. A little pink bundle wrapped in a soft blanket, her head resting just beneath his collarbone, her ear pressed to his heart like she already knew it was home.

He hadn’t stopped staring at her since they placed her in his arms.

His shoulders were tense—shaking just slightly. His onyx eyes, glassy with unfallen tears, were locked onto her tiny face, his jaw clenched tight like he didn’t know whether to laugh or sob. His shadows slithered restlessly at his feet and up his calves, trembling like they, too, didn’t know what to do with this new, fragile piece of your world.

“Xaden,” you whispered, voice hoarse and barely there.

He blinked, finally pulling his eyes away from her to look at you. His mouth parted slightly, as though trying to form words—but nothing came out. Instead, he looked at you with a reverence so raw it nearly broke you open again. He looked ruined by love.

“You did this,” he whispered, stepping closer, his voice rough and full of awe. “You gave her to me.”

Tears spilled over the corners of your eyes, helpless, unstoppable. “We did.”

He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle you, keeping your daughter nestled close to his chest. “She’s perfect,” he breathed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t… I didn’t think I could love anything more than I love you. And then I saw her. And it’s like something broke open in me.”

You reached a hand toward them, fingers trembling from exhaustion. He shifted, leaning into your touch, and gently tilted your daughter so you could brush your knuckles across her impossibly soft cheek. She let out the tiniest sigh and curled against Xaden’s chest, utterly content.

“She already loves you,” you whispered. “She knows you.”

Xaden let out a shaky breath, lowering his head, pressing the barest kiss to the top of her head as his voice cracked: “She’s mine.”

On the other side of the room, Brennan stood near the doorway, arms crossed but with a soft smile tugging at his lips. His hands were stained with blood still—your blood—and the weariness in his eyes mirrored your own. But he was steady. Grateful. Proud.

The two nurses flitted around the room quietly, one checking the chart at the bedside while the other changed your IV. Your thighs ached where they’d been stitched from the small tear, and your lower back pulsed in time with your heartbeat—but even as Brennan approached to check your vitals, none of that seemed real.

Only the warmth of Xaden beside you. The soft little grunts your daughter made in her sleep. The way Xaden looked at her like she held his entire soul.

“She’s going to be strong,” Brennan murmured with quiet certainty, gently checking your pulse. “She’s got both of you in her.”

“She’s got your nose,” Xaden added without looking away from her, a lopsided, broken smile on his lips.

“She has your mouth,” you replied, unable to stop smiling despite the sheer exhaustion tugging at your bones.

He nodded. “Gods help the world, then.”

You laughed, then winced from the ache, and he immediately leaned closer, eyes sharp with concern.

“Rest,” he said softly, his free hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. “I’ve got her. I won’t let her go.”

As the haze of sleep pulled you under, your fingers still laced weakly with Xaden’s, the last thing you remembered was the warmth of his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles and the soft, rhythmic breaths of your daughter against his chest.

Your chest rose and fell in slow, deep waves. The room had quieted, bathed in golden lamplight and the fading adrenaline of birth.

Brennan stepped closer to Xaden now that you were fully asleep, his steps soft but confident, years of battlefield experience making him unshakable—even now, with his blood-stained sleeves and the exhaustion in his bones.

He peered down at the little bundle in Xaden’s arms, folding his own over his chest. “You know,” he said casually, arching an eyebrow, “for all my years as a mender, I’ve never actually had to deliver a baby until tonight.”

Xaden glanced up at him, a rare smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You looked like you were going to pass out.”

“I almost did when she screamed at me to stop hovering.” Brennan rolled his eyes dramatically, then leaned just slightly forward to peek at the baby’s face. His expression softened. “She’s beautiful. Not that I expected anything less, considering who her parents are.”

Xaden looked down at the bundle in his arms, his entire body relaxing despite the fire still simmering behind his eyes. “She hasn’t even opened her eyes yet. And I already know she’s going to destroy me.”

Brennan chuckled. “She probably already has.”

There was a long pause, both men looking down at the baby—then Brennan cleared his throat, voice mock-serious. “Listen. I think I deserve to be her favourite uncle, since I was the one who made sure her mother didn’t bleed out on the bed and stitched her up afterward.”

Xaden gave him a sideways look. “I don’t think you can bribe a newborn with medical credentials.”

“I’m not above trying,” Brennan shot back with a grin. “I’ll start visiting with sweets the moment she can eat them.”

Xaden chuckled lowly, something fond and exhausted in the sound. He shifted the baby just slightly, her soft sigh puffing against his skin. “You can try,” he murmured, his gaze drifting back to your sleeping face. “But she already has her mother’s stubbornness.”

Brennan smiled and stepped back. “Just don’t let her have your brooding silence. One of you in this household is already more than enough.”

Xaden rolled his eyes, but there was no malice. Only quiet joy, and a grateful, protective love that filled the entire room like a vow.

Brennan gave one last glance at the tiny bundle curled peacefully against Xaden’s chest, then to you—completely still, your breath slow and even, exhaustion finally claiming you after the hours of labour.

“I’ll let you two rest,” he said quietly, backing toward the door. “If anything changes, let me know. And Xaden—”

Xaden’s eyes lifted.

“She’s perfect. Congratulations.”

The shadows curled around Xaden’s ankles in acknowledgment, twitching softly as the door whispered closed behind Brennan.

And then it was just the three of you.

The room was quiet now, with only the muted flicker of candlelight playing across the walls and the hush of your daughter’s tiny breaths.

Xaden didn’t move, not for a long time. He just sat there, back slightly hunched, every muscle relaxed but coiled—ready. Watching over you, his mate, his love. And watching over the impossibly small life in his arms.

His thumb brushed the side of her cheek, barely grazing the downy skin. She stirred faintly, a tiny wriggle beneath the blanket, a breath that shuddered softly against his chest before settling again. Still asleep. Still safe.

He lowered his head until his lips touched her forehead. His eyes closed.

“I’ve faced armies,” he whispered into the stillness. “Storms. Death. But you—” His voice cracked. “You terrify me. Because now I have everything to lose.”

He looked back over at you, your face soft in sleep, hand still resting palm-up on the blanket beside you like you’d never meant to let go of his.

And he knew in that moment—he’d burn kingdoms to the ground for the two of you. Again and again. Without hesitation.

A soft knock came at the door then—tentative.

Xaden’s eyes didn’t leave you as he called quietly, “What?”

The door cracked open, and Mira peeked in with a quiet smile, holding something bundled in fabric.

“I brought the name ribbon,” she whispered. “In case you’re ready.”

Xaden looked back down at his daughter.

He was.

Xaden stared down at the tiny girl tucked against his bare chest, her soft breath misting faintly against his skin. For a moment, his shadows curled protectively around the rocking chair’s legs and stilled completely—as if even they understood the weight of what was about to happen.

Mira stood in the doorway, holding out the delicate ribbon embroidered with golden thread—the traditional naming band. Her voice was barely audible over the quiet flicker of flame. “Do you want to wait until she wakes?”

Xaden shook his head once, eyes still on his daughter. “No.”

He didn’t need to ask you. You’d had the conversation so many times over the last few months—sometimes in whispers under the covers, other times with your head in his lap, laughing about how it had come to you in a dream. Even just three days ago, when you’d rested your palm over your swollen stomach and murmured, “She already feels like Annavella.”

That name had wrapped around his heart the moment he first heard it from your lips.

Annavella.

It was soft and elegant—like you. But strong too. A name that sounded like it could echo off the walls of history and still whisper in a lover’s vow.

Xaden reached out, his long fingers brushing the edge of the ribbon Mira held. She passed it over gently, her expression soft.

As he took it, he murmured under his breath, “Annavella.”

The name settled like a promise. Like a shield.

He gently shifted her in his arms, mindful of her head, and slid the naming ribbon around her tiny wrist. It was too big—it would be for a while—but the moment it touched her skin, it pulsed faintly gold. A formal, ancient recognition of identity. Of belonging.

Of family.

Mira placed a hand over her heart and whispered, “It suits her.”

Xaden nodded, emotion tightening his throat as he looked down at his daughter’s perfect, delicate features.

“She’s ours,” he whispered. “She always was.”

Behind him, the covers rustled. You stirred faintly but didn’t wake. Not fully. You shifted just enough to let your hand drift back toward his side of the bed, searching for the bond even in sleep.

Xaden reached across and caught it in his own, threading your fingers together.

“She’s Annavella,” he murmured to you, voice low and steady. “Just like we said.”

And though you didn’t respond aloud, your bond pulsed warm in his chest—slow and sure.

You already knew.

Mira lingered for only a breath longer, her eyes flicking between you—still sound asleep, curled into the pillows with your fingers now laced gently with Xaden’s—and the man himself, who hadn’t once stopped looking at his daughter.

There was a softness in her expression, something reverent and quiet as she backed away. She didn’t speak again. She didn’t need to. The door clicked shut with a hush of finality, and the quiet that settled afterward was sacred.

Xaden stood slowly, careful not to jostle Annavella as he rose from the rocking chair. The old wooden legs groaned beneath him, and the candlelight painted bronze shadows across the room as he moved.

Annavella stirred slightly against his chest, a tiny wriggle under her blanket. Her face scrunched up, her mouth puckering with the beginnings of a fuss—but the moment Xaden adjusted her, one hand curled over the back of her tiny head, she stilled. Her ear rested over the steady beat of his heart.

And he began to walk.

The room was quiet save for the soft pad of his bare feet on the wooden floor and the gentle rustle of her swaddle. His long fingers shifted along her back, tracing the curve of her spine through the fabric like he was mapping her—memorizing the exact weight and presence of her in his arms.

“You don’t know it yet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with awe, “but you changed everything.”

Annavella breathed softly against his skin, her warmth seeping into him like sunlight after a storm.

Xaden’s eyes drifted to the bed—to you, to the way your body curled protectively even in sleep, as if some part of you was still aware she was in the room. His throat tightened.

“I didn’t think I’d get this,” he whispered. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

He paced slowly, gently bouncing her now, not because she needed it—but because he did. Because standing still with that much love threatening to break out of him felt impossible.

His voice dropped further, meant only for her.

“I’ll give you everything, Annavella. The stars, the skies, the safest piece of this broken world. Whatever’s left of it—I’ll make sure it’s yours. I swear it.”

He stopped at the edge of the window, where the moonlight cut through the veil of night and cast silver against the hardwood. The stars glittered beyond the glass—soft, distant.

“You’ll never know war like we did,” he promised. “You’ll never bleed for a cause. Not if I can help it.”

She shifted again, a little sigh falling from her lips. His arms adjusted instinctively, his palm warm and firm across her back.

“You’ll grow up knowing peace. Love. A home.” His shadows flickered lightly at his feet, curling like ribbons of smoke around his ankles. “Because of her.” His eyes returned to you.

“She gave me the world when she gave me you.”

Annavella let out a soft, squeaky breath in her sleep—something like a baby sigh, so delicate it made Xaden’s chest ache.

“I’ll protect you until my last breath,” he whispered, pressing his lips gently to her temple. “You and your mother. Always.”

And in that moment—just the three of you surrounded by quiet and the hum of life newly begun—Xaden Riorson, warrior, leader, and the shadow-wielding King of Tyrrendor, was no longer made of war.

He was made of love.

#fourth wing #xaden riorson

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