hscherryblossom

[hscherryblossom]

Hey girlie, I love that so many of your fics have song references! (I love me some Taylor yay)

That got me thinking, and my favorite character from fourth wing is Garrick (he deserves way more love and attention) and I was wondering if you could do a story based on tates miss possessive where he and reader are in a relationship but (ass we all knoe and I love her) Imogen has a thing for him and reader doesn't like it?

Thank you <3

Miss Possessive

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

Pairing(s): Garrick x reader

Warning(s): angst, fluff at end, jealousy, injury

Summary: You don't take well to other women going after things that are yours -- especially not sassy, pink-haired, third years.

SR’s Note: Yessss my favorite thing about Tumblr is actually making friends on here, and connecting with readers and writers alike! Whether it be music, books, fandoms and more -- I love meeting new people and seeing the common interests we have! I tried to deliver as best I could, and I hope you like this!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @loveofmychips @bodhidurrans (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

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

Your fork speared another green bean, your eyes never glancing down at the plate. The metal scratched against the porcelain of the dish, and Violet looked sidelong at you. It didn't take long for your closest friend to realize what had enraptured your attention -- your eyes had given it away. You stared straight ahead, directly across the mess hall to the table along the back wall.

"Oh Gods not this again," she uttered softly. You swallowed, spearing a carrot this time. Garrick sat with the other third-years, laughing and cutting up over something so hilarious. Your gaze turned scowl, especially when Imogen's hand brushed his arm. She needed to get her hands, off, your man.

This time, your fork scraped across your plate.

"Jesus, Christ!" Ridoc groaned, staring at you. "Why torture all of us with that horrible sound?"

Violet smirked, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder. You were growing increasingly irritated as Imogen laughed at something Garrick said -- over-animatedly, if it were up to you. You knew Garrick was funny, sure; but that girl was always doing the most when it came to him. Little did she know, he was yours.

"Hey, stare a little harder why don't you -- maybe you'll burn a hole through her skull." Violet teased. Your stare faltered at this, looking to your friend as she looked to you expectantly. "You can't be mad at her for sitting with her friends, Y/N."

You rolled your eyes, huffing.

"Yeah, but I can be mad at her for trying to steal my man."

"Oh, so you finally asked him out then?" Ridoc piped up. You growled, crossing your arms.

Violet only sighed. "No," she said, answering for you. "No, she hasn't yet."

Ridoc chuckled. "So, you're pissed at Imogen, because she's flirting with your boyfriend who's not your boyfriend?"

You banged a fist on the table, the silverware atop it clamoring. The entire table looked at you as you stood instantly, anger flaring inside.

"I'm going to the gym."

It was all you said before tossing your leftovers, and heading for the double doored exit. You passed Garrick's table, but he was too busy nudging Bodhi in the side to register you passing by.

But, out of the corner of your eye, you realized the pink haired female did.

✧･ﾟ: *

The sun was setting low on the horizon, the gym still empty. You huffed and panted as you swung your fists against the punching bag, the pain in your knuckles barely registering after going at it for so long. Music blared in your headphones, the angry lyrics prompting you further. You hadn't heard nor noticed the gym door opening, not until a soft touch to your shoulder had you whirling.

"Woah! Woah!" The voice sounded as though it was underwater, and you instantly lowered your fist and yanked out your earbuds. Before you stood none other than Garrick, hands raised in surrender.

"Oh gosh," you wheezed, arms on your hips as you worked to calm your racing heart. "You really gave me a scare!"

Garrick laughed sheepishly, his beautiful straight teeth shining through. Your heart, already skipping at the sight of him before you, lurched at the sight. Gods, he really was the most handsome man you'd ever seen.

"Sorry -- I just came by to get a few reps in myself, and I noticed... your form," he winced. You squared your shoulders, raising an eyebrow.

"My, what?"

He grinned, a simple in his left cheek popping out.

"Your form," he explained, dropping his gym bag to the ground. He squared off before the bag, bringing his raised fists into a fighting stance. "You tend to hit like this," he demonstrated, punching forward slowly. "But, that'll do you some damage after time. To preserve your knuckles, you need to hit like this," he extended his arm again, demonstrating the wrist rotation you'd been lacking. You nodded in understanding.

"I see."

"Here," he stepped aside, allowing you to stand before the bag once more. "Give it a go."

You sighed softly, spreading your feet to square off before the mat once more. You raised your fists, readying to throw a punch -- but, your breath caught in your throat as Garrick's hands braced your hips.

"Oh, and you'll want to angle yourself this way too," he said softly. His breath graced your neck, and you could've melted beneath his touch. Only when he released you did you breathe again, trying to regain focus on the task at hand. You threw a few punches, trying to imitate what Garrick had showed you -- but you weren't quite doing them just right.

Garrick frowned, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I'm not sure, Y/N -- something still looks off." His brows furrowed in concentration. That's when a lightbulb went off in your head.

"You're right, I don't think I'm quite getting it," you said innocently. You stepped forward, arms crossing beneath your breasts. "Maybe I need a tutor, or a trainer, I guess."

Garrick nodded in agreement.

"That might actually help a lot," he said, and your cheeks heated beneath the weight of his gaze. You sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

"I mean, I'm sure anyone else could help me but... you always spar so well, I think it'd be best if you trained me," you said sweetly. His brows shot up at this, clearly thinking over the idea.

"Me? Oh, I mean... yeah, that's an idea," he said, mulling it over. You swallowed, taking another step toward him.

"What about right now?" You asked. He chuckled nervously, a hand reaching to scratch the back of his head.

"Oh! I don't think I'll be able to tonight, unfortunately," he said apologetically. You pouted, sticking out your bottom lip. "I already told Imogen I'd spar with her-"

"Wait. What?" You couldn't help but interrupt. He only shrugged.

"Yeah, I mean with challenges at the end of next week, she asked me to work with her tonight, and I said sure. She's a really good friend, Y/N, I couldn't just cancel on her."

You huffed, rolling your eyes. Your attention was stolen as the gym doors opened again -- this time, the bane of your existance walking through them with her bright pink hair.

Garrick turned back to you, placing a promising hand on your shoulder.

"What are you up to tomorrow?" He asked, his eyes locked onto yours. You stared up at him, though the pink streak in your field of vision was drawing closer and closer.

"Nothing -- absolutely nothing," you said. A lie, sure -- you had promised Violet you'd study with her. But, she'd understand, especially if it meant you'd get some one-on-one time with Garrick.

He nodded. "Perfect -- I'll meet you here at seven?"

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"Sounds like it'll work for me."

Garrick's hand dropped as Imogen stalked closer, tossing her duffel loudly onto the floor. She sighed as she stretched, arching her back and crossing her arms side to side. You'd had just about enough of that, and on that note, bid your crush goodbye.

✧･ﾟ: *

"Seriously? We made these plans days ago."

So, Violet wasn't as chill about cancelling study plans afterall. She frowned at you from her bed, watching as you secured your hair in a ponytail across the room.

"I'm sorry Vi -- I just had something come up. An important something, might I add," you added with a hint of intrigue. Violet only sighed.

"We take the test Monday," she griped, shaking her head. "I do get that it's a Friday night, but what could have possibly come up that is more important than passing it?"

You secured the ponytail around your thick strands. "Trust me, Vi -- it's not something I can just reschedule."

She shrugged, hopping off her bed.

"Well, then I wish you the best of luck on Monday."

✧･ﾟ: *

You checked the time again. 6:45. You were early. Unsurprising, as you'd been pacing your room for hours, waiting for seven to come -- but, now that you were here at the gym, the nerves began to creep in. Adrenaline flowed through you as you paced before the gym doors, not wanting to go in too early.

There wasn't much time left, you supposed. You pushed through the entry, taking stock of the empty gym -- well, almost empty. To the left, near the weight racks, Garrick grunted, his muscles flexed and bare chest sweaty.

The sight nearly took your breath away.

He grunted again as he lifted the weights, his muscles straining and veins more visible as you approached. His biceps bulged as he lifted the bar up again, this time dropping it onto the rack with a satisfied huff. He sat up, panting, though his eyes caught on you.

"Hey," he said breathlessly, making to stand. You set down your things, undoing and resecuring the wraps around your knuckles anxiously.

"H-Hi," you mumbled, straining to keep your gaze away from his bare, toned chest. He approached you, running his fingers through his hair as he took in heavy breaths.

"You ready to get started?" He asked, and you nodded. "Did you stretch?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at this.

"No," you admitted. He shook his head as a small grin tilted the corners of his lips.

"You want to stretch before working out -- every time," he insisted. You dropped to your knees, sitting back as you straightened your legs before you. He joined you on the floor, watching as you slowly prepared your body for the exercises.

"Not stretching will only ever result in injury."

✧･ﾟ: *

When Monday morning came, you found it hard to sit still in Duvera's class. The test lay before you, the one you neglected to study for -- and Violet sat to your left, side-eyeing you. She'd picked up on something, watching you practically skip down the halls all weekend with glee. What she didn't know was that your cancelled plans Friday night were the reason why.

Your eyes glazed over as you read the question again, one of the last ones on the exam. What year was Basgiath War College founded? Shit, you didn't know the answer. Only a small seed of regret bloomed in your chest as you considered it -- maybe taking a little time to study would've been helpful. But, that would have meant less time with Garrick-

"Five minutes, cadets!"

Duvera's warning caused you to panic. You frantically filled out the rest of your paper, scrambling to bring it to her desk as the bell rang. Violet followed you out, flanking your side when you made it to the main hallway.

"How do you think you did?"

You shrugged, unable to look at her. "Not as well as I could've, if I would've studied."

She chuckled, nudging your side.

"Well, I think I did pretty good -- no good worrying over it now though." She said. As the two of you rounded the corner, your heart stopped beating in your chest. Just down the hall, Garrick held open the doors to the sparring ring, allowing Imogen to walk through. Her grateful expression only kindled the hate flames inside of you -- his smirk set them ablaze.

"What's gotten into you?" Violet asks, following as you walked quicker toward the sparring ring. You peeked inside, noticing quite a few other third years inside. Graciously, Imogen wasn't talking to Garrick this time -- she was in deep conversation with Quinn and a few others. Garrick's back was to the door, but you knew without a doubt it was him.

"Nothing, nothing," you responded absentmindedly. Violet huffed, looking around as the hall began to clear.

"It doesn't seem like nothing -- c'mon, we're gonna be late for land nav," she pleaded. You tore your eyes from the peephole, following as Violet took off for your second lecture of the day.

Fucking Imogen.

The bane of your existence, Imogen.

✧･ﾟ: *

You tried not to think about the poor grade you recieved on your exam as your fist connected with the bag once more. Garrick stood to your right, coaching your every move.

"Good, now go faster -- yes!" He praised as your knuckles hit the targeted area. You paused, breathing heavy as you turned to face him. His expression was full of delight, his smile full of teeth as he looked at you.

"You've gotten a lot better at this, Y/N," he complimented, reaching to grab your waterbottle from behind him. He handed it to you and your fingers brushed his as you took it -- your beart skipping a beat.

"Do you think you're ready for mat training?"

You nearly choked on your water, the suggestion surprising.

"M-mat? Training?"

He chuckled, taking the bottle from you and setting it near the punching bag.

"Yes -- I think it could really help you, especially with challenges coming this weekend," he explained. Your heart sank as you registered his words -- sure, you could hold your own on the mat. But with challenges only continuing to get harder and harder, you could actually benefit from a few pointers.

"Yeah, actually that sounds great... should we start tonight?"

"It'll have to wait until tomorrow -- I'm using this area for the rest of the night."

Your blood ran cold as you turned, coming face-to-face with Imogen. Her words were spoken firmly, as though she had no doubt whatever she said would go. Garrick chuckled, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Gen, what are you even talking about. We can't share?"

She scoffed, her gaze narrowing in on you. "No, we can't. And you only reserved the gym for training until nine -- I have it until closing time later."

You glared at her, but she only chuckled. Garrick tilted his head, curious and oblivious to the silent war waging between the two of you.

"Why do you need the whole gym to yourself?" He asked. Her feline grin turned feral in response.

"It's not just for me -- I've taken on a little second year in need of some training, myself," she quipped. You folded your arms.

"Who?" You demanded. She smirked, and your eyes widened as a familiar, silvery braid approached behind her.

You stared, shocked and horrified as Violet walked up to you, a sheepish smile on her face. "Hey, Y/N."

Your brows narrowed, your blood boiling. "Violet -- what are you doing here?"

"She needed my help," Imogen snapped. Violet stared quietly at you, watching as you shook your head slowly. "Her best friend started taking private lessons, anyway -- why shouldn't she?"

You growled. "It's not the private lessons that are the problem," you said lowly. Imogen raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Then what is?"

You glared at her, your face flushing in embarassment. Violet shot you an apologetic look, but you ignored it. Instead, you yanked your bag up off the floor, huffing and striding for the exit.

"Great work tonight!" Garrick called. You didn't turn to face him, his voice fading as you shoved through the exit doors. "We'll practice more tomorrow!"

✧･ﾟ: *

You'd trained with Garrick so many times now, you realized you felt the most comfortable being around him. He always kept things so professional with you though, and you wished he'd break free of that facade and act instead.

Thank again, he'd only ever been cordial with you. But tonight -- oh, tonight, you knew you could break him.

Strutting into the gym, you tilted your chin high. The last few riders exited as you strode in, eyeing you and flat out gawking as you passed them by. You didn't mind, that was the point, anyway -- now you could only hope Garrick would take the bait.

"Hi Garrick," you said smoothly, your hips swaying as you sauntered up to him. Bodhi and Dain paused mid conversation, the officer's eyes unabashedly roving over your form. Your Wingleader was more subtle about it though, covering up his interest with a strained cough.

"Oh! Shit, sorry, I didn't realize it was so late," Dain said, purposefully averting his eyes. Garrick turned, his eyes landing right where you wanted them too as he took you in.

"No worries, I'm a few minutes early anyways," you said, smiling sweetly. Dain moved to leave the room, yet Bodhi still stared, enraptured.

"Y'know... if Garrick is ever busy, I'm more than happy to-"

The back of Garrick's hand met his friend's chest, halting his sentence.

"No need, Bodhi -- Y/N knows I always have time for her, don't you Y/N?"

You peered up at him innocently, and Bodhi shook his curls softly.

"Right... well... I'll leave you two to it, I guess." He walked off defeatedly, and you cocked an eyebrow at your trainer.

"So, mat training tonight?" You questioned. Garrick swallowed thickly, nodding in response.

"Yep. I suppose so."

✧･ﾟ: *

You grew increasingly frustrated as Garrick forced you to repeat the same move again -- and again, you did it wrong. This time, you weren't even trying to mess up, but you just couldn't quite seem to figure it out anyway. All night, you'd been teasing the male without so much as a flinch from him -- the excessive stretching, the skimpy garments, and bedroom eyes -- nothing worked, and it was pissing you off.

You groaned in frustration, moving to reset your position once again.

"Garrick, I don't even understand why you're making me do this," you griped, bending your knees and taking a fighting atance again. "You said tonight we'd do mat training -- what does any of this have to do with-"

The wind was knocked from your lungs as the male lunged at you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You shouted as you were flung backward, landing straight on your ass. You gasped for air, vision blurring as Garrick released you at once.

"Because," he said, his tone curt. "Someone will take advantage of your ill-preparation, and knock you on your ass as I've just done."

You frowned, but he kept talking.

"Sparring begins with a good stance -- now, get back up, let's try again."

You huffed, accepting his outstretched palm as he tugged you back onto your feet. About 15 attempts later, he finally dealt you some praise.

"Very good! Now -- for hand-to-hand. Show me what you've got."

You stared blankly at him.

"You mean... fight you?"

He chuckled, readying himself before you. "Sure! Let's see what you've got, then I'll know where to start with you."

✧･ﾟ: *

You couldn't exactly be angry over how many times Garrick had you pinned to the mat -- he was a third-year, however, and you weren't complaining about him landing on top of you.

It was another hour before you began to push back, dealing him new blows and dodging the way he'd instructed you.

"Well done, Y/N!" He congradulated. It was short-lived, as the next round, you were on your ass again. This time, your back laid flat on the ground, and Garrick's nose hovered a few inches above yours.

"You've got fire," he said gently, his eyes searching yours. "But, I think I've figrued out what fuels you."

He had not the slightest idea.

"Back up -- this time, try and fight me with a little bit of that attitude from earlier."

You gasped, your hands curling into fists.

"Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "You heard me -- where'd that bratty sense of entitlement go, hm? Was it the first time I put you on your back, or the fifteenth-"

You lunged for him, growling as you took one of his legs out from beneath him. He gasped as he fell back, not expecting the move. You pinned him to the mat with your hips, your hands dodging his as he went to grab you. Once you had his pinned above his head, you finally found the courage to smirk down at him.

"This attitude, you mean?" You chuckled. His arms slid from your grip, grabbing at your exposed waist and flipping you over. Now, his hips pinned you -- his lips so close to yours, they could touch.

He smiled, soft as he looked down into your eyes.

"Exacly, that attitude."

This was the moment -- it had to be. Heat flared between your thighs as his hips pressed firmly against you, his bulge twitching and hardening beneath his sweats. Your spandex shorts did nothing to restrict the feeling, and a small wave of victory crossed your mind. You'd got him.

Slowly, you craned your neck, lifting your head from the mat as your mouth moved closer to his. His eyes fell closed, and you tilted your chin, almost there, almost-

"Am I interrupting something?"

Garrick's eyes flew open, his head turning toward the entry doors. You looked too, though you already knew who that annoying voice belonged to.

Imogen.

"N-no," Garrick stuttered, immediately releasing you and scrambling to his feet. He dusted himself off, not offerring you a hand this time. You stood reluctantly, watching as Imogen infultrated the room, dropping her bag without a care in the world.

"It was nothing, Gen. We were just training," he assured her. Her eyes dragged up and down your body, assessing, judging. You wrapped your arms around your bare torso, suddenly feeling exposed. The cropped tank and spandex shorts were meant to lure in Garrick -- not be used against you, making you feel so small.

"Right," she said, disbelievingly. She shrugged, working to wrap her knuckles with tape. "Well, Violet will be here any minute, so."

Garrick nodded, giving you a small glance before gathering his things. You sighed, reaching for your bag as well.

"I'll... see you tomorrow, Y/N. Be ready for the challenges."

It was all he said before racing through the doors, faster than a bat straight out of Hell. You frowned, standing from the floor and preparing to follow him out. That was, until Imogen's taped hand caught your shoulder to stop you.

"What?" You hissed, narrowing your eyes. She leveled you with an accusatory stare.

"I know what you're doing, second-year; and it's not gonna work."

You laughed humorlessly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you stated, trying to wrench your shoulder free of her grasp. She held tight, leaning in to speak lowly to you.

"You don't think it's obvious? The stares, the lessons, the... whatever the Hell it is you're wearing," she said wit disgust. Your cheeks reddened, but she kept talking. "I've been friends with Garrick for a very long time -- whatever you're doing is not gonna work."

You shook your head slowly, swallowing.

"Right. And I'm sure whatever you're doing, is?" You bit back. She dropped her hand, glowering at you. "Or, maybe not -- last I checked, he's not your boyfriend either."

She stared silently at you, her anger visible on her face. You shrugged, shifting your bag higher onto your shoulder. The door opened and Violet walked in, and you took that as your cue to leave.

"Good luck tomorrow, by the way," Imogen grit out. "I heard the challenges this week were going to be much harder than before."

✧･ﾟ: *

You were all but stewing as you watched the match happening before you. A girl from first wing was paired with another female from yours - Rhiannon, you think. She was doing your wing justice, absolutely handing the ither girl's ass to her. Violet flanked your side, not talking much as she watched beside you.

"You can't give me the silent treatment forever," she said, and you cuold practically feel her stare at the side of your head. Sure, the past week had not been fun -- you'd barely uttered two word to your roomate since finding out her new training arrangements. Thus, you figured she'd suffered enough -- and so had you.

"I just don't see why you'd go to Imogen for training," you answered, a long sigh escaping as you spoke. Violet turned fully to you.

"I didn't -- she offered to train me. She said she knew about the challenges this week, and who I'd be fighting, and said I could probably use a few pointers so I wouldn't end up on my ass again," she explained. Your brows narrowed as you registered what she said.

"Wait -- you're telling me Imogen knows who's paired up today?"

Violet nodded solemnly.

"Yeah. She said a bunch of the second years would be matched with thirds this week."

That. Fucking. Bitch.

You turned slowly, your eyes narrowing.

"And, you didn't think to tell me this?"

Violet shrugged.

"Figured Garrick would, honestly. Imogen said he probably did tell you."

Your blood simmered beneath your skin. That ignorant, pink-haired, selfish-

"Next on the mat! Y/N Y/L/N, and Imogen Cardulo."

Emmetario's voice was white noise as all color leached from your face. Was he serious? If you were paired with Imogen, and she'd known all week...

You turned, searching for Garrick in the crowd. Your gaze found his, the top of his head visible over the heads of the other cadets. His brows furrowed in concern as he stared back at you, his line of sight faltering as a certain third year stepped onto the mat.

You glared as you stomped onto the mat as well, walking straight up to her.

"You knew all week?" You growled, and Imogen only answered you with a look of amusement. "You knew. You knew all fucking week we'd be challenging one another, and you told my best friend, but not me?"

She huffed a laugh.

"Please -- I only found out this morning we were paired up. But yeah, I knew I'd be challenging a second year no doubt." She would the tape tighter around her knuckles. Looking down, you realized you weren't wearing any. Imogen laughed cruelly, not even looking at you as she spoke.

"What, did your new boyfriend not bring you to the ring well-prepared?" Your gaze hardened, especially as she glanced up at you. "Oh wait -- he isn't, your boyfriend."

You took a deep breath, the rush of air doing nothing to cool your temper. You heard your name from behind you, and you turned just in time to see Garrick approaching the edge of the mat. He held out wrapping tape, and you eagerly made your way toward him.

He said nothing as he made quick work of the material, winding it tight around your palms.

"Remember what I taught you," he said softly. "I believe in you, Y/N. I trust that you'll apply your training here, today."

You waited as he finished securing the tape around your second hand, then you glanced up at him angrily.

"Yeah, like how I should've trusted that you'd tell me I'd be fighting Imogen today?" Your gut twisted, the words you'd accepted as truth spilling out. "No wonder you didn't, honestly; I already know you have a thing for her."

Garrick's eyes widened, and he gripped both of your shoulders as he looked into your eyes.

"No, Y/N you don't understand-"

"BEGIN!"

You yanked free of Garrick's grasp, leveling him with a glare before turning to face Imogen again. She inspected her nails as you strode toward her, not even taking a fighting stance as you drew closer.

Silly girl, you thought. The first punch you threw hit her in the gut, and she reared back a step before aligning her defenses. She coughed as she took her fighting pose, fists raised and eyes narrowed.

The next hit wasn't so lucky -- you threw a punchand missed, which gave the third year the opportunity to knee you in the ribs. You staggered froward, working to regain your balance as you wheezed, turning to face her ignorant, smiling face.

"You got one good hit on me, I'll give you that." She lunged, both arms wrapping your waist and sending you careening to the floor. The wind rushed from your lungs as she pinned you, her sneer mere inches from your face.

"You forget, second year, he trained me too."

This had you seeing red.

You jerked your hips, tossing her off of you as you went completely feral. Every move, every thrown punch, every swing -- it was all Garrick. She dodged a few of them, of course; but by the fourth or fifth attempt, your knuckles were connecting with her jaw and your foot was shoving against the backs of her knees. You'd wrestled her to the floor, yanking her hands behind her back. You bared your teeth as you tried twisting them, but the callous female only laughed.

"You really think this is going to make him want you?" She taunted, blood dripping from the inside of her mouth. "You really think he'll be impressed? I can assure you he'll never-"

You huffed a growl, driving your elbow between her shoulderblades. She cried out in pain, her words completely cut off.

"He's mine," you growled into her ear. "Haven't you gotten that by now?"

Imogen grunted, thrusting you off of her back and sending you to the floor. You scrambled, trying to regain your footing -- failing, as her boot connected with your ribs.

"Miss possessive -- I'm sure he'll love that," she sneered. Her foot kicked you again, and again, and soon enough she was atop you. Her fists flew at you, every breath escaping as you panted and gasped for air. Shouts sounded from behind you, and in the moment you did the only thing you could think of. Reaching up, you clasped both hands around her neck, squeezing hard. Her eyes widened as her face grew redder, her air supply cut off. Black spots clouded your vision as she continued her assault -- the last image you saw was your tatered, bloody bandages before your vision winked out.

✧･ﾟ: *

When you woke up, night had fallen. The first thing you saw was the crackling hearth across the room, moonlight streaming in from the window above. You swallowed, your throat so dry it fels as thouh it had been coated in a layer of sand -- and that's when you began to realize where you were.

Your hands lie atop black, cotton sheets -- the room was cold, save for the burning fire beyond. Shivering, you drew the blankets from you; on top, you wore a large shirt you'd never seen before, and on bottom... well...

Instantly your eyes widened. The single bed, the upscale dorm, the shirt -- you weren't in your dorm. You weren't even in your own clothes, for that matter. Glancing down at your hands, you spotted fresh bandage wraps; gone was the blood and gore from earlier. You glanced around frantically, pausing as the adjacent bathroom door opened.

"I changed the bandages while you were out," Garrick said, crossing through the doorway. The stream of light followed him out as he crossed the room, nearing your bedside. "How are you-"

Your clenched fist drew out from under the blankets, aiming right for his nose. He caught it in an open hand, his grip reawakening the pain in your knuckles. His brow furrowed as he tsked at you.

"Ah ah ah -- you don't want to do that," he reasoned, gently placing your hand atop the covers once more. You narrowed your eyes at him, but he only met you with a grin. "Besides, your hands are just beginning to heal."

"I don't want to be here right now." You said suddenly. Garrick sighed, running a hand through his hair. You hated the way your eyes followed the movement of his long digits.

"Y/N please, just let me explain-"

"Explain what?!" You said incredulously. "Explain how you knew I'd be fighting Imogen today? Explain how, you kept it from me because you have some sort of, I don't know... thing with her?"

Garrick chuckled shaking his head.

"That's not it at all, Y/N. I didn't know the two of you would be paired up, for starters. Even if I did, I would have kept it to myself to keep the fight fair," he reasoned. You scowled.

"No, you would've kept it to yourself so she'd have the upper hand." Rolling your eyes, you continued on. "Because you're in love with her or something-"

It all happened so fast, his hand gripping your throat, your head swilveling to face him. His lips crashed onto yours, demanding and punishing in the most delicious of ways. Your eyes widened as his mouth moved against yours, not quite believing what happened. A soft groan escaped as his fingers squeezed lightly around your throat, and at that he pulled back slowly. His eyes opened slowly, focusing on your face.

"I don't," he assured, his quiet voice loud in the otherwise silent room. "I don't love Imogen -- not like that."

You stared at him in shock, all 1000 emotions warring with one another inside of you. He gazed back, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

"I do however, have a thing, for you."

Your face flushed at his words as your breath abandoned you. He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you again. You melted into him this time, listening as he mumbled softly against your mouth.

"Sorry -- this felt like the only thing I could do to get you to shut up for one second so I could explain myself." You giggled at that, arching your aching back as his hands slid around your waist and hugged you closer to him. You stayed silent as your head rested against his chest, his body repositioned to lay half on the bed with you. He sighed, his other hand stroking through your hair.

"How long have you known?" You asked. He knew what you meant, his chest rumbling as he laughed.

"Hmm.. maybe, a year ago?" You could hear the smirk in his tone. "You made it pretty obvious, Y/N."

You drew your head back, looking up at him in disbelief.

"You knew all this time that I liked you? And didn't do a damned thing about it?"

He shushed you, his fingers guiding your head to rest against his chest once again.

"Shhh, shh -- I'm doing something now, aren't I?"

You rolled your eyes, snuggling deeper into his chest. "Guess so."

After a few long minutes of silence, he spoke again.

"If we're going to make this work -- you're going to have to get over Imogen," he reasoned. "She's been my friend for a very long time, there's no getting rid of her." You huffed, closing your eyes.

"She likes you, Garrick." You complained, and he tilted your chin to look up at him again.

"And I, like you," he stated plainly. His lips kissed yours softly as he laid you back down.

You grumbled. "Just don't let your friend beat the shit out of me again."

He cackled at this.

"From what I hear, you did a number on her too."

Your focus faded in and out, sleep soon consuming you as the night stretched on. Garrick could have all the friends he wanted, you supposed -- as long as they kept their hands, off your man.

✧･ﾟ: *

[hscherryblossom]

Helloooo, I have an idea, you don't have to realize it but I would be very happy about it. I love the ff Daddy did it (wrong) and I wanted to ask if you could do something similar with Garrick or Dain and tease the other Garrick / Dain that baby no. 2 or 3 is on the way? 🤭

Mother like daughter

Garrick and you, complete opposites, build a love rooted in balance, banter, and stolen kisses—even when you're too drunk to walk and he’s carrying your heels. Three years later, your fierce toddler Kaliea mirrors your fire, refusing to be carried and melting into Garrick's neck with the same affection you once gave him.

Warning: Shameless banter, soft dad moments, alcohol and pregnancy.

A/n: So I didn't follow this out word for word and I only realised it after I wrote it so I do apologise. English is not my first language and I've been struggling with my mental health so this is a mess!

You and Garrick have always been opposites.

He’s loud, you’re quiet. He’s big—broad-shouldered and easy to spot in any room—while you’re the one slipping between crowds unnoticed, a whisper in comparison to his thunder. He’s all bark and bite and blunt edges; you’re more scalpel than sword, precise and cutting in quieter ways. He prefers to stay in, feet propped up on the table, book forgotten in his lap, sipping something strong while you scroll through whatever list of events might drag him out for the night. And when it comes to drinking...

Garrick has the tolerance of a seasoned soldier.

You, on the other hand, are a two-drink disaster.

Especially on nights like this—nights when the squad is celebrating a successful mission, or a rare free evening, or the fact that no one ended up in the med ward for once. Nights when Ridoc buys shots and Rhiannon dares everyone to dance on the tables, and Xaden actually smiles.

You don’t remember how many you had. You do remember Garrick shaking his head across the bar, mouthing lightweight with a grin as you knocked back something that burned like fire and honey.

Now, you’re walking home.

Well—stumbling home, barefoot, because heels are a punishment from the gods and you kicked them off somewhere between the bar and the gate. Garrick’s holding them, one in each hand like war trophies, and you’ve already tripped over your own feet three times.

Four.

"Do you even have bones in your legs anymore?" he laughs, steady as a mountain beside you. "Or are you just... no, I think you’re actually just noodles now. Uncooked ones. Limp and floppy and absolutely useless."

"Shut up," you mutter, swaying sideways. He catches you, one-handed, without even breaking stride.

"I’m serious," he continues, voice full of mock concern. "We need to send you back to Basgiath for re-training. Baby's first flight. Gods, you’re like a newborn hatchling trying to walk."

"You’re mean," you say, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

"And you’re a hazard to public safety."

You almost fall again when the road slopes downward. Garrick sighs dramatically, crouching just enough to scoop you into his arms like it’s nothing. Like you weigh less than a weapons manual.

"That’s it," he says, adjusting his grip with your heels dangling from his fingers. "I’m carrying you the rest of the way, or you’re going to end up face-down in the river. And I am not fishing your drunk little corpse out tonight."

"You love me," you mumble against his neck, lips brushing the warm skin there. He smells like cedar and smoke and the leather of his flight jacket—like battlefields and bonfires, like home.

"I do," he admits, grinning. "But I also love my back, and you’re flopping around like a damn fish. Sit still."

But you don’t. You lean in instead, nosing along the curve of his neck where his pulse beats steady beneath skin flushed from firelight and laughter and whatever he drank back at the bar. You inhale deeply, greedy for his scent, for the comfort of him—the safety that always hums beneath the banter.

Then you kiss him there.

Right on the spot below his jaw. Slow. Deliberate. Soft lips on warm skin, just enough pressure to make him suck in a breath through his teeth.

He falters for half a step.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice suddenly a lot lower. "You are so getting a lecture in the morning."

You hum innocently against his neck, then kiss him again.

"You can try," you whisper. "But I probably won’t remember it."

"Of course you won’t," he says, but his arms tighten around you, his voice brushing over your skin like velvet and storm light. "Which is the only reason I’m not kissing you into next week right now."

He doesn’t put you down either.

Not when you giggle into his neck, not when your legs twitch like maybe you’ll try to walk again (a terrible idea), and definitely not when you sigh and go boneless in his arms like you’ve just melted into him completely.

“You’re comfy,” you murmur, cheek smushed against his shoulder. “Like… a weighted blanket. But alive. And hotter.”

Garrick snorts. “So I’m a glorified human sleeping aid now?”

“You’re everything, Garrick.” You pat his chest with a hand that’s about as coordinated as a drunk hatchling. “Like if a fireplace and a war cry had a baby.”

He laughs—loud and full-throated, the kind of laugh that rumbles in his chest and vibrates right against your ribs where he’s holding you. “You’re gonna want to write that down. That was poetry. Rhymeless, chaotic poetry.”

But you’re already off on another thought. “Do you think dragons get itchy in places their riders can’t reach? Like under their wings?”

“Babe.”

“Because Chradh always twitches his tail in that way, you know? And Chaire definitely gets this look in her eye when she—wait, do dragons have… armpits?”

You don’t even register the way Garrick’s choking on his laugh as he keeps walking, turning down the familiar path toward your quarters.

“Armpits?” he echoes, almost wheezing. “That’s where your mind went? You’re slurring about dragon hygiene now?”

“’S important,” you insist seriously, poking his collarbone for emphasis. “We have baths. They have… lava pools. It’s not the same.”

“I can’t believe this is the conversation I’m having while carrying a grown woman who smells like berry liquor and regret,” he says, but he’s grinning so wide it hurts. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You squint at him, offended. “I’m not cute. I’m… fearsome.”

“Oh, definitely.” He nods solemnly. “A total terror. I tremble before you. Especially when you tried to fight that coat rack on the way out of the bar.”

“That coat rack was looking at me weird,” you hiss, deadly serious.

“I’m sure it was quaking in its wooden boots.”

You gasp. “Do coat racks wear boots?”

He stops walking for a second just to look at you. His lips twitch, and then he tips his head back and howls with laughter.

“You’re not real,” he says, finally moving again. “You’re some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination my brain conjured to entertain me.”

You grin into his neck, satisfied. “Then why’re you holding me, hmm?”

“Because hallucination or not, you’re too damn wobbly to be trusted with your own feet. And you’re warm. And kinda soft. And your dumb drunk rambling is better than anything Ridoc’s ever said.”

You wrap your arms a little tighter around his neck, soaking in the heat of him, the steady strength, the soft huff of breath he lets out when your fingers curl against the short hair at the nape of his neck.

He feels like the sky before a storm—charged and endless. And yours.

You press another kiss to his throat, just beneath his jaw, feeling his pulse jump beneath your lips.

He groans low in his chest. “You keep that up, and I’m going to start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Maybe I am,” you whisper, smiling against his skin. “Maybe I want to kiss the human weighted blanket who trembles before my fearsome might.”

He looks down at you with a heat that cuts through the cool night air. “Gods help me, I think I’m in love with the most chaotic woman alive.”

“You are,” you say smugly, already drifting closer to sleep in his arms. “And she wants grilled cheese.”

“Oh for the love of—” He shakes his head, laughing again. “Fine. But if you fall asleep before I get it to you, I’m eating the whole damn thing and telling you it was a dream.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you gasp dramatically.

He kisses your forehead, soft and real and grounding. “Try me, lightweight.”

Three years later.

The sky is clear above Aretia, a rare kind of soft blue you only get after rain, and the breeze is warm enough to chase off the chill clinging to the mountain ridges. Xaden and Garrick walk side by side on the trail behind the barracks, boots crunching over gravel, sun painting their shoulders in bronze and gold.

A tiny figure waddles ahead of them.

Kaliea.

Barely a year and a half old, hair a messy halo of soft curls, cheeks flushed pink from the effort of walking, even though she insisted—insisted—on doing it herself. Not in Garrick’s arms, not in her Uncle Xaden’s either. Her chubby hands had batted them both away with all the righteous indignation her tiny body could summon.

"No, Daddy!" she’d said, or more accurately, “No, Da-deeeh!” before pushing off from Garrick’s knee and launching into a determined little waddle up the path, arms swinging like she was marching into battle.

Xaden snorts under his breath. “Stubborn. Like her mother.”

Garrick gives him a look. “You mean like you.”

“Excuse me?” Xaden arches a brow. “She literally tried to headbutt me when I picked her up.”

“She’s passionate,” Garrick says proudly, watching as she stumbles a little on a loose rock and rights herself with an angry squeak. “And independent. And tiny. A very small, angry general.”

“Like I said—her mother.”

Kaliea mumbles something under her breath as she waddles, the soft babble of baby speech that means everything and nothing all at once. “Ba-ba-da... da-doo...shh… no-no.”

Every few steps, she trips.

Not hard—just that uneven toddler stagger, legs not quite catching up with the momentum of her own body. Her little boots scuff the dirt as she leans forward too far, arms flapping to balance herself, mouth pursing in frustrated concentration.

Both men slow their pace instinctively, eyes trained on her.

“Ten bucks she falls again in the next—” Xaden starts.

Kaliea trips.

“—five seconds.”

Garrick sighs, grinning, and jogs the few feet to her. “Alright, alright, General, that’s enough solo marching for one afternoon.”

“NOOooo!” Kaliea wails, her hands flailing as he scoops her up easily.

She kicks her feet, cheeks puffed out, eyebrows drawn down in pure toddler rage. “Ahh-wan-doh!”

“You want down?” Garrick teases, holding her at eye level. “Really? So you can faceplant again and chew on more gravel?”

“Dohhhh,” she insists, smacking his chest with both palms.

“Nope. Not happening.” He tucks her against his chest, one hand cradling her little bum, the other gently adjusting her head so it doesn’t loll. “Daddy says your legs are fired for the day.”

She makes a low frustrated noise—half-growl, half-whine—then lets out the most dramatic toddler sigh imaginable.

Xaden chuckles beside them, dark brows lifted. “Wow. That’s the same sound you make when you lose at cards.”

“Shut up,” Garrick mutters, rocking her gently.

Kaliea curls tighter against him with a tiny grumble, fat little fists clutching the collar of his shirt like it’s her last lifeline. She presses her nose into the crook of his neck, soft curls brushing his jaw as she breathes him in—deep and slow, the way she always does when she’s trying to calm herself down.

And then, with a tiny, sleepy sigh, she kisses his neck.

Just the faintest press of warm lips against his skin, more a nuzzle than anything else. She rests her head there, finally still, her breaths slow and even as she sinks into the safety of his hold.

Garrick stills.

His voice softens, almost reverent. “She always does that.”

Xaden glances over. “What?”

“Kisses me there. Right before she falls asleep. Same spot every time.”

Kaliea hums quietly in his arms, her little thumb trying to find its way toward her mouth.

Garrick bounces her lightly, rhythmic and soothing. “See that? Crisis averted. Daddy: one. Tiny dictator: zero.”

“She’s not asleep yet,” Xaden points out, but his voice is gentle, his eyes on Kaliea with a quiet fondness he tries to hide.

Garrick smirks. “Give her two minutes.”

And sure enough—two minutes later, her breathing evens out. Her lashes flutter once, twice, and then still. The war is over. Daddy won.

Garrick glances down at her, awe softening every line of his face. He bounces her gently, rhythm set to her breathing. The kind of protective sway that can’t be taught—only learned through nights of pacing with a fevered baby, of lullabies hummed off-key while she cried herself red and exhausted. His arm around her is second nature now.

Xaden watches all of it with an amused, knowing grin.

And then he says it.

"Mother like daughter."

Garrick cuts him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Xaden shrugs, the picture of innocent smugness. “Oh, nothing. Just… the whole refusing to be carried thing. Marching around like she’s in charge. Getting mad when she inevitably falls on her ass. Kisses you on the neck when she wants to be forgiven.”

He smirks.

“You sure that’s your kid?”

Garrick snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

“Seriously. The dramatic sigh? The angry muttering? She’s a miniature version of your girl, Garrick. You’re living with two of them.”

Garrick glances down at Kaliea, who has now drooled ever so slightly into his collarbone. He can’t help but grin. “Yeah, well. Maybe I like my girls fierce and mouthy.”

Xaden groans. “Please don’t make it weird while I’m standing right here.”

“You started it.”

“Still.”

They walk in silence for a beat, boots crunching on the path, the afternoon sun bleeding orange through the trees.

Garrick rests his cheek gently against Kaliea’s head, her curls soft against his skin. “She really is just like her mom,” he murmurs, more to himself now. “Even the way she hides in my neck when she’s tired.”

Xaden glances sideways at him, and for once, there’s no sarcasm in his voice. Just quiet sincerity.

“She got the good parts.”

Garrick’s smile deepens, eyes soft. “Yeah. She did.”

Then, because it’s Garrick, and softness always comes wrapped in a smirk, he adds, “Except when she tries to throw hands with inanimate objects. That’s pure me.”

Xaden lets out a laugh, warm and real. “Well. At least she’s got options.”

They keep walking, Garrick still bouncing Kaliea like she’s a storm waiting to wake again, though her tiny fingers have gone slack against his chest.

Xaden, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, side-eyes the two of them and smirks.

“You know…” he starts slowly, voice soaked in mischief, “if this one’s already threatening to riot over being carried—how’re you gonna handle the next one?”

Garrick freezes mid-step.

Xaden’s grin stretches wider.

“That’s right,” he says, turning just enough to look directly at Garrick’s face. “Another little chaos goblin inbound. A second pint-sized dictator. Another future war general disguised in tiny socks.”

Garrick groans dramatically, already regretting this conversation.

“She’s not even born yet and you’re already lumping her in with Kaliea’s rebellion?”

“I’m just saying,” Xaden drawls. “One toddler who tries to fight coat racks is concerning. Two? That’s an uprising.”

Garrick glares at him. “Don’t. Don’t you dare call my kids—”

Xaden’s grin goes lethal. “—terrorists.”

“Damn it, Xaden!” Garrick whisper-shouts, trying not to jostle Kaliea. “Stop calling my children terrorists!”

“Well then maybe stop raising them like tiny insurgents,” Xaden says innocently. “She bit me last week. Bit me. No warning, just straight for the hand like I was a mid-battle snack.”

“She’s teething!”

“She had molars in her soul the day she was born.”

Garrick groans again, louder this time. “She’s one and a half! And she only bit you because you stole her juice box.”

“I was testing her loyalty!”

“To what? Capri Sun?”

“To her cause!” Xaden spreads his arms like he’s addressing a council meeting. “Which, by the way, seems to involve systematically dismantling your will to live. I watched her throw an entire tantrum over the colour of her own sock.”

“It was inside out!” Garrick hisses defensively. “She has sensitive feet!”

Xaden’s laugh booms over the path now, full and loud and absolutely unhinged. “You’re not raising children—you’re raising tiny revolutionaries. I give it three years before Kaliea declares herself Supreme Commander of the Western Quadrant and orders Chradh to patrol the skies in her honour.”

“She already rides Chradh like a damn parade float,” Garrick mutters, exasperated. “He loves it.”

“Oh, I bet he does. Big softie. He’s just waiting for her to declare war.”

“Xaden—I swear, if you call my unborn daughter a ‘terrorist in training’—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Xaden says lightly, leaning closer as they walk. “I was going to go with ‘apprentice to chaos’ this time.”

“You are the worst uncle ever.”

“I’m the most honest uncle ever. And the most prepared.” He smirks. “Already ordered a ‘Baby’s First Coup’ onesie. Comes in black with tiny silver daggers on the sleeves.”

“Oh my gods—”

Garrick has to stop walking entirely, Kaliea slumping deeper into his arms like the chaos has finally tired her out. His expression is part amused, part horrified.

“I should’ve let you fall off that cliff during training,” he mutters.

“You tried,” Xaden says cheerfully, “but unlike you, I have balance.”

“Yeah? You’re about to have teeth marks if you keep talking like this around Kaliea.”

“She already stabbed me with a spoon once.”

“That was a fork.”

“See? Trained.”

Please comment and reblog!

credits to @empyreanevents for the dividers!

[hscherryblossom]

hello there I love your stories so much would you be interested in doing a Garrick smut !!

Beg For It

Garrick Tavis x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: When Garrick comes back after being gone for so long, you don’t waste any time.

Warnings: ‼️18+ (MDNI) explicit content‼️ graphic smut, a whole lot of fluff, inappropriate use of Garrick’s signet (minor Onyx Storm spoiler)

Author’s Note: The way I stopped everything to write this. I was excited about it haha

Word Count: 3.3K

Posted on AO3

Masterlist

————

A knock at the door has me glancing at the clock on the mantel.

Who would be up at this hour?

Anxiety hits me, wondering if Venin have crossed the border or breached the wards of Tyrrendor. But if that was so, wouldn’t the bells be ringing? People stampeding in the hall? Dragons roaring in the distance?

I slowly get to my feet, grabbing a robe to cover the white lace nightdress that reaches to the tops of my thighs. If someone is here with a missive or I’m needed in battle, I’m definitely screwed in this outfit.

If it’s not anything life-threatening or imminent, I’ll be so pissed. Whoever is at the door is interrupting my only time to relax while at Riorson house. I’ve been re-reading Garrick’s latest letters by the fireplace.

A hollow ache burrows in my heart. It’s been five weeks since I’ve seen him. Over a month since I’ve held him in my arms, kissed him, or felt his curls beneath my fingers. Every day without him has been eating me alive.

The last time I saw him, he was rushing onto the flight field with me on his heels. Xaden had already taken to the skies after a long goodbye with Violet. Now, Garrick was expected to go with him, as always. I’d resent Xaden if I didn’t trust him with my life. Or, in this case, Garrick’s life. It’s because of this that I know he’ll bring Garrick back to me.

Rushing towards Chradh, Garrick had caught sight of Xaden overhead before whirling to me. He crashed into me, gravity pulling us together as he kissed the life out of me. His grip was hard and desperate before slowly loosening, caressing me. When his forehead met mine, I knew I wouldn’t see him for a very long time.

“You know I love you?” he whispered.

I nodded, tears choking me as he kissed me one last time.

Another knock at the door, this one more desperate, brings me out of my memories. I huff in annoyance before throwing open the door.

I immediately freeze.

“Garrick?” My whisper is full of uncertainty.

On the threshold, just beyond reach of the wards placed on the room, a man tall enough to tower over me with fair skin, dark curls, and heartbreaking hazel eyes grips the doorframe.

Garrick Tavis.

Heart pounding, I stare in open shock, wondering if this is a dream. Maybe I fell asleep by the fire and I’ll wake up soon to find that he’s not actually here.

Garrick’s eyes burn into me as he whispers my name like a prayer that’s been answered. The way he’s looking at me… It’s as if I’m air and he’s drowning, dying to reach for me with his last breath. It’s intoxicating to behold.

This feels entirely too real to be a dream.

His nostrils flare as he takes in my attire. His gaze scorching my skin as he scans me, slowly, methodically. Memorizing me.

“Well, fuck me,” he mutters. “If this is how you greet me after a month, I should leave more often.”

No way in hell is this a dream.

I bolt forward, gripping his leathers by the collar to pull him through the wards— pulling him into our room.

Copying Xaden months ago, Garrick ensured when he was gone, I’d be safe in our room. Even he couldn’t get in without my permission. It was part of his many backup plans and safety precautions when it came to me.

“You’re the only important person in my life,” he had whispered against my skin many months ago after setting up the wards. “I have to keep you safe. Promise me you’ll be safe?”

And I’ve been keeping that promise. Every day, hoping he’ll come home to me and stay longer between each time he’s allowed leave back to Riorson house.

And like every time before, he’s back.

Once Garrick is through the wards and standing before me, we collide.

Lips and teeth crash together, tongues intertwining as Garrick wraps around me, holding me tight. I grip him just as hard as I kiss him. His lips, gods, his lips are everything. I’ve missed him far too much to waste any time.

He’s taller than me, being dubbed “the Big One” by Violet. I remember fully agreeing with her when she told me. The top of my head can barely reach his shoulders. So while he towers over me, I use my height to my advantage and touch every inch of his torso, ensuring he’s actually here. His broad shoulders. The edges of the mark on his skin seen above his leathers. His dark curls. Even the tan marks of his flight goggles.

Garrick breaks from the kiss first. When our eyes meet, we both smile wide and carefree. At the same time, we tear off his flight jacket, revealing his well-built frame covered in a tight shirt that outlines his rippling muscles.

Gods, I missed him.

He rips the robe from my shoulders, tossing it over his shoulder as he dives back in to kiss me. His hands gripping my waist as my fingers hold on to his biceps.

The feel of him sends electric shockwaves up my nerves. Everything is entirely familiar, but different. More than a month away from one another feels like an eternity as I reach to grip the back of his head, bringing him closer as his teeth bite my bottom lip.

I moan into his mouth, sliding my free hand beneath his shirt. Skating my fingertips across his abdomen till I get to the rim of his pants, Garrick sucks in a breath. I toy with the button, pulling until it gives.

Slowly, I slip my hands beneath his pants, skimming his briefs before my fingers meet warm, veiny skin. Garrick pants against me, my pulse racing alongside his as my hand grips his cock.

“Fuck,” he moans.

I leisurely take my time sliding my skin over his— teasing, taunting. Garrick’s hands shake as they move from my waist down to my hips, pulling me closer. When I get to the head of his cock, my mouth waters at the feel of precum already dripping from the tip. With my thumb, I smooth it over the skin, pumping my hand once, twice, another before he grabs my wrist, stopping me.

“Baby, I’ve waited too long to have you,” his voice rough with desperation. “I’ll come if you keep doing that.”

I smirk. “Maybe I want you to.”

He huffs a laugh. “I know you’d love that, but I’ve had enough lonely nights to last me for the last five weeks.” He suddenly moves me backwards until my back hits the wall. “I need you.”

He bends forward, kissing my forehead, before tracing his lips to my temple. I exhale when his lips move to my cheek, stopping to smirk into my skin.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I confess, breathing in the smell of him.

Garrick’s mouth glides across my jaw before hovering over my swollen lips. “I missed you too, love.”

Warmth spreads through my limbs like I’m soaking in the sun. He kisses me briefly, before moving his mouth to my jaw. Breath hitching when his teeth prick at my pulse before his tongue slides along my collarbone.

“This dress,” he breathes, making the exposed flesh of my skin pebble. “Gods, you’ll be the death of me.”

His teeth latch to the top of the lace, pulling the fabric downward until my breast is fully exposed. The air is cool against my heated skin as Garrick takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over my nipple. He sucks, long, deep, and hard before pulling gently with his teeth, making me gasp.

My head falls back, hitting the wall as I close my eyes, lost to the feel of his lips and teeth. His hand yanks the rest of the material down, a ripping sound filling the silence of the room.

“I’ll buy you twenty more pairs of this exact dress, I promise.”

I laugh at the breathless sound of his voice, smiling towards the ceiling as he begins to nip at my other breast. The lace dress falls from my shoulders, pooling at my feet.

In only my matching lace panties, I feel Garrick still against me. I look down to find he’s now kneeling, his face inches from my underwear, gazing up at me through his lashes.

“They were a set,” I wink.

Garrick’s pupils are wide as he looks down at the lace. “Fuck, I love you and your shopping habits so much.”

A belly laugh escapes me, causing Garrick to join in as he nuzzles my abdomen before tracing his fingers over the garment.

He whispers my name, like a siren call, and I meet those lust-filled hazel eyes as he places a gentle kiss on my stomach.

This is love. We’ve had plenty of dark days, but it’s these quiet moments, the ones where we can find the light in the dark, that matter the most. Every laugh, caress, and smile he gives me is a gift. I’ve never felt more adored and cherished than in his arms.

And right now? With his face inches from where I need him desperately, I know he’ll always come back to me, no matter how far he travels or how long he’s gone.

I’m his home as much as he is mine.

Garrick’s gaze softens. “I know,” he whispers, kissing my skin once more.

Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I want to cherish this with him, for as long as I can.

His rough fingers slide beneath the lace, pulling my underwear completely off, leaving me exposed before him. A shiver echoes up my spine as his hands grip the backs of my thighs.

“I’ve been as patient as I can be, baby. But now,” his fingers reach down to my ankles. “Be a good girl and put your legs over my shoulders. I need to taste you on my tongue.”

I practically choke as he helps lift me to sit on his shoulders, my pussy inches from his face.

“That’s perfect,” he praises, making my cheeks flush. His eyes sparkle as he stares at my core, no doubt seeing the glistening wetness trailing down my thighs.

“Now, ride my face.”

I obey his command as he lifts me further and sits me on his waiting mouth. His lips part, and I feel his tongue lick me in one long strip. Pleasure racks up my spine, my fingers flying to his hair to grip onto something. With his hands holding my legs and pressing me against the wall, he dives in like a man starved. Licking and sucking. Nipping and teasing. Stars fill my vision as my core begins to tighten.

“Garrick,” I moan, mg fingers pulling his curls. “Baby, I’m—“

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he keeps going with fervor. One of his hands leaves my thigh to slide up my leg to my pussy. Just as his lips tease my clit, his fingers replace them. Pressing down and squeezing, a tickling sensation begins in the pit of my stomach, growing bigger and bigger as my walls tighten around his tongue.

“I need your fingers,” I gasp. “Please.”

Garrick obliges. Two long, thick fingers slide inside me, making me pant at the pressure. His fingers and tongue work in tandem. Another squeeze, lick, and press of his fingers, and I’m already climbing higher and higher until—

“Garrick!” I cry out.

I can feel him smirk against me as I continue to shatter. Waves of ecstasy wash over me as I scream his name again and again, riding out my orgasm until I’m left feeling boneless. My head swims as Garrick gently moves my legs back to the floor.

I stare down at him, lungs still heaving breaths as I catch sight of his mouth glistening with my slick. His dimple curves just as his tongue swipes across his lips. My knees shake at the sight, but his hands are there, securing around my body as he hoists me against him.

With his hands around my torso and legs, he holds me firmly before winking down at me. He takes a step and in the next breath, we’re across the room, on the bed.

I giggle. “Using your signet to seduce me, Tavis?”

Garrick’s smirk widens as he lays me down on the mattress, his arms caressing my skin as he lets me settle into the comforter.

“I don’t need magic to seduce you,” he raises a brow. “You’re mine already.”

Reaching to touch his cheek, smoothing my thumb across his dimple, I give him a soft smile. “I’ll always be yours.”

He’s kissing me just as the words float in the air, blending with the moonlight. The dark enfolds us as he slips off his trousers and briefs, caging me with his naked body.

With one bruising kiss, I part my legs, feeling him settle between them. I glance between our bodies, a moan escaping me at the sight of his long, hard cock.

I missed this as much as I missed him.

The head of his dick lazily coats in my wetness, taunting and teasing. I writhe beneath his hulking body.

“You better get inside me right now, Garrick, or-“

He pushes into me, bottoming out in one long, heavy thrust.

“Fuck,” he groans into my mouth as my back arches, eyes rolling back at the pressure. I’m so full, it’s toeing the line between pleasure and pain. It’s everything.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he hushes against my skin as I whimper.

He still doesn’t move. I need him to move.

I shift my hips, forcing some sort of friction. He stills me with a large hand, encasing most of my hip with its width.

Lips meet my ear, breath tickling my hair. His voice is deep and rough with want as he whispers, “Will you beg for it?”

I nod, gasping and writhing. The inner muscles of my core clench, tightening over and over again around his unmoving cock.

Garrick kisses the skin beneath my ear before sitting up. While still sheathed within me, he towers over me, sitting back on his haunches. He brings my knees up the bed, bending them so I’m straddling his hips. He presses himself forward, angling his dick to be even deeper inside of me.

Holy shit, this angle.

“I don’t hear you begging.”

A whimper escapes me as I claw at his hands on my hips. “Please, Garrick, please!”

He smirks, that damn dimple shining down on me. A firm, calloused hand glides up my body until he gathers both of my straining hands. He holds them above my head, grasping my wrists together in one large palm, pressing them into the sheets. My back arches into the angle, sliding him even closer, further inside of me.

“Do you trust me, baby?”

I nod over and over again, still straining against his hold. The heat rising inside of me is unbearable, the need to feel his cock pump and thrust against my walls is all I can think about.

Garrick stares at me from above, his gaze hooded as he watches me pant. He tightens his hold on my wrists as his free hand grabs the top of my knee and pulls it to the side, before doing the same to the other. I obey, making them stay in the position he wants them.

As I stretch my knees outward, my eyes widen. With my knees bent at this angle, my pussy locks around Garrick’s cock, exposing my clit to the air. All the while, he watches in fascination, completely enraptured.

With a flick of his wrist, sharp, cool air touches my clit. It startles me, making me want to clamp my legs shut on instinct.

As I try to do just that, Garrick holds firm, staring at my exposed clit. “Let me take care of you. It’s okay, I’m just….experimenting.”

He meets my eyes with a wink before twisting his hand in the air to make the breeze choppier. Almost in a vibrating motion. Warmth and pressure build slowly as the vibrating keeps going, stimulating my clit in a way I’ve never experienced.

Just as it intensifies, Garrick begins to thrust inside of me. Thank fuck. My head snaps back, a cry falling from my lips.

“There you go, baby,” he pumps faster, deeper. “You take me so well.”

Sweat builds at my temple just as his hand releases my hips, allowing me to meet him with every thrust. We moan together as pressure builds, the air he’s still bending around my clit is now flowing faster.

“Garrick,” I whine, my voice full of warning.

He nods, smiling. “I know, I’m right behind you.”

The air vibrating against my clit suddenly disappears. His fingers slip down from my caged hands, releasing them, to touch my clit, keeping me stimulated.

He thrusts, using my knees as leverage to pull me into him roughly. I grip the sheets, holding on as I feel myself cresting that wave once more.

“Come for me, love.”

I shatter with a cry, my voice straining as it echoes. My walls pulse and flutter, again and again, as his cock pounds into me. He soon follows with a roar, bending down so his lips find mine, groaning into my mouth as he fills me.

The entire time he spills inside of me, he whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again.

I’m drunk off the feeling of him when we finally both come down from our highs. Gasping for breath, Garrick falls on top of me, spent. I laugh beneath him, shoving him playfully.

“I can’t breathe!”

He groans. “Gods, I missed fucking you.”

I kiss his sweaty temple, warmth filling my chest as he gives short, simple kisses to my collarbone.

“Just that?” I tease.

“Don’t even joke.” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head before rolling off of me, lying back on our bed.

He drags me with him, cradling me in the nook of his arms. His bare chest against the skin of my cheek brings so many memories of the past few years, it floods me with nostalgia.

How we met on the mat at Basgiath our first year, his mouth and eyebrow bleeding as he let me beat him into the mat. When he later brought me a bag of ice to help the bruise on my ribs, I knew I was a goner. His stupid dimple melted me as he showed me how to forget the pain by telling bad jokes and obviously flirting with me. It worked. And now, I can’t imagine not ever being his.

A sense of rightness settles within my chest. Garrick is finally home, after so long apart. He’s alive and he’s here with me.

“I’m happy you’re back,” I whisper against his skin.

I feel him kiss the top of my head as his hand strokes my arm. “You’re my home. I’ll always come back to you.”

Warm, comfortable silence settles over the room as we memorize one another’s breaths. Reveling in the feel of our heartbeats. Being here, together, is all we’ll ever need.

For the rest of the night, into forever, I’m his, and he’s mine.

[hscherryblossom]

Professor Tavis

pairing: boyfriend!garrick tavis x reader

word count: 3.9k

summary: When hear about Garrick's new job from Xaden, you start to question why Garrick didn't tell you himself. He makes it up to you in the best way possible.

warnings: 18+ ONLY. smut. porn with plot. brief description of panic attack. professor kink tehe. unprotected p in v. fem!reader. ridoc being a protective best friend. super minor onyx storm spoiler.

Xaden looks past his cousin to Garrick. “I just need Professor Tavis.”

I can’t help but gape at the title given to my boyfriend. The title I am just now hearing for the first time. My head snaps up to gawk at him along with the rest of my squad. He winces, but slides by me on the steps and follows after Xaden without looking back. 

All of my friend’s eyes turn away from the men as they disappear and focus on me instead. 

“Professor?” Bodhi frowns. “Since when?”

I meet his round brown eyes and shrug my shoulders, turning back to face the map on the table. Apparently, I’m the only one who remembers that we’re trying to plan out our flight path. The rest of the group is murmuring around me now, gossiping about Professor Tavis. I try my best not to feel scuffed at the fact that I’m learning about my boyfriend’s new job along with the rest of my squad. Except, apparently, not all of them were so oblivious.

“He told me about it over breakfast. They just asked him to accept this morning,” Imogen says, and I straighten in my seat. She’s always been interested in my boyfriend, which is enough to make me jealous as is. Him confiding in her about his new status before telling me feels like a punch in the gut. Then, she piles on top of that feeling. “He didn’t tell you? That’s weird.”

The hair on my skin raises uncomfortably under my leathers. I swallow hard. 

“Shut up, Imogen.” Ridoc slaps her on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Let’s refocus,” Rhiannon supplies, drawing her finger from Basgiath to one of the isles on the map. I can’t make out which one it is through the unshed tears that are stinging in my eyes. “This route could work.”

The group argues again, all speaking over one another as they shove their fingers onto the paper and suggest their own ideas. My mind races as I sit amongst them, drifting through my recent memories with Garrick in an attempt to recall any reason why he’d have withheld this from me, but I come up with nothing. A small sigh leaves my mouth as I continue to stir over the pit in my stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” Bodhi asks, looking up from the map.

“Nothing! I’m just tired.” I rub my eyes and blink hard, trying to force myself back into the moment to help my squadmates formulate the plan. Ridoc nods from next to me, leaning his head onto my shoulder with a dramatic yawn. 

“Me too. Can we break for nap time?” He smiles cheekily at our friends. Every single one of them rolls their eyes at his antics, but Rhiannon relents. 

“Yeah. We can come back after dinner and look at it with fresh eyes,” she says, folding the map up on the table and tucking it into her bag. We’d been here over an hour already. “I’m gonna head to the training room if anyone wants to spar.”

Violet, Sawyer, Aaric, and Sloane all break off with her. The rest of the group goes their own ways, and Ridoc stays with me as we head toward the dorm wing of the castle. His footsteps are wider than mine, his long legs guiding him easily down the corridor. 

“Never took you for a teacher’s pet,” he teases, looking down at me with a wide grin that shows all his teeth. I laugh, shaking my head. 

“Didn’t know I was one. Gods, I can’t believe he would tell Imogen before me. I mean Xaden, I get, but Cardulo? What in Malek’s name did I do to deserve that blow?” I let myself rant to him. Nobody else is in the hallway around us. There’s no reason to hide my disdain for my situation when I already know that he’s tuned into my agitation anyway. 

“I wanted to punch her in the mouth!” He shouts, throwing his hands up. “I mean if you’re going to be a homewrecker, at least have some tact about it.”

My heart twists and pounds in my chest. Homewrecker. The humor of the situation is abruptly drained from my body. My pulse quickens quickly, and my jacket suddenly fits too snugly. I grab his wrist and stop walking, turning to face him with hot cheeks. 

“You don’t really think…” My voice trails off, not wanting to think about the possibility of Garrick and Imogen having any sort of secret relationship. 

“No, no, gods, no,” he hurries out, quickly taking a step toward me and wrapping me into a tight hug. He speaks softly into my hair. “I’m sorry. That was a poor choice of words. You know that Garrick loves you more than anything. It’s pathetic and weird and I’m so jealous of it. He’d never do that to you. Gods know Imogen has tried, though.”

I relax a little at that, but I can’t help the sob that rips through my chest. The past hour has been utterly overwhelming, and it feels like I can’t breathe through the stress. Ridoc holds me tight, running a hand up and down my arm as I wet his leathers with my tears. 

It’s suddenly too hot. I fumble with the zipper of my jacket, trying desperately to get it off of my body as anxiety surges. Ridoc replaces my hands with his on the zipper, then quickly unbuttons the collar and slides my jacket off of my shoulders. He tucks it under his arm and takes a step back. My chest aches with the force of my sobs. After a minute passes and I show no signs of stopping, he sweeps my legs off of the ground and carries me bridal style toward the dorm hall. 

My face stays buried in his shoulder the entire way, uncontrollably wailing. I try wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my undershirt, but it’s no use. The floodgates have opened and the tears just keep coming. It’s a panic attack.

“It’s okay, we’re almost to your room,” he says sweetly, pushing open a set of double doors with his hip. He keeps walking. “Deep breaths. Almost there.”

“What the hell happened?” A familiar voice echoes through the hallway, and a new set of tears rises behind my eyes, spilling over quickly as I choke out a sob. Ridoc stiffens beneath me as I dig my fingers into him, holding myself close to him. 

The anxiety that’s running through my blood isn’t just about the thought of being cheated on, because I know deep down that Garrick would never do that to me. It’s just overwhelming to have Imogen’s snarky comment on top of the stress of planning our trip to the isles, and keeping Xaden’s secret safe from the others. It’s too much, and it’s all weighing on me now.

Ridoc’s steps slow, and he bends over at the waist, setting me back on my feet gently. I release my grip on him only after he places a hand on my upper back. Through my tears, I first see the wetness running down his leather jacket, racing from the collar down to his stomach. Then, I look away from him and see Garrick towering over us, right next to my door. 

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” Ridoc moves a gentle hand to the back of my head before turning and shoving my jacket into Garrick’s chest, matching his mean scowl with one of his own. “Don’t look at me like that when I’m the one who brought her here, Professor.”

“Don’t start, Gamlyn,” he bites back. His knuckles are white where he’s holding my jacket.

“I’d watch your fucking mouth if I were you. It seems to be getting you in trouble a lot recently.” He crosses the hallway and steps into his room, slamming the door shut loudly behind him. Garrick’s lips are pressed together tightly, chest heaving with angry breaths. His eyes trail away from our friend and land back on me, softening as he rests a calloused palm on my wet cheek and tilts my chin up to face him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His tone is pleading, and hot tears keep falling down my face as I stare into his hazel eyes and search for my answers. If he was cheating on me, would I see it in his revealing eyes? I don’t notice anything different. When I look into him, I still see only my Garrick. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He opens my door with one hand, using the other to urge me in front of him. He guides me all the way to the edge of my bed and sets my leathers next to me as I take a seat there. His tall form shrinks to my height as he kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my hips. 

“Sweetheart, please talk to me,” he begs, squeezing my skin. 

“I’m just a little overwhelmed.” I drag my cold palms over my face to wipe away the drying tears and take a deep breath, willing them to stop falling. “Everyone was asking me questions about you becoming a professor, and I didn’t know anything about it, you never told me. Then Imogen starts answering all of them, and I just-- I don’t know. It really upset me, I think, to have her know more about what’s going on with you than I do. Then when we were walking back here, I started thinking that maybe there’s a reason you would tell her before telling me, and I just…”

Garrick flinches in front of me and moves his hands to cup my jaw. His hazel eyes burn into my skin and force me to meet his gaze. I see his lips parted in shock and a deep furrow between his thick brows. He opens his mouth as if to start talking, but hesitates, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admits, running a thumb to catch a stray tear in the corner of my eye. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I never ever meant to make you think that I was going behind your back. I promise you, with all of my heart, that you are the only person I’ve wanted to tell all day.”

“Why didn’t you?” My voice breaks, and I gnaw on the skin of my bottom lip. 

“I didn’t tell Imogen, first of all-- Xaden did. While we were eating breakfast, which was right after I’d gotten back from the meeting where they told me about the job offer.” He grasps my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to my skin. I sigh, letting my free hand brush the hair above his ear. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. That’s just what she told everyone,” I apologize, and he shakes his head quickly. 

“Don’t apologize, I don’t blame you at all,” he says sincerely. “I’m sorry that you heard it from someone else. I’ve been wanting to tell you all day, but you weren’t at breakfast, and then I got pulled into another meeting to discuss lesson plans, and then by the time I got out, everyone was working on the flight paths with you. I wanted to be able to sit down and have a discussion with you about it in private without everyone listening, and then fucking Riorson ruined that. I should’ve just asked you to come talk with me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that until it was too late.”

I stare at the man in front of me, watching his chest rise and fall with slow breaths. A sweet smile graces his full lips as I hiccup, finally taking in my first full breath all day. His shaggy hair falls into his face as he bends over. I watch as his strong hands delicately untie my boots before sliding them off of my feet one at a time. It feels like I’ve been bathed in a pool of relief and his words are the water that cradles me.

“Come here,” I swing my legs onto the bed and pat the spot next to me. He removes his own shoes and lays in the empty spot, wrapping an arm around my body and tugging me into his side. Our eyes meet where we lay, and I press a kiss to his lips. My body melts into the taste of him, but I relent, pulling away. He groans in disapproval. 

“Why?” He whines. I giggle, feeling at ease here in his arms. He smirks down at me and leans in for another kiss, but I put my finger to his lips instead. 

“I want to hear about this job!” I prop myself up on my elbows, laying on my stomach as he narrows his eyes at me in disdain. Looking at the man in front of me, I wonder how I ever got myself so worked up. There’s nothing but concentrated love in his eyes right now, and it’s all for me.

“Later. Come kiss me right now, I’ve missed you.” He sits up, grasping my cheek and bringing his mouth to mine. I sigh into the kiss and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue through my parted lips. My hand on his chest pushes him back against the mattress, not breaking the kiss as I follow him down. 

We’re thinking the same thing, his fingers grabbing my hips to lift me onto his lap, but I’m already lifting my leg to straddle him. He pulls away from the kiss and attaches his lips to my jaw. I can feel his smile against my skin.

“Good, sweetheart,” he praises, “you know just what I need.”

I settle onto him, my thighs clenching either side of his hips. He uses his hold on my waist to push my body down harder onto him, a groan rising in the back of his throat as he rubs me over his clothed dick. Gripping me roughly, he drags me back and forth over and over. I press sloppy kisses up his neck and along his jaw, leaving one just below his ear before lightly grazing my teeth over his earlobe. 

Every part of him is solid beneath me. Solid arms, solid chest, solid stomach, and a solid dick working me just right. Garrick Tavis drives me crazy.

“I need you,” he says, stopping his movements and turning to stare into my eyes. His pupils are blown, revealing only the faintest sliver of hazel around them. I kiss him softly. Garrick has always been a tease. I appreciate getting to return the favor sometimes, and the perfect idea has presented itself. I kiss him again and he groans, bucking his hips up. “I need you now, sweetheart.”

“What do you need from me, Professor Tavis?” I fiend innocence, voice soft and low, looking at him with wide eyes that I’m certain are just as lust-blown as his. Garrick’s lips part and the next kiss he drags from my lips is feverish. His hands are gripping at my shirt, tearing it off of my body with no regard and discarding it to the floor carelessly. 

He grips my ass roughly, and I squeal as I’m suddenly lifted off of his lap and flipped onto my back, staring up at my boyfriend as he unzips his jacket and slides out of it easily. I sit up to help him with his shirt, but he pushes me back down.

“I’m a professor and you’re a cadet, our relationship is strictly off limits.” He slides his shirt over his head, and my pulse stutters. I reach a hand out to feel his packed muscle, trailing my fingers down the patch of hair that starts at his navel and dips below his waistband. He inhales sharply.

“Off limits?” I don’t look at him, instead I work on unfastening the belt around his waist. My gaze drifts below my hands, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth at the sight of the bulge straining against his pants. 

“Strictly. So I need you to be really quiet for me, sweetheart.” He rakes his hand through my hair, fisting it gently at the base of my neck and pulling so that I meet his eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Professor Tavis.” I nod quickly. He removes my hands from his crotch and steps off the bed. I frown, rolling to protest, but he’s quick to shut me up. 

“Take your pants off.” He’s already stepping out of his. “I can’t wait any longer.”

I don’t question him, the angry red tip of his stiff cock saying enough to prove that he’s being honest. My bottoms slide off quickly. I shove my panties off with them, baring myself to the desperate man in front of me.

“Bra.” Garrick’s voice is tight. He’s fisting himself, but not pumping at all. He’s waiting for me to follow his instructions. I unhook my bra and shrug it off. He hums in appraisal, bringing his eyes to my bare chest. I revel in the way his eyebrows knit together, like he’s physically pained by my beauty. This is what it felt like to be loved. 

“Professor Tavis?” I stand up from the bed, walking toward him slowly. He inhales sharply as I pause in front of him, nearly pressing my skin to his. “What should I do next?”

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.” He smoothes the hair at the top of my head as he commands me so sweetly. Seeing him like this, so affected by me, is driving me crazy. 

I lower myself to my knees in front of him, wetting my lips as I become eye level with his dick. Pre-cum is already leaking from the tip, and I open my mouth to lap it up, but he cradles my face and stops me gently. My eyes meet his as he towers above me, shaking his head softly. 

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want you to put your hand between your legs.” My breath catches in my throat in surprise. We’re both so desperate, and he’s dragging this out for so long, but I can’t find it in myself to argue with him as his cock twitches when I lower my hand down my stomach and dip it between my legs. The moan that tumbles from my lips is immediate. Garrick’s foreplay made my clit swell, and it’s the most sensitive that I’ve felt as I begin to stroke myself with my fingers. Letting the noises of pleasure escape as I start grinding with my hips is uncontrollable. 

“Professor Tavis,” I moan loudly as my head falls back. “Please fuck me. Please make me cum.”

I’m shocked when one strong arm wraps around my waist and hoists me up, but I don’t hesitate to wrap my legs around his waist. All plans of sucking him off are abandoned. He holds me tightly to him, molding his mouth to mine so fiercely that our teeth bump. The head of his cock teases my entrance and I gasp at the sensation. It takes him only two steps to reach the bed, where he pulls his mouth away from mine and lays me out on my stomach. The loss of contact makes me whimper.

“You’ve gotta be quiet for me,” he coos. His rough hands are a sharp contrast to his saccharine voice as he lifts my ass into the air and kneads it. I groan, jutting my hips back, and he tsks. “What’d I say? Quiet for me baby. Don’t make me tell you again. Can you do that for me? Can you shut that pretty mouth while I fuck you?”

The moan that leaves my lips is unstoppable, and he laughs darkly behind me before pulling my hips back. My cheeks flush at his laugh. 

“I want to be good for you, Professor. Please let me try.” He inhales sharply and then aligns his tip at my entrance. I push my hips back slowly, and he’s the one who can’t keep to himself this time. 

“Oh, fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, grabbing my ass and pushing himself further into me. I gasp as he bottoms out inside of me, feeling overwhelmingly full. 

He leans down over me, leaving a trail of kisses up my spine. His lips pause at my neck, and he bites me softly. 

“You’re such a good girl for me. So fucking good. Thank you, sweetheart.” He straightens his spine and pulls his hips back so far that the tip of his dick is barely inside of me, before he slams into me. I whine, my walls stretched out by his thick cock, but he only pulls out again, leaving me to wait before he rams into me another time, cursing as he finds a steady pace. His cock is moving at the perfect speed. I moan as he hits a sweet spot, and I feel him focus as he hits it again, and again, and again. 

I cry out. “Oh gods. Just like that. Right there.”

He keeps his thrusts perfect and steady, pushing me closer to my edge. Once his fingers wrap around my front and find my swollen clit, I let out a shaky breath. He continues his punishing pace as his finger circles my clit once, then twice, and it’s the perfect combination. I’m shattering around him immediately, my legs shaking. 

“Professor Tavis!” Waves of pleasure ripple through me, my orgasm prolonged by him chasing his own now, his dick pushing into me roughly. I’m still squeezing him, wetness dripping down my legs as he hits the perfect spot. “Fuck!”

“Fuck, I love you so much, sweetheart,” he moans, pace quickening before he stills. I tighten at the feeling of his cock twitching inside of me, filling me up with his release. He exhales deeply, fanning my spine with hot air. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking dream.”

He places a firm hand on my ass as he starts to pull his dick out, but hisses with the motion, and then pushes himself back inside. I turn my head to look back at him, watching as he does it again, backing himself out almost all of the way and then sliding back in. His eyes are fixed on the point where he’s entering, watching with deep breaths as he repeats it one more time.

“Sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. I don’t want to leave.” His voice is strained with pleasure, gaze trailing from where I’m wrapped around him up to my ass, then my back, and then he meets my face. The fire in his eyes is enough to melt me.

“So don’t. Stay inside and come lay with me,” I suggest, hoping that he does just that. He smirks and lowers himself onto the bed with me, holding me close to keep himself inside as he adjusts us so that we’re spooning now. I lay my head on his arm and sigh contentedly. 

“I love you, sweetheart. That was fucking hot.” He laughs breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. I giggle, finding that I could really get used to this new job of his. 

[hscherryblossom]

Sweet Love, All Night Long

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You come home from another failed date and crawl into the arms of your roommate / best friend / girl you’re desperately in love with.

Words: 5,318

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, jealous!wanda, bottom!wanda, pillow princess!wanda, stone top!reader, cunnilingus, thigh riding, fingering, light dacryphilia, overstimulation, body worshipping, squirting, kisses, very light angst, fluff at the end, use of pet names instead of “y/n”. (lmk if I missed anything)

AN: Most self indulgent thing I’ve ever written tbh 😭💀 This one’s for the munches, thigh lovers, tit suckers, and anyone with a Wanda/Lizzie obsession ❤️. This took me an embarrassingly long time cuz I am a procrastinator! This is also my first time writing x reader stuff, so critique this if you want, I’ll try not to cry! Btw, I listened to this song on repeat as I was writing & proofreading (it enhances vibes). Hope y’all enjoy <3

Friday, 11:54 PM

You waltzed into the apartment with a sigh, kicking the door shut behind you as you slipped off your shoes.

Another Hinge hookup failure.

Tonight’s reward? A beer stained shirt and a receipt for all the drinks you bought the girl of the night (who could not stop talking about what she wanted in a relationship).

The bedroom door was ajar, warm light spilling into the hallway.

Ah. The root of all your problems was still awake.

Because of course, sharing a one bedroom apartment with the girl you have a crush on would cause no issues whatsoever.

You cracked the door open gently. Wanda was curled up in bed with a romance novel, bathed in soft yellow light, the quiet hum of the West Village streets outside the window.

“Heyy,” you said, voice slightly slurred.

Wanda looked up, slipped a bookmark into the pages, and set it aside. She smiled, small and tight, tugging at the sleeves of her oversized sweater.

“Weren’t you supposed to be on another date?” she asked quietly, eyes flicking away.

There was something in her voice that you couldn’t put a finger on. Whatever it was, it was enough to make your chest tighten.

You shook your head, sighing as you slid off your flannel and tossed it onto the back of a chair. “Didn’t go as planned.”

Without another word, you crawled into bed, flopping faced down in front of her with a tired groan. You weren’t drunk anymore, just buzzed enough to not care about how you presented yourself right now.

Wanda chuckled softly. Her hand found the back of your head, petting gently before lifting your face with her index. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing softly over your skin.

“Hey,” she murmured.

You leaned into her touch. “Hm?”

“Come here. Talk to me.”

You hummed in approval, moving up to rest your head in her lap. She was wearing nothing but a fuzzy beige jumper and a pair of underwear, her skin warm beneath your cheek. You nuzzled against her thigh, letting out a happy sigh as her hand returned to your hair. This time slower, more intentional, her nails lightly grazing your scalp.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in this position with your dear friend, Wanda. But it never fails to make your heart flutter. It never fails to feed your delusions (just for a moment) that you get to come home to your sweet, caring girlfriend.

Wanda’s always had this soft, maternal nature. It’s what turned your platonic affection into something deeper. Something needier.

You wanted to cherish her. Make her feel loved. Make her a wife. Make her a mother. Get her a white house with blue shutters. A room overlooking the water where she can paint. A wraparound porch. The Notebook style. Or whatever style she’d want. Probably (definitely) something old school.

“So… what went wrong?” Wanda asked gently.

You stiffened, sighing before letting the events roll off your tongue. “Oh, um… nothing too crazy. She started talking about marriage, finances, kids… We got a little freaky in the bathroom. I said the wrong thing. Got a drink thrown in my face. Hence the stain.”

Wanda bit her lip in consideration. “Take off your clothes… you don’t want our bed to smell like beer.”

You choked on a laugh. It’s not like you hadn’t undressed in front of each other before… Sharing a room blurred lines, especially during the hot summer nights when the apartment’s AC was fucked.

But the lingering alcohol had your brain playing a different version of the moment. One where she leaned close, desperately whimpering in your ear, take off your clothes.

You sat up, turning toward the edge of the bed as you unbuttoned your jeans and kicked them off. Wanda reached for the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up,” she said softly, almost like a command disguised as comfort.

You chuckled, raising your arms. She tugged the beer stained tshirt over your head, her nails grazing lightly up your back in the process. You had to stifle a groan at the sensation.

Now left in just your underwear, you turned back, letting her guide your head back into her lap. Her fingers found your hair again, soothing and slow.

“So…” she murmured, voice dipping lower. “What wrong thing did you say to get a drink thrown in your face?”

You exhaled between your teeth, wincing at the memory. “Well… I don’t blame her. It was a heat of the moment kinda thing. I was kissing her neck, she tugged my hair a little, and I kinda… blurted someone else’s name.”

Wanda stiffened. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” You sighed, burying your face in her lap in shame.

Wanda shifted uncomfortably, biting her inner cheek. “Is it someone I know?”

“What?” You laughed nervously, poorly conjuring up a lie. “I uhm— I don’t know. Maybe? Not sure…!”

Her jaw clenched, radiating something between anger and sadness.

“So what’s her name?” she asked, pulling her fingers gently from your hair.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now…”

“Why?” she scoffed. “I just wanna know whos on your mind so much that you’re blurting her name to other girls.”

You groaned, “It doesn’t matter…”

“Why not?!” she asked again, more sharply this time. Her hand nudged your chin, making you look back up.

You let out a weak laugh, eyes averting her glare. “Why do you wanna know so badly?!”

“Because it already kills me to know you’re fucking girls that aren’t me, but I didn’t realize any of them mattered enough for you to think about like that!” she snapped, voice cracking.

Your heart stopped, eyes softening. A heavy silence fell between you. Wanda’s face flushed. Her hand covering her mouth, absolutely horrified at what she just said.

“Fuck…” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to sound like some… jealous girlfriend, when I’m not even…” she trailed off, eyes watery.

“Wanda…” you said quietly.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to pity me right now.” She shook her head and tried to move, but your hands gripped her thighs tightly, holding her in place.

“Wanda.”

She scoffed, turning away. “Fucking hell, just let me go! This is already humiliating—”

“Wanda!”

“What?!”

Your grip didn’t loosen. You looked up, gaze steady this time.

“That’s the name I said.”

Her brow furrowed. “You… what?”

You dropped your head again. There were a lot of things you hadn’t planned tonight. But this? This was something else entirely.

You pressed your lips to her knee, soft and reverent. Her breath hitched audibly. “When my lips were on her neck… When her hands were in my hair… When she moaned and said my name…” You paused. “I said yours instead.”

Wanda’s mouth parted, stunned into silence. You’d always assumed your crush was one sided. That if she ever found out, it would ruin everything. And it seemed that she may feel the same…

She reached down and cradled your face, guiding you to look at her. Her thumb swept lightly in the corner of your mouth. “Did you… want her to be me?”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, soft and breathless. “Wanda. Are you serious?”

She blinked.

“Of course I wanted her to be you.”

She still looked stunned. You turned your head, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I always want them to be you.” Your head lowered again, lips brushing against the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“I think about you all the time…” You sighed pathetically, planting another kiss, then another. Worshipful and slow.

Wanda let out a tiny, shaky breath, her hands sliding back into your hair like instinct.

“Why… why didn’t you say anything?” she breathed, eyes flicking down to watch your mouth.

“Mmh,” you hummed, nipping gently at her thigh. “And how exactly was I supposed to say that? How do I tell my roommate slash best friend that I’ve been madly in love with her for years?”

Her breathing stuttered. “You… you could’ve— oh!” Her sentence broke off in a gasp when your teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot.

You grinned against her skin, breath warm against the fabric of her panties. “How was I gonna explain that the only reason I was fucking all these girls was so I could pretend they were you? So I could pretend to kiss you, taste you, make you come undone…”

You nosed into the tender crease where her hip met her thigh, sighing like you’d finally come home.

“And how was I supposed to tell you that I feel like my only purpose in life is to serve you? To make you happy, to make you feel good. Whether it’s platonic or… more.”

Wanda’s hips twitched involuntarily toward you. Her hands tightened in your hair. “I— yeah,” she stammered, breathless. “I guess that’s a lot to… to confess.”

Her mind was already foggy. And you hadn’t even touched her properly yet. She jutted her hips forward again, grinding her clothed pussy desperately against your face.

You came home mostly sober… but now? You felt drunk all over again. Your eyes fluttered shut as you mouthed at the ruined lace. You could practically taste her through it.

Wanda writhed beneath you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other weakly thumbing at the waistband of her panties. “Please…” she whimpered. “Please take it off…”

Your eyes lit up. Hunger, disbelief, and… hesitation.

“Are you sure?” you asked, voice raw. “Once we do this I… I don’t wanna stop. I don’t want this to be a one time thing.”

She nodded feverishly, her forehead dewy with sweat as heat filled the room.

“Fuck, yes. Please. I’ll let you have me six times a day if that’s what you need.” She was breathless, nearly in tears. “I want you to fuck me right now. I need you so bad, you have no fucking clue.”

Your breath caught. You’d always imagined what it might be like… Wanda wanting you. But this? This was beyond anything your delusions had ever dared to dream. And it was exhilarating.

Without hesitation, you ripped her panties straight down her thighs, drawing a gasp from her lips as her wetness met the cool air.

You only got to admire her pretty pussy for two seconds before she grabbed at you, yanking you closer, rolling her hips to shove herself against your mouth with a low moan.

You smiled against her, flattening your tongue and giving two slow, heavy licks to her clit. She cried out, body arching. But you weren’t about to give her everything all at once. No. You wanted to savor this.

You pressed a slow kiss to her clit, then grabbed hold of her hips, gently but firmly pinning them down to keep her from rolling again.

Then came the tease. The tip of your tongue flicking out lightly, tracing delicate licks against her. Like savoring ice cream on a breezy spring day. Warm enough to need it, cool enough not to rush.

Wanda whimpered above you, voice cracking. “Baby… don’t fucking stop. You’re so good, oh my god…”

She tried to move her hips again, but you were stronger. You anchored her with your grip, fingers digging into her thick thighs like she was your personal stress toy. Something soft, squishy, and yours.

You kept her legs spread wide, exactly where you wanted them. And then you went back to work. Patient, greedy, and devoted. Your tongue swirled between her folds, coaxing soft, shaky whines from your roommate.

She tasted even better than you’d imagined, sweet and tangy, her slick coating your tongue as if she’d been made for your mouth. And god… she was soaked. You had no idea you’d had this kind of effect on her.

Once you decided she’d had enough of your slow, teasing movements, you paused, lifting your head just slightly to look up at her, eyes full of affection and hunger.

Wanda huffed, trying to drag you back down with trembling fingers. “No, no— wait. Why did you stop?” she pleaded breathlessly. “Come back.”

You grinned, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. “Just checking on you, love.” You shifted her leg over your shoulder and slid a hand up under her oversized jumper, cupping one soft breast. “This alright?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes— now keep going.” She used the leg that was around you, digging her heel into your back to reel you back in.

You wasted no time, your mouth found her clit once more, lips forming an “O” shape as you sucked gently on the sensitive bundle of nerves. She squirmed under your touch, letting out a strangled moan at the sensation.

This time, the combination of your tongue and your hand palming her breast sent her head spinning. You shifted your hand higher, zeroing in on her hardened nipple, rolling it slowly between your fingers as your mouth devoured her.

She let out a low, guttural groan, nails scraping against your scalp as her hips rutted desperately against your face.

“Baby— fuck, I’m gonna come!” she cried, voice cracking. “Oh, you’re so fucking good!”

Her praise hit you like a sleeper agent activation code. You pushed in closer, letting your tongue flick erratically against her clit. No rhythm, just hunger and instinct. The room filled with slick, obscene sounds. Wet, greedy, desperate.

Wanda’s thighs trembled around your head, squeezing tight enough to make breathing difficult, but you didn’t care. Not now.

You released her clit, letting your tongue hang loose, and she took over. She rutted mindlessly into your mouth, hips stuttering, babbling nonsense between breathless cries. “So good… So perfect… I’m yours…”

At a certain point, your tongue barely even touched her cunt. Her hips moved erratically, just smearing her juices on your face. On your nose, your chin, anywhere. But, fuck it. You’d let her use you to get off in any way she wanted.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave crashing, stealing her breath and leaving her quivering in the aftermath.

But you didn’t stop. You slowed briefly, allowing her to catch her breath before pinning her hips and diving back in, your mouth ravenous all over again.

“Ah!” Wanda shrieked in surprise, her whole body jolting. “Baby— baby, wait! I already came!”

She didn’t stop you. She didn’t push you away. Her eyes rolled back, her head collapsing into the pillow as her thighs parted once more, trembling in anticipation of more.

You moaned happily against her pussy, sending deep vibrations through her. Her entire body jolted.

Your grip on her thigh tightened as your other hand slipped beneath your chin, teasing slow, slick circles at her entrance. You looked up at her with pleading eyes, unwilling to break contact with your mouth.

Wanda looked down, breath stuttering, and she understood immediately.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, inside— please, my love.”

The moment the tip of your index finger slid in, she cried out.

“More!” she begged, hips twitching. “Fuck, I could take your whole hand if you wanted me to. Give me more!”

You smirked against her, still lapping at her clit as you shoved three fingers inside her tight hole at once. A pleasured shriek tore through the room as her hand slammed against the headboard, fingers curled into a useless fist as she tried to hang on.

(Oh, your poor neighbors…)

You felt her clench around your fingers, walls fluttering as you pumped in and out of her at a ruthless rhythm. Hard, fast, and unrelenting.

Wanda was unraveling. Completely overwhelmed.

“Fuck. Fuck! My pussy is yours— oh my god,” she sobbed, body arched. “Fuck you for not saying anything sooner— oh fuck— I’d let you do anything to me!”

Her climax was already barreling toward her again, even faster than the first. You were merciless. Mouth toying with her clit while your fingers curled into her sweet spot over and over again.

“Ah! Ah— can’t— fuck— I’m gonna come again— I can’t— !” Her whole body convulsed as her second orgasm pulsed through her.

Her nails bit into your scalp. Her hand hit the wall again with a loud bang. But you didn’t slow down. You didn’t give her a moment to breathe, didn’t let her ease into the next round.

If anything, you went harder. More desperate. Like this was the last time you’d ever get to touch her. Your tongue licked furiously. Pounding into her ,knuckles deep. Absolutely ruining her.

“F-Fuck! Baby! Baby, stop— stop, I can’t— I—” she cried, tears welling in her eyes, body tensing. “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna make a mess—”

You tried to pull back at her command, but her body contradicted her words. She clung to you, fucking herself into your face like you were her lifeline. Like she never wanted to be anywhere else. Her hips couldn’t even keep up anymore, but you didn’t stop.

And then it happened.

With a sharp, gasping yelp, a gush of wetness erupted from her, soaking your mouth, your hand, the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck— fuck, I’m sorry, our bed—” she stammered, cheeks pink from the pleasure and embarrassment .

But you cut her off with your mouth again, diving back in like it was holy. Lapping as if you were a dehydrated man in the desert who’d finally found their oasis. You’d always wondered if Wanda was a squirter. And now that you knew, you never wanted to stop.

You eventually slowed, tongue lazily cleaning her soft, trembling folds, drinking in every last drop. You couldn’t get enough of her sweet little whimpers, her whole body vibrating from overstimulation.

“Baby, no… no, I can’t—” she sobbed. “It’s too good, fuck— I can’t—”

She kept switching. Pushing you away, then pulling you back in. Like she couldn’t decide if she could handle it… or if she ever wanted it to stop.

You lifted your head, gently caressing her thighs. Your voice was soft. “You can take it, love. I know you can.”

Wanda nodded weakly. So you kept making love to her with your mouth. Slow. Deep. Addicted. You’d waited years for this… and she was everything. Better than your dreams. Better than the fantasies.

Eventually, her body gave out again. Another orgasm overtook her, weak but intense, a final gush of wetness soaking your chin.

She pushed your head away one last time. You groaned in protest, mouth still hungry. But when you realized she was truly spent, you finally let go.

You lifted her sweater slowly, not taking it off just yet, just enough to expose her torso briefly. You kissed your way up her body with quiet devotion, trailing feather light touches across her pale, delicate skin. Worshipping every inch.

Your mouth wandered up her stomach… across her ribs… then over the swell of her chest, leaving a path of reverent warmth before finding the graceful slope of her neck.

She tilted her head to give you better access, inviting you in without a word.

Then you paused, hovering above her to let yourself look. Her chest rose and fell slowly beneath you. Stray fibers of yarn from her sweater clung to her skin, soft and clingy like cobwebs. She looked like a dream. Messy, cozy, flushed. Drowning sweetly in her jumper like an adorable little puddle.

“Hey,” you whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “You okay, princess?”

She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you down, resting her forehead against yours.

“Mhm…” she hummed happily, those pretty green eyes still dazed. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fucked myself to the thought of you…” she whispered.

Your breath hitched. Before you could respond, She leaned in and pressed a slow, sensual kiss to your lips. Her tongue slid into your mouth, tasting herself, savoring you.

When the kiss ended, her mouth didn’t leave.

Her tongue glided across your lips, then down your jaw, licking up the mess that had dripped down your face. She kissed your cheeks. Your chin. Then her mouth found your neck. Licking, sucking, biting. Claiming you.

And suddenly, she shoved you down onto the mattress.

Your hands instinctively gripped her hips, even as her lips stayed attached to your neck. You groaned at the sensation, her weight, her warmth, the way she couldn’t stop touching you.

Soon, she settled fully on top of you, one leg slung over your waist, her body molding into yours. She pulled back slightly, breathless.

Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing small circles into your skin. Her pout was subtle, but her eyes told the full story. Stormy. Possessive. Pleading.

“Stop sleeping with other girls,” she whispered with quiet conviction.

You furrowed your brows, leaning into her touch. “Wanda, I only want you. I’ve always only wanted you,” you reassured her. “The only reason I ever slept with anyone else was because I thought I had no chance with you.”

Your hand found her wrist, fingers lightly caressing her skin. She nodded. But her eyes still searched yours.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because I don’t like sharing. I wanna be your only girl.”

You smiled, hands sliding to her waist. “You are my only girl.”

It was nothing but truth. You kissed her again, feeling her smile against your mouth, a soft happy sigh escaping her lips. Your hands gripped her ass like she might slip away if you didn’t hold her tight enough.

“You’re my perfect girl,” you murmured against her lips.

Your hands drifted lower, sliding down to her smooth, milky white thighs, giving them a reverent squeeze before gliding up the curves you’d only ever touched in dreams.

Sure, you fell in love with her personality first. The nurturing warmth, the quiet strength, the magnetic energy that drew everyone in like gravity. Her soft maternal vibe. That signature Wanda sweetness, with a blend of broken mystery.

But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about this every single day.

Her full hips fit perfectly in your palms, and you used them now to pull her into another kiss. They tapered into a small waist, accentuating her toned stomach, firm but soft.

Her well endowed chest, her delicate shoulders, her elegant neck. It all worked together. Perfectly proportioned, effortlessly poised. Like the gods made her body for being adored.

And then there was her face. Those sharp cheekbones. The gentle slope of her nose. The soft pink lips that you were now gently nibbling on.

And those damn eyes… Those perfect, green eyes. Not cold and piercing. Not dark and heated. But somewhere in between. Bright, nurturing, and sparkling, as if Spring found home in her irises. Eyes you could get lost in a thousand times and never find your way out.

Truly an otherworldly beauty. A wave of possessiveness hit you like a freight train. She was yours now.

You tightened your grip on her hips and thighs, fingers digging into her soft skin like she was the only thing anchoring you to earth. She groaned a little when your kisses turned messier, wetter, sloppier, more desperate. But she didn’t hesitate. She melted right into you, giving in completely.

Your thigh slipped between her legs in the heat of the moment, coaxing a soft moan from her throat. She let out a half giggle, half gasp, as she spoke. “Babyyy…” she whined, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m still sensitive…”

But she didn’t stop. She kept rocking against your thigh, desperate for more friction. Her bare pussy slick against your skin.

Smirking, you sat up, still holding her against you. Your hands found the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head, finally exposing her gorgeous breasts.

“That’s okay,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around her. “I’ll take care of you.”

Your lips found her neck again. She threw her head back, sighing as she slid her soaking pussy back and forth over your lap.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you muttered against her skin.

She inhaled sharply when your teeth grazed her neck, mouth leaving claiming bruises wherever you saw fit. “Fuck, baby… I’m yours. Oh god— I’m yours. Nobody else can have me like this…” she repeated the words like a prayer.

The soft, breathy moans sent heat spiraling through your body. And then your mouth moved down. Heated kisses trailed over her chest, until your lips wrapped around one of her nipples.

If she thought you’d gone crazy on her thighs, she had no idea what you were like with her tits. Warm, full, and just the right size to fit in your hands. When she straddled you like this, they were perfectly aligned with your mouth. You sucked. Nipped. Bit.

She gasped, tangling her fingers into your hair. “Oh, baby… fuck, you’re incredible.”

You pulled back with a wet pop, lips shining.

“Yeah?” you smirked, before diving to her other breast, giving it the same treatment.

She moaned louder now, hips rolling frantically against your thigh.

“Fuck, yes—! your mouth is perfect— you’re perfect—” Her voice cracked. “You’re mine. You’re not allowed to use that mouth on anyone else— fuck—!”

The bed creaked beneath you both as she humped your leg desperately. You could feel her needy cunt twitch against your body. The sheets were already drenched, and it only worsened as her juices dripped down your thigh.

You continued flicking your tongue against her nipple, using the free hand to fondle her other breast. Then she yanked your head away from her chest. You groaned at the loss, but her mouth crashed into yours, her tongue slipping in, the woman gone completely feral.

Her pace faltered. You could feel how close she was. The way her breath hitched against your mouth, how her nails sank deeper into your back with every movement.

“Baby… fuck, I can’t keep going like this…” she whimpered, collapsing forward against you, her body trembling from exhaustion. Her hips slowed, no longer chasing rhythm, too tired, too overwhelmed.

You were about to stop. Until she reached for your hands, lacing her fingers through yours and guiding them to her hips, pressing them down with intention. Then her lips were on your neck, desperate and hungry. Nipping, sucking, leaving a trail of heat that made you shiver.

“Take care of me like you promised,” she breathed into your ear, her voice raw and aching.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands slid down to cup her ass, fingers digging in, leaving crescent marks in her skin. She gasped when you began to move her, grinding her body against yours with slow, deliberate pressure.

The only sounds in the room were your soft, breathless pants… her helpless moans… wet friction… the dull knock of the headboard tapping rhythm against the wall.

You moved her faster than before, guiding her with ease, her slender frame pliant in your grasp.

“Yes— yes, baby, just like that. Fuck— fuck, you’re so fucking good— oh my god—!” she screamed, voice splintering into the open air.

Part of you thought about grabbing your strap. Thought about how good she’d look with more inside her. But not tonight. Not when she was like this, already breaking apart in your arms.

She collapsed into you, limp and shaky. Her arms clung weakly around your shoulders, head resting against your skin, too far gone to lead anymore.

You could feel her trying to hold it back. Her last orgasm. She didn’t want it to end. You knew that. But her body was close, and her resolve was fading. Still moving her against you, you leaned in, brushing your lips against her cheek.

“You’re doing so good for me, love. So pretty like this,” you murmured. “Letting me take care of you. Letting yourself use my body to get off.”

She moaned at that, thighs clenching around your own. The reaction was instant, your words sinking deep. You tightened your grip on her hips, grinding her down harder, chasing the last of it for her. She cried out, voice high and cracking.

You smirked, lips brushing her ear. “Does that feel good, honey? You like when I fuck you like this?”

A choked sound left her throat. She tried to speak, but only managed a breathless “mhmm,” nodding feverishly, eyes glossy with tears.

“You can come, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” you whispered, kissing her shoulder, her neck. “Let go for me.”

Wanda trembled. Then shattered. Her moan was broken, loud, and absolutely helpless. Her entire body convulsing in your arms. She clung to you, face pressed to your skin, riding it out with every last drop of strength she had.

You held her through it, letting her fall apart. Letting her be yours.

When it was finally over, the two of you collapsed into the bed, tangled in the sheets and each other.

Wanda clung to you, still breathless, her face buried in your neck, skin flushed and glowing. You held her close, one hand stroking her hair, the other drawing soft, absentminded circles against her bare back. You kissed her forehead, gentle and slow, again and again, until she smiled against your collarbone.

Looking down, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, heart full to the brim. “Wanda…” you whispered.

“Hm?” she murmured, blinking up at you dreamily.

You hesitated for a moment, not out of fear, but out of awe. Like speaking too quickly might shatter something too precious. Then you leaned in and kissed her softly, slowly. She returned it without hesitation, like her lips had been waiting for yours all this time.

Your fingers cradled her cheek as you pulled away, eyes searching hers. “I love you, Wanda,” you breathed.

Her eyes sparkled, and widened. Caught off guard. You rushed to speak, your voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to say it back. You never do. I just… I needed you to know. That’s why I didn’t want to sleep with you before. I meant it when I said I don’t want this to be a onetime thing and—”

She silenced you with a kiss. You hummed against her lips in surprise, but quickly melted into it, her warmth already familiar, already home.

When she pulled away, she was smiling. “I love you too,” she whispered, cheeks pink. “God, I didn’t think I had a chance with you…”

You looked at her like she’d gone mad. “Are you kidding? Wanda, I didn’t think I had a chance with you. You’re… perfect.”

She laughed, nose scrunching slightly. “We’re idiots, huh?”

You shrugged, smiling. “Yeah. But I don’t care. I have you now. And you have me.”

Your lips met again. This kiss was slower, sweeter. Less urgent, more worshipful. It didn’t lead into another round, just the two of you sinking into each other, rolling in the sheets like lovers who’d done this a thousand times before.

Neither of you knew how much time had passed. But eventually, a distant sound caught your attention. Birds chirping, faint but growing. You paused, glancing toward the window. The sky was shifting, deep blue bleeding into soft gold, the start of a new day.

Wanda giggled, sleepy and stunned. “Oh my god… did we just pull an all nighter?”

“Apparently…” You grinned, brushing your thumb across her back. “Let’s get some rest. I’ll take you out properly when we wake up.”

“Mhm. Alright. But I’m paying,” she murmured, stealing one more kiss before turning over and settling into your arms.

You chuckled, wrapping your body around hers to spoon her. “Not a chance.”

“Yeah, yeah… we’ll see about that,” she yawned.

You kissed her bare shoulder, breathing her in. She sank deeper into your embrace. With the sun rising and Wanda curled against you, you finally let sleep take you. Full of love, full of peace, full of her.

[hscherryblossom]

A Royal Revelation - Garrick Tavis ☀️

Synopsis: After your brother is killed during Threshing, you decide to lay low for fear of your secret being exposed. No one notices — except for Garrick.

Includes: Angst, lots of angst, allusions to intrusive thoughts, and romantic ~tension~. Please read the fics Princess and Rumors for more context for this Reader OC. Takes place before Fourth Wing.

When Garrick catches you by the wrist after Battle Brief, you know your attempted avoidance of the man is over.

It’s not fair how easily he can convince you to come back to his room. You shouldn’t — especially not now. But the way his fingers hold you as if you’re glass, the way his hazel eyes flicker in soft concern like they did once your brother, now dead, had started rumors about you, sends you reeling.

Hook, line, sinker. He’s got you cornered in his room. Well…Not really cornered. He sits on his bed, watching you expectantly, while you lean against his desk, staring at the ground. Definitely not suspicious. Definitely not raising every alarm bell in his worry-addled mind. Definitely not making your heart race in the most intense anxiety you’ve felt since the Parapet.

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t known. He can’t know — or else you’ll be dead.

“Talk to me,” he prompts, setting those gorgeous eyes on you once more. “Come on, beautiful. It’s been over a month since Threshing, and you’ve barely spoken to me at all. Tell me what I did to make you avoid me.”

He’ll never see you the same way, little bastard.

 I’m not avoiding you,” you reply, digging your hands into your pockets. “I’m just… busier now.”

He scoffs. “Really, now? Then why do you avert your eyes every time I look at you? Why do you barely acknowledge what I say to you? Why do you get all tense every time I touch you, huh?” He scrubs a hand over his face, dragging his newly-earned Threshing scar with the rest of his skin. 

“Be honest with me, Camden. You can keep any secret you want — the gods know I have too many — but please don’t lie to me. I’d rather you just insult me to my face.”

Your jaw clenches, shame washing over you in eager, selfish tides. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” you snap. “And I’m not avoiding you.”

“So who else is it?” He demands, throwing his hands up. “Freya? Xaden? Is—“

His eyes flash with hurt. “Is it because I’m Marked?”

“No!” You flinch. “Good gods, Garrick. You know I’m not like that.”

“Do I?” He shoots back. “Because lately, princess, I feel like I know you less and less.”

You scowl. That was unfair, and he probably knew it, too. “You can’t possibly expect me to be okay after—“

“I know,” he interjects, his voice growing a tad softer. “I know it hurts that she didn’t make it out, but you and I both know she’s not the reason, either. You’re avoiding everyone, more than you usually do.”

You see hurt flicker in his eyes. “I truly thought you trusted in me, Camden. If you don’t want me to keep coming around, you can just say that.”

You wince. “Stop that. I never said that.”

In all fairness, you hadn’t said much to anyone after Xaden killed Alic during Threshing. After the whispers started about the prince being dead, you started trying to lay even lower, lest someone else found out your secret. They say secrets die with the people who keep them — but, then again, Alic had never really tried to keep his cruel mouth shut when it came to you.

“Then say something else!” Garrick all but begs. “Say anything else to me, dammit! Stop lying to my face and acting like it’s working, because I promise you it’s not.”

You gnaw on your lip, your mind coming apart in distress as you try so desperately to swallow the lump in your throat. This is not the way you thought you’d go out, but here you are, getting overly emotional in your kind-of-boyfriend’s bedroom while he stares at you desperately.

“You will not be dying today,” Seachran declares, his voice a low rumble through your mind. “You are mine, and you will not die until I say so.”

You have no idea what to say to fill the silence. It’s not like you can say, “Hey, Tavis! You’ll never guess that I’ve been lying to you this entire time about myself and my identity. Oopsie!”

You stare out the window, wishing you could just jump and fly out of here with no explanation. Run away with your dragon and stay away from this. From Basgiath. From Navarre entirely. You never asked for any of this, but you tried to play the game — and this is where it got you.

“No pressure, Ríoga,” your dragon soothes, leaving his end on the bond so open that it looks almost transparent. “Your secret is yours. However, if you wish to salvage any trust between the two of you, I believe now would be the time to do so. Do not waste a chance to make a true ally when you already have so few.”

Your hands curl into fists, and you swallow the lump that’s been slowly but surely making its way up your throat. “I…Look, Garrick. It’s not you, okay? I’m not avoiding anyone in particular. It just looks that way because you spend the most time around me.”

“But why?” He presses. “I know you like to lay low, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But you’ve never been so withdrawn before, princess, and that’s what scares me. What happened to make you go so quiet?”

You open your mouth to respond but think better of it, gnawing on the skin of your lip. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Fucking try me.” He faces you fully now, his eyes wide with desperation. “You know I’ll try to understand for you.”

Your eyes start to burn as tears threaten to storm past your waterline. “No. I-I just can’t. I’m sorry—“

“What’s stopping you?” He asks gently, his marked arm flexing as if he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for you. “Genuinely.”

You feel your muscles tense a little bit. “I…” You stop, barely suppressing the tears that threaten to race down your cheeks. 

“I really don’t want you to hate me,” you whisper finally, looking down as guilt surrounds you like a pack of wolves. Your arms come to encircle yourself in a bruising grip, as if that would protect you from what would inevitably come.

You don’t need to look at him to know that he’s frowning. “I could never hate you,” he says softly. “Camden, you—“

“That’s not my name.”

The words leave you before you can actually think about them. You freeze, icy fear filling your stomach all the way to your lungs. Dammit.

Garrick is quiet for a moment. “…Sorry?”

You push past the bile rising in you. Breathe. You need to breathe. If you don’t breathe, you’ll vomit, and if you vomit, you’ll feel worse. Breathe, breathe, breathe—

“My last name. It isn’t Camden,” you repeat slowly, hoping to whatever god is watching that your legs don’t give out on you.

Oh gods. You promised Cam you’d make it out alive.

A beat.

Two.

“Okay?” Garrick sounds more confused. “Not everyone uses—

I’m so sorry, little brother.

You don’t listen to his words. Saliva fills your mouth, and you swallow and hold the panic down. Your eyes squeeze shut, looking away as if you were about to get slapped.

“It’s Tauri.”

And just like that, the room is silent, sans the roaring in your ears as you desperately try to ignore your heart beating out of your chest. Seachran wraps slowly around your mind, but even the bond of a dragon can’t do much to quiet your internal screaming.

Nothing.

Garrick says nothing.

Nothing at all.

Maybe you wished he’d start attacking you. Maybe you wanted him to scream, to tell you to leave and never come back. Anything would be better than the deep, aching silence that plagues his room. 

A lone tear trickles down your cheek. Quiet. Still. Nothing.

And then—

The sheets on the bed rustle a little, and you coil your muscles in preparation of a fight.

Slowly — devastatingly slowly — Garrick shifts, bringing himself to his feet, his boots padding quietly against the floor. He stops less than a foot in front of you, and before you can recoil,  he reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You hold your breath as he gently, so very gently, runs his thumb along your jaw and then pushes, tilting your head up and forcing your eyes open. You wait for the ice. The anger. The hate.

It doesn’t come.

His irises gleam with a plethora of emotions — confusion, surprise, resignation — but none of them look angry. He just stares into your eyes, studying. Observing. Searching for something that you know isn’t there and never was, never will be.

“You have different eyes than him.” The words barely register in your mind.

Him. Alic.

Your eyes scan the room to look anywhere that isn’t in his own. “We went over that,” you reply softly. “Bastard, remember?”

Garrick swipes the tears from your face carefully, their wetness only making your face glow in the mage lights. 

“Why did he use his last name, but you didn’t?” He asks. You hesitate. You don’t want to give him the full details of your problems, but you push the feeling down. He deserves to know, even if it’s just for the simple kindness of not killing you where you stand.

“Everyone knew Alic, but barely anyone has ever seen me,” you admit faintly. “He was here for honor. I was sent here to die.”

Garrick’s grip on you tightens. You realize with a jolt that, if he really wanted to, he could absolutely break your neck like this. Maybe Zihnal would have mercy on you and grant you some extra luck.

“Sent here to die…for being illegitimate?” He asks carefully, minding his wording.

You nod, still refusing to look at him. “From the time I could properly hold a knife without cutting myself, I was training in combat. I only realized when I was 17 what my father actually wanted to do with me.”

Garrick is quiet for a moment, contemplating, before he speaks again. “Look at me?”

Your nails scrape your arms, but you do as he says, looking up into the eyes you so painfully adore. They watch you, flit from feature to feature, as he tilts his head.

“I could never hate you for that,” he whispers, trailing a finger down your neck and resting it on your relic that curls around your collarbone. “You never had a choice here.”

“You should,” is your only reply. “You have every reason to.”

The implications don’t make it past him. “That was your father, not you,” he says soothingly. “If we were all punished for our father’s actions, I’d be dead.”

“I didn’t want to lie.” Your voice breaks as new tears stream down your face. “I never wanted to lie to you. I just— I couldn’t—“

He hushes you with a sweet peck on your cheek, ridding the skin of your tears. “You did what you thought you had to in order to survive,” he says gently. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m sorry that I didn’t make it obvious enough that I couldn’t hurt you even if I tried.”

“You could,” you counter. “You very well could. The only difference now is that you’d be hurting someone who might deserve it rather than someone who’s just a normal rider.”

He shakes his head, frustration finally appearing in his features.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” He asks sharply. “No, Camden. I can’t hurt you. You’ve been everything to me ever since I watched you walk the Parapet with the wind in your hair. Ever since you faced off against me on the mat without thinking I’d kill you. Ever since that asshole brother of yours started those rumors about you…All I want is to keep you safe. I don’t give a damn nor shit who your father is. He’s clearly never tried to protect you, so let me.”

You blink, looking at the man in front of you as if you’d never seen him before. “That’s not at all fair,” you protest weakly. “I’ve been lying to you for the entire year, hiding for a month, and that doesn’t even begin to cover everything before—“

In a movement so fast your eyes can’t track it, before you can flinch away, Garrick’s hands come up to cup your face, trapping you where you stand.

“Do I have to say it again?” He demands, his voice sharp but his touch gentle. “Because I’ll spell it out for you as many times as I need to. I do not blame nor resent you for my parents’ deaths. Your father is a selfish tyrant, but something tells me you know that already. What hedid has nothing to do with you, so stop acting like you’re some moral sinner with the plague.”

His words, earnest and direct and sincere, have your heart pounding to a different rhythm now — one not of panic, but of unadulterated adoration. It almost puts a smile on your face, but it quickly dies.

“I seriously don’t think you should—“

He groans. “Oh, my gods. Have you always been this stubborn?”

You blink, your pained expression twisting into a scowl. “Well, excuse me for being concerned about your feelings. I’ve been trying to avoid this conversation all—“

Any further protest you had prior dies on your tongue when you feel the unexpected crushing of his chapped lips against yours, firm and claiming and unyielding and holy gods was that his tongue—

He pulls away before it can go anywhere else, pressing his forehead to yours to keep your eyes on him. “Camden,” he breathes, his chest heaving. “You really need to learn how to shut up and stop being so insistent on pushing me out.”

You blink, still caught in your shock from the sudden move. Tentatively, hesitantly, you allow one hand to drift up and cup his scarred cheek, stilling as he leans further into your curved palm. It’s so…him, this soft intimacy. You can’t remember him ever looking at anyone else like this — but, then again, you’ve never faced him like this, either.

“Gods,” he all but moans, “I’ve missed this. Missed you. I don’t care that you never told me anything — just, please. Never push me away again. I think I might die if you do.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You wouldn’t. I’m just a person, and you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met, Tavis.”

He mumbles something under his breathe — maybe a curse — before he turns his head and presses his lips to the calloused skin of your palm.

“Not just a person,” he says hoarsely. “My person. I may be strong, but you…You’re my one weakness, beautiful. You undo every ward and wall I’ve put up within myself by just looking at me, much less by touching me.”

His voice lowers. “You might think I could kill you, princess, but the truth is that you could completely destroy me if you wanted to. And I would let you, if you asked.”

Too much. It’s too much. To go from standing here, panicking about your imminent end, to Garrick whispering confessions you could only ever dream about  into your skin — it was making your nerves go haywire in the best way possible. It unnerved you — but, then again, everything that’s happened to you this year has been up that same ally.

“Tell me something,” he murmurs again, moving his mouth to catch your wrist. “When we sparred for the first time, and I called you princess…What was going through your mind?”

Oh, gods. The memory makes your heart do a little dance in your chest.

The sound of a knife being drawn.

His hands carefully grabbing your wrists to pull you down.

A wicked smirk.

A twinkle in his eyes.

“Damn,” he’d said in a low voice. “Who knew a princess could have some bite to her?”

You suppress a breathless laugh. “It scared the shit out of me. I thought you somehow found me out within five minutes of me being near you.”

“And then?” He prods. “Did you think I would hurt you then?”

You pause. “…I don’t know. I could never tell with you.”

His fingers trail up the small of your back. “I wouldn’t have then,” he says earnestly. “And I certainly wouldn’t now. Your secret is safe with me, and I’m glad you told me, Camden.”

He frowns. “I’m gonna have to come up with a better nickname for you, I think. Princess is gonna get awkward really fast.”

No. You put up a hand to stop him. “…I like it when you call me that,” you confess quietly. “I think you see me more as a princess than my family, except for my little brother.”

A grin lights up his face. “Yeah?” He asks. “You like that, huh?”

He leans forward and presses a little kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Good. Because I’m not calling you anything else now. Well…Except for mine, maybe.”

You hum thoughtfully. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

A/N: GODS I love these two. They are my roman empire for sure.

[hscherryblossom]

Caught Up

Garrick (Fourth Wing) x Riorson!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: When you have time, and if you like the idea can you write garrick x riorson reader? Like xaden finds them together when they are in the middle of something and is kinda angsty but fluffy end

and if you’ll write again about garrick, can you write something fluffy?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1443

Notes: DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM.

_________________________________________

You know better than to lie to your brother, but you’re so damn nervous that you do it anyway.

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” Xaden’s tone is deathly dark. Even worse, he speaks evenly, like his temper isn’t about to blow its fuse and is conversing about plans for the war that seems to be nipping on everyone’s heels.

It’s how you found solace in Garrick. On rotation with him had led to something more, soft touches, gentle teases, him stroking tresses of hair from your face after long, hard flights. You can’t remember when knowing nudges and silly jokes turned into lingering caresses and wind-blown kisses, when the chaffing comments of Uisge became sighs of finally when you grew the courage to kiss him, but you don’t want it to stop.

Speaking of your nosy, green daggertail, the eavesdropper chooses this very moment to speak. I told you this would happen. You can hear his pleasure through the bond and you grit your teeth. You so do not need this right now. Chradh owes me two sheep.

Congratulations, you respond dryly. You try to swallow past the pebble wedged into your throat under the heavy gaze of your brother, but all of the moisture has escaped your windpipe. Why don’t you go do that now?

Uisge huffs, and if you were standing in front of him, the smell of sulfur would be tying your hair in knots and you’d be blinking dust from your eyes.

You almost smile at the thought at you feel your dragon retreat from your mind.

You refocus on the moment. The moment being your brother glaring at his best friend, the one who just had his fingers hooked around into the waistband of your leathers and his other hand wound in your hair, tilting your head into the perfect position for him to twist his tongue around yours in the way that makes your knees weak—

“What the fuck were you just doing to my sister.” His words are venomous, his normally gold eyes more onyx with anger. Shadows stir restlessly at his feet and your stomach coils. Surely, he wouldn’t sic them on Garrick?

You discreetly try to peer around his shoulders to catch a peek of Violet, but she’s nowhere to be found.

You’re screwed.

Garrick’s touch was innocent, despite how it looked. As much as you would have loved to drag him back to your room, you knew there wasn’t time, already late for Battle Brief.

It was your fault, for thinking you’d be shrouded in the darkened nook. But your brother loves darkness, is made of it, and of course, he caught you.

You part your lips to try and placate Xaden, but Garrick beats you to it. “That depends, what did you see?” He doesn’t sound scared, though he should be. You’ve never met anyone more terrifying than Xaden, and with the weight he’s been carrying on his shoulders lately, this will surely drag him over the edge.

You must give it to Garrick, he doesn’t falter. He stares just as hard, and you suppose it because he knows Xaden better than even you do sometimes. You want to reach out and intertwine your fingers, needing that reassurance, but you know it isn’t the time. You know he can handle himself.

Xaden’s nostrils flare in response, his anger thinly contained.

“Garrick,” he all but growls. “Tell me I didn’t just see you with your tongue down my sisters throat.”

You cringe. When he puts it that way, it sounds bad.

But you’ve seen the way he is with Violet, the aroused looks and secretive touches that aren’t so secretive. You’ve even seen him with his tongue down her throat, and if anything, you’re even now.

You’re pretty sure Xaden wouldn’t want to hear that, though.

His teeth grind and you wonder for a fleeting moment

“I don’t lie to you.”

Xaden scoffs. “You just omit the truth.” Your heart clenches at the thread of betrayal in his tone.

Garrick shakes his head in defense, his response harsh. “You’ve never asked, and I’ve never lied.”

Your brothers scrutinize your boyfriend for a long moment. So long that you shift anxiously. This is the first time you don’t have a clue what Xaden might be thinking. It’s not a place you want to be.

Finally, he asks, “You’re loyal to her?” His words are still edged with razors, but his shoulders have lost a little tightness.

Garrick nods once. “I love her.”

Your eyes grow wide in surprise. You haven’t said that to each other before. You’ve been sharing the same sentiment this whole time and you didn’t even know it?

You swing your gaze to him in surprise, only to realize that he’s been looking at you the entire time. His hazel eyes sparkle with amusement, most likely at the utter shock on your face. He’s trying to keep a straight face under the gaze of your brother, but the corner of his mouth betrays him, twitching just slightly.

“What? You didn’t know?” He teases, and there’s no longer anyone in this hall but you and him. Nothing else matters. No one else’s opinion matters. Not Xaden’s, not Uisge’s. It’s only you and Garrick.

You shake your head lightly, biting your lip to contain your smile. Garrick has that look on his face like he wants to reach out to you, swipe that lip from between your teeth with his thumb only to bite on it himself. You shift, trying to ignore the fire that lights in your belly at the smolder in his eyes.

Maybe you will be skipping Battle Brief after all.

A clearing of a throat rips your attention away from Garrick before you can confess that you’ve been in love with him for ages. You grew up with him, always had that girlhood crush on your older brother’s best friend. You didn’t even think he noticed you, though you’re sure it was hard not to when you trailed after them like one of Xaden’s shadows.

You feel like you’re flying right now. You don’t even need Uisge anymore.

Unlikely, your bitter dragon mutters.

You return your guilty gaze to Xaden. His face is contorted, like he’s torn between acceptance and decking his best friend across the face.

Your breath is stuck in your chest. You can’t breathe as you watch the emotion flicker behind his eyes. Betrayal, confusion, pride, hurt, and what you hope is acceptance.

His gaze dances between you and Garrick. You roll your shoulders back and tilt your chin, meeting his gaze head on. You don’t need Xaden’s permission to love Garrick, but it would be nice to have your brother’s support.

Xaden must read it in your gaze, how nothing will stop you from being with Garrick, not even him. It’s how he feels about Violet. His gaze softens just a touch, enough for you to release the air from your lungs in relief. He sends a shadow your way, skittering between your fingers just like when you were young and upset, a calming notion, a discreet embrace.

His gold eyes land on his best friend. Xaden clears his throat and nods back. “Then don’t let anyone stop you,” he says, and turns on his heel, disappearing down the hall.

You jaw almost drops in shock. You don’t know what you expected, to be honest. Silent treatment would be on par for your brother, but total acceptance without even a fist thrown or a sword lifted? That…is new.

“So…” you trail off, facing Garrick. Your cheeks heat when you notice his gaze pinned on you, that devilishly handsome smirk on his face. You can’t contain your smile. “You love me?”

Disgustingly so, Uisge grumbles, and you shoo your nosy dragon away.

Garrick’s grin is blinding. It causes your heart to race in your chest. He’s intoxicating. You love him.

“More than anything,” Garrick admits, hands winding around your waist to tug you close.

You plant your hands on his chest, sliding higher to wrap around his neck as you follow him back into the shadows of your not-so-hidden nook.

You roll onto the tips of your toes. The motion doesn’t quite put you at eye-level with him, but Garrick tilts his head down and your lips almost brush. You want him, need to taste him right now. But first…

Your gaze lifts from his mouth to meet his. Fire dances in his eyes, along with a cockiness you’d swat out of him if it were for any other reason.

He already knows, but you say it anyway.

“I love you too, Garrick.”

[hscherryblossom]

At His Princess's Command

Relationship(s): Garrick Tavis/female!Tauri!reader, Xaden Riorson & reader, Violet Sorrengail & reader

Summary: When Garrick almost dies, you can no longer hide that you've been in love with him for years.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Onyx Storm spoilers, mentions of canon-typical violence, panic attacks, poison, mentions of reader's family being toxic/kinda abusive, slight canon-divergence (reader takes Aaric's place in quest squad and we're pretending they stopped for the night between Hedotis and Zehyllna), one mention of reader having long hair.

Based on this request.

You impatiently tap your fork against your hand, courtly table manners too deeply ingrained in you to start on the cake. No matter what your hosts say, it would be impolite not to wait. But damn, does that cake look good. You really hope the servers hurry with getting the triumvirate their forks so you can find out if the cake's taste matches its appearance.

Suddenly, your hand is empty.

You look down at it, then over at your fork in Violet's hand, blinking in confusion. Just as your gaze meets her tense face, Garrick, who sits at your other side, says the cake tastes just like home, and a jolt of terror has the blood freezing in your veins.

The word flares bright in your mind. Poison. Gods, how did you not think of it? Throughout your childhood, you've been drilled about the dangers of it time and time again — though most Navarrians adored their princess, the danger of being poisoned at some banquet or other was never zero. The fact that your hosts hadn't received their forks alongside you should have instantly set alarm bells ringing in your head, but you'd been so preoccupied with the triumvirate's ridiculous judgement of your friends' life choices and wondering if this really is supposed to be the test of wisdom Violet had said was waiting for you, that you hadn't even considered they might test you by poisoning the godsdamned food. That's why Faris had waited until desert, you suppose, so you would be reassured by having survived the main course and fully focused on the conversation — too focused to be suspicious about the missing forks until it was too late.

"Don't eat it!" you shout, head whipping around to face Garrick.

But of course he already has. Gods, how did he manage to shove down almost half the slice so quickly? Why didn't you think faster, fast enough to stop him?

As you watch Garrick's face slacken, it's like your heart stops in your chest. If Violet hadn't snatched the fork from you before you could even think about taking a bite, you would think you're poisoned too. Terror paralyzes you for a second, two, then your body remembers how to breathe and you snap out of the stupor, your hand shooting out just in time to keep Garrick's head from slamming into the table as he collapses.

"Garrick!" Xaden shouts.

Oh gods, no. This can't be happening.

"He's not breathing!" You should do something about that, give him mouth-to-mouth, but you can barely breathe yourself. With your much too fast and shallow breaths, you wouldn't do him much good. "Xaden, do something! He's not fucking brea—"

"I heard you the first time."

Your friend is already on his feet, passing behind your and Violet's chairs to help you lower Garrick to the floor.

The chair topples over as you shove out of it and fall to your knees at Garrick's side, frantically feeling for his pulse. You can't find it. Is it just because you're shaking too hard, or is there no pulse to find?

Mira is yelling at someone to get Trager, but what good is a medic when you don't have the antidote to whatever is killing him?

"What did you put in that fucking cake?!" you snap at the triumvirate, even as it dawns on you that there's no way they'll tell you.

The poison was part of the test — and Garrick failed. You failed.

Xaden kneels on Garrick's other side, opposite you, ear to his chest to check for a heartbeat. "Sluggish but beating."

Thank you, Malek, for not taking him yet. But he still isn't breathing. His face is starting to turn blue.

"Do something," you plead again, wetness trailing down your cheeks. "We have to— to get him breathing again. I— I can't—"

Xaden doesn't waste time on a reply, lowering his face to Garrick's to breathe air into his mouth.

Meanwhile Violet is now trying to get answers from Faris, but, as you already suspected, he isn't talking. That asshole is perfectly willing to let Garrick die on his dining room floor, just for failing to guess that the cake was poisoned.

"Violet."

Xaden's voice is pleading, vulnerable like you've never heard it in the three and a half years you've known him. The realization that even your usually stoic leader is close to losing composure only makes it harder to control your own distress.

You're having a panic attack, you realize — worse than any you've experienced before, and you've had your fair share of them. All the breathing techniques and grounding exercises you know have abandoned you; the only thing you can think of is that you might be about to lose Garrick.

Not that you have any claim to him whatsoever — unlike your dragons, the both of you are merely friends, nothing more. If he dies now, he'll never know you feel more for him than friendship.

"I won't let him die," Violet promises, the words directed as much at you as at her boyfriend.

You tear your gaze from Garrick for a second to give her a grateful look, the panic receding the tiniest bit. Violet is one of your oldest friends — one of the only real friends you had as a child — and has always been the smartest. If anyone can find the right antidote, it's her.

Moments later, the door flies open. Trager and the others — finally. You don't know how much good his medical training can do in this case, but hopefully he can keep Garrick from dying long enough for Violet to figure out how to actually save him.

As Trager joins you and Xaden at Garrick's side, Violet and Mira shout orders at the rest of the squad. They all disperse to do their part, leaving the four of you alone with the triumvirate — all of them bent over and clutching their stomachs, thanks to Violet's arinmint.

"We have to get his heart beating stronger." Trager puts one hand on top of the other on Garrick's sternum, then forces all his weight down. "Keep breathing for him."

You know you should do something, anything, to help too, but you can't bring yourself to take your eyes off Garrick for even a moment, can't do anything but clutch his hand, fight for breath, and pray, pray that Violet really will find an antidote.

You're vaguely aware you'll hyperventilate if you don't calm down, but all you can think about is Garrick. Though your dragons are mated, it's different than with Xaden and Violet, who would almost certainly both end up dead if one of them dies. If Garrick dies, Chradh will likely survive it, and you'll be forced to live in a world without Garrick in it.

The thought is unbearable.

Without interrupting the heart massage, Trager calls your name. "Breathe. It won't help Garrick if you pass out."

"I k-know," you gasp.

Gods, you feel so useless. Worse than useless — you're making the situation worse, distracting Trager from helping Garrick, just because you can't get a fucking grip on yourself.

"It's going to be okay. Just breathe in" — he waits for you to do so — "and out. Good. Again. Deep breaths."

You do your best to force your thoughts to stop spiraling into doom, focusing on your breathing under Trager's instruction. Eyes trained on the almost hypnotic rhythm of his hands compressing Garrick's chest, you slowly regain some semblance of control over yourself.

Giving yourself a firm shake, you rub your hands over your face. When you open your eyes again, Trager and Xaden have stopped their efforts.

"What—?"

"He's breathing on his own."

Oh thank the gods. He's breathing — shallowly, but he is breathing. That's as good as it can get without the antidote.

"You can't die, Garrick," you whisper, curling in on yourself with your head on Garrick's shoulder. Every breath you feel him take comes as a relief. "You hear me? I forbid it."

He always jokes about being at your beck and call, heeding his princess's every command. It always makes you feel a little awkward, a reminder of your power imbalance and the life you'll never be able to fully leave behind, but for once, you hope he meant it.

No matter how ridiculous it is to believe that an order from you will keep him hanging onto live long enough for Violet to find the antidote, you keep repeating it anyway. He is not allowed to die. Not here, not now, not if you have any say about it. You'll personally follow him into the afterworld and drag his sorry ass back out before you let him leave you like this — killed by a piece of cake, of all things! When he wakes up, you'll give him an earful about shoveling the damned thing into his mouth so carelessly, that's for sure. You try to convince yourself he will wake up again. He just has to.

There's noise in the kitchen, then Vi and Ridoc step out of it. Almost at the same moment, Dain returns with Violet's book, and it must contain what she was looking for, because she sends him to get figs.

You blink at that. Figs? You don't know what you expected the antidote to be, but certainly not that. No matter. If they really help Garrick, figs will be your new favorite fruit from now on.

Violet turns to you, sending you into the kitchen with Ridoc to prepare five cups of water. You don't want to leave Garrick's side, but it's to save him, so you make yourself go.

You've just filled the first cup when Dain comes sprinting into the kitchen with the figs. Grabbing the nearest knife, he cuts them as small as possible, crushing the pieces with the flat of the knife for good measure before dumping the stuff into the water cup you hold out to him.

Grabbing a spoon, you head for the door, stirring the mixture as you walk. Dain and Ridoc follow with the other water cups; you don't know what Violet needs them for, and you honestly don't care.

Xaden and Trager already have Garrick on his side, and together, the three of you manage to get the solution down his throat.

Garrick sputters, spitting some of the slurry out, but his eyes flash open. Xaden yells at him to wake the fuck up and drink it. It takes him four big swallows before the cup is drained and he falls back, his head landing in your lap.

He still doesn't look good.

You frown down at him, while Xaden's worried gaze snaps to Violet.

"Give it time," she soothes. "We're under the hour mark. He'll be alright."

You don't take your eyes off Garrick. "You don't know that."

If you weren't still so worried about Garrick you'd be embarrassed at the way you sound, voice shaking and thick with tears. Your heart is still thumping against your ribcage like a trapped bird, but at least your breathing has normalized.

While Violet turns to threaten Faris some more, you run your hand through Garrick's hair.

"Wake up, Garrick. Please. You can't just leave me like this. I need you."

You wish there was magic here, wish you could mentally reach for Garrick or the dragons. Chradh would be able to tell you if Garrick is close to waking up, but you can feel neither him nor your own dragon. Maybe that's for the better — they're probably both furious about the poisoned cake, and getting swamped with dragon rage is the last thing you need right now.

But gods, how you long for Garrick's voice in your head. How you wish he'd wake up and tease you about the tears you shed for him, for believing he would die that easily.

You don't remember how to live without him. Though it's only been three and a half years since that day your dragons choose you and forever bound you together, it feels like you've known him an eternity.

When you think back to life before you became a rider, before you met Garrick, it seems woefully empty.

Abandoning your father's court to go to Basgiath had been the best decision of your life, not just because being a rider allows you to fight for what is right or because your dragon understands you like nobody else, though both things are also true, but because if you hadn't joined the quadrant, you might have never met Garrick, certainly wouldn't have become so close with him and the other marked ones.

When you declared you wanted to become a rider, your father had been far from thrilled, but since — much unlike your older brothers — you rarely ever asked for anything, he had eventually given in and allowed it. Though you hadn't liked entering the quadrant together with your brother, it was your luck that you did. After Alic's death, your father would have never let you go.

But gods, how you had loathed it, loathed Alic, loathed the implications. You knew how it would make you look; like you were just a little girl trailing after her older and stronger brother. For a while, you had even considered going to the healers instead, just to put some distance between yourself and your brothers. But being a rider was what you wanted, had always been your dream, a way to truly make a difference, and you wouldn't let Alic take that from you just because he had decided a dragon would suit his ego. You'd ignore him and make your own path.

It was easy enough to ensure you were put in a different squad, a different wing, than Alic. Even though your status wasn't supposed to mean anything in the quadrant, everyone was eager to please the princess, to win your favor. Precisely for that reason, you kept to yourself as much as you could. You were tired of fake friends, tired of all the lies.

The marked ones were understandably wary of you — it was defying your father that had gotten their parents killed, and they had no way of knowing you despised him, despised the deceit and cowardice he ruled with. They couldn't know you came to Basgiath to escape all that, that you knew what was out there and couldn't stand the thought of sitting idly in your father's palace in Calldyr doing nothing about it, that you wanted to find a way to fight the real enemy.

The open hostility had been strangely refreshing. It wasn't like any of the marked ones tried to harm you — they weren't fools — but they made no secret of the fact they wanted nothing to do with you, and you could feel them glare at you anytime one of them was in your vicinity.

Sometimes other people would get mad about it on your behalf, but when they tried to start fights about it, you quickly shut it down. All you wanted was to be left alone, treated normally; the marked ones didn't bother you.

Alic, of course, was a different matter. While you ignored the marked ones when you could and treated them the same you would anyone else when you did have to interact with one of them, your brother found twisted amusement in the pain the children of the rebellion had been caused on your father's orders, and tormented them whenever he could.

Not that he didn't torment everyone else, too — even you weren't entirely safe from his bullying, though he didn't take it quite as far as with others he deemed farther beneath him. When it suited him, Alic played the protective brother, using you as an excuse to pick on any marked ones he caught being less than friendly to you, only to be the one pushing you around and insulting you moments later.

No one seemed to take notice of it, and you were used to it, so you simply avoided him as much as you could, the way you'd always done. Being away from home made it easier to keep your distance, though in the quadrant's limited space you couldn't help running into him occasionally.

At home, you had been expected to get along. As the only girl, you had been expected to keep the peace between all three of your brothers, to play the perfect daughter of the perfect royal family, smiling even when Alic pinched your arm so hard you teared up. Being not quite a full year younger than him and Halden, you'd spent your whole life quietly suffocating in their oppressive orbit, shielding Cam from their cruelty as much as you could in hopes he would grow up a better person than them.

But at Basgiath, you didn't have to pretend anymore. Though people would never let you forget where you came from, you weren't the princess there, just another cadet. There was no more need for you to associate with Alic.

Dropping the pretense was freeing, but also strange, like speaking a language you weren't quite fluent in. So many times you'd been lectured about being nice to your older brothers, even when they were anything but. Turning your back on Alic when he commanded you to write his assignments for him had felt like committing a crime against the crown, but you'd done it anyway.

And as you grew bolder, more openly cold towards your brother, the marked ones slowly warmed up to you. It was such a gradual change you didn't even notice at first.

Not until the day you faced Garrick Tavis on the challenge mat.

He completely kicked your ass, but he was... shockingly nice about it.

The moment you'd heard his name called out alongside your own, you had prepared to die. It was the first match in which the professors dared to pair you with one of the marked ones, though you had no doubt there'd been requests from them to challenge you before. Considering who you were, it was to be expected they would try to kill you — and on the mat, they would have every right to do it, though even so, there were sure to be repercussions. But in the quadrant, every cadet was equal — or was supposed to be, anyway — so the professors couldn't avoid letting you fight a marked one forever.

The separatist kids had every reason to want you dead, but when Garrick stepped on the mat with you, he didn't seem like he was out for blood. He looked calm, confident, eager for the fight — normal. Like you were just a regular cadet, not the princess of Navarre, not the daughter of the man responsible for hiding the truth and orphaning more than a hundred children, Garrick himself among them.

You wondered if maybe he was just that good at hiding his hatred, if he was trying to make you let your guard down so he could stick a blade in your heart. But you'd seen him fight, knew he was one of the best in your year, outdone only by Xaden Riorson himself. He had no need to resort to tricks if he wanted to kill you.

And he didn't. Didn't try to kill you, didn't even hurt you any more than was strictly necessary to defeat you.

You walked off the mat with all your bones intact, and only a single, finger-shaped bruise blooming around your wrist where he'd gripped it to twist your dagger from you. Your thoughts, however, were a jumble. Not just that Garrick had defeated you so gently, he'd even offered his hand to help you to your feet after you yielded. And he had smiled at you — not the cruel sort of smirk you were used to seeing from Alic when he won a fight, but an actual friendly smile. Slightly cocky, clearly proud of his victory, but friendly nonetheless. Like he was a little sorry for ending the victory streak you'd had going.

It didn't make any sense. The marked ones hated you. Why would one of them spare your life when presented with a chance to end it, let alone be so nice about it? You even wondered if it was a ploy to indebt you to him, if he would hold it over your head and claim you owed him for letting you live, but he did no such thing. He just went on with his life as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

You payed more attention to the marked ones from that day on, started watching Garrick, and realized the glares had stopped — or at least become significantly less frequent. When you passed a pair of them talking to each other in the courtyard, they no longer interrupted their conversation to watch you with narrowed eyes until you were gone. When you had breakfast duty and a marked one got something from your station, they politely thanked you, some of them even giving you a smile. One time a marked girl was nearby to see Alic shove you around, and wordlessly offered a hand to help you to your feet once he'd left.

None of them went so far as to befriend you, but it seemed the growing awareness that you were here to escape your family was enough to come to an unspoken truce.

And Garrick... Garrick slowly but surely started to take up more and more space in your thoughts. It was a little embarrassing, developing a crush on someone you'd never even talked to, but he had a certain charm about him that you could tell others weren't immune to, either. For someone with a rebellion relic, he was a very successful flirt.

He wore the dagger he'd won from you during that challenge strapped among his other ones, but so far as you could tell, he never used it — as if it were too valuable, too precious, something he didn't want to lose or damage. A ridiculous thought, of course, but you couldn't shake the feeling it was true.

Or maybe he just thought it too impractical — it being one of the daggers your father had gifted to you when you departed for Basgiath, it was a filigrane little thing adorned with jewels, looking more like a little girl's toy than an actual weapon. You yourself preferred fighting with the daggers you won in challenges, hating the way the blades you'd brought with you across the parapet seemed to scream spoiled princess.

Every time your eyes met across a room, you quickly looked away, lest Garrick notice the heat rising to your cheeks. You were used to male attention — guys had been hitting on you since you'd barely hit puberty. Everyone wanted the influence they thought they could gain from being with you, or to simply be able to brag about having kissed the princess of Navarre. But there was something different about having Garrick's attention on you, however fleetingly.

Maybe it was just that he didn't seem to care who you were, that even though he should consider you an enemy, he never treated you like it.

You'd never given any of your countless suitors the time of the day, which meant that now that there was someone you were actually interested in, you had no clue what to do about it. Was there even anything you could do? A marked one was the last person you should get involved with, the last person who would even want to get involved with you, no matter how many flirtatious looks he shot you.

Smiling at you from the other side of a room, handing you a book you dropped, brushing hands when you happened to reach for the basket of bread at the same time during lunch — none of that had to mean he liked you, or wanted anything to do with you.

The more you watched him, the more you doubted he even realized how friendly he was to you. Or — just as likely — maybe it was an act. Maybe he actually was trying to get close to you, to use you for your title like everyone else. Having the princess wrapped around his finger certainly would make life easier for him and the other marked ones.

Whatever his motives were, you kept your distance. You had joined the quadrant to bond a dragon, not to chase after boys, regardless of how handsome and charming they were. You needed to keep your eyes on your goal: to become a rider and fight for what's right. Between studying, hours in the gym, and Gauntlet training sessions, you had no time to waste on ridiculous crushes.

You did a good job of ignoring the way your heart sped up whenever you caught sight of Garrick, right up until Threshing came around.

When you stumbled upon him, Xaden Riorson, and Alic in the grounds, your resolve to keep away went right out the figurative window. It came as no surprise that your brother was using the opportunity to go after the marked ones, but you were still shaken that it was Garrick of all people he was targeting. Could Alic have noticed the way your eyes lingered on the marked cadet sometimes, or was it merely coincidence?

Seeing him raise his blade to strike Garrick down, you called your brother's name. You had no idea what exactly you thought you were doing — there was no way you could talk him out of the slaughter he seemed to have in mind. Did you seriously mean to fight him? Gods, you would be in so much trouble if you did. But you couldn't just walk away and let whatever happened happen, no more than you could stand there and watch it happen.

As it turned out, you didn't have to actually do anything. The brief distraction you provided gave Xaden enough time to place himself between his wounded friend and your brother. The following fight was short but brutal — and you did nothing to stop it, even when Xaden raised his sword for the killing blow.

Just before it fell, you turned your back, walking away with Alic's last scream ringing in your ears.

Even now, you sometimes find yourself wondering if the role you played in your brother's death makes you a bad person. You tell yourself it doesn't, that he was the bad person. The lack of remorse you feel about what happened, however, most certainly does. You can't bring yourself to care. He had been meaning to kill Garrick — Garrick, who is worth a dozen Alics. If Xaden hadn't been there to rid the world of your brother, you might have done so yourself. After twenty whole years in Alic's proximity, you had long given up any hope that he might grow out of being such a bully. He never would have changed.

You had still been reeling from the encounter when your dragon found you, leaving you no time to process what had happened — that you and the two marked ones were now co-conspirators in killing your brother. You might have only indirectly contributed to his death, but if your father got wind of it...

You could only hope he wouldn't.

Before you could contemplate what horrible fate would await you should anyone find out how exactly Alic had died, you were soaring through the sky to the flight field, where the next shock was already waiting for you in the form of your dragon's mate — a Brown that had bonded the very person your brother had been trying to kill. And because mated pairs couldn't be separated, that meant you were now tied to Garrick Tavis for the rest of your careers — and lives.

You still hadn't spoken a single word to each other.

It was a lot to get used to; the knowledge that Alic was dead and couldn't torment you any longer, the constant paranoia that someone would come arrest you for letting him die, and most of all, being bonded not just to a dragon, but by extension also to Garrick.

Once the both of you actually got to know each other, you'd instantly clicked, becoming almost as inseparable as your dragons, but despite all the lighthearted flirting, your bond never developed into anything more. It was like there was an invisible line neither of you were willing to cross, feelings the one thing you never spoke about — uncertain territory neither of you seemed willing to enter.

A groan from Garrick abruptly ends your reminiscing. His eyes open, meeting yours. "This is my least favorite isle."

You sob a laugh, silently agreeing. It's such a relief to have him awake and looking at you that you can barely hold back a fresh wave of tears. You hardly notice when Xaden jumps to his feet and attacks Faris; leaning down so your face hovers mere inches above Garrick's, it's like the two of you are in your own little world, shielded by the curtain of your hair.

"How are you feeling?" you ask, tracing your thumb along his scarred cheek.

"Well, I've definitely been better. But," he adds, that adorable dimple appearing as he grins up at you, "considering I have a beautiful princess fussing over me and acting as my pillow, I can't really complain."

"Gods, you're unbelievable." You don't know if you want to slap or kiss him. "You almost died, Garrick! And the first thing you do upon waking up is flirt with me?"

Upside down as he appears in your vision, it's hard to read his expression, but his shrug is entirely unapologetic. "It's not every day I get to wake up with my head on your lap. Those soft thighs do something to a guy, you know."

Un.be.lie.va.ble.

"More likely the poison got to your brain." You shake your head. "Do you even realize how fucking scared we all were for you?!"

No need to mention that it had been you who had freaked out the most.

Your expression must give something away though, because Garrick's face softens, and he reaches up to trace a finger over your cheek. Belatedly, you realize the tracks of your earlier tears must still be visible.

"I'm alright," he reassures you. "It'll take more than some poisoned cake to get rid of me."

You give him a wobbly smile, covering his hand with your own, the other still cupping his face. "Then I guess it's a good thing I don't want to get rid of you. Whatever would I do without you trailing after me?"

"Pretty sure it's usually you who trails after me, princess."

"Whatever. Just promise me that the next time we're served poisoned cake, you won't shovel it down like that."

"Yes, my lady. You can rest assured I will not be making that mistake twice."

Someone clears their throat next to you, interrupting the quiet conversation and reminding you that there are, in fact, other people in the room with you.

"Trager, help the princess with Garrick and start moving him toward Chradh," Dain orders. "Ridoc, let's pack everyone's shit."

The following night, you lie awake on your bedroll, watching Garrick's sleeping form in the firelight. While he seems to be recovering just fine from the effects of the poison — strong enough to keep his seat as you left Hedotis behind, and already back to doling out his usual sarcastic quips when you made camp for the night — the turmoil inside you still hasn't lessened. You can't bring yourself to take your eyes off Garrick, no matter how briefly; every time you do, the bitter taste of fear floods your mouth again.

He was so close to death, so close to leaving you. If he'd died, he would have done so without ever knowing how much he means to you.

The thought haunts you.

You've faced so much danger, overcame so many of your fears, pushed your limits time and time again. You like to think you've become truly brave in the three years you've been a rider, yet confessing your feelings is the one thing you still haven't found the courage to do.

How could you possibly tell Garrick you love him when even his and Xaden's friendship is already so much more than you deserve, considering everything your family has done to them?

Maybe it makes you a coward, but you've decided long ago that you would rather keep things as they are than risk rejection. With all his flirting, you're pretty certain Garrick would welcome you into his bed with open arms, but would he welcome you into his heart, too? He has never shown any indication he's interested in a long-term relationship — not with you, nor anyone else.

Maybe he just doesn't do romantic love.

If that's the case, you're fucked. You don't want a quick fling or to be friends with benefits. You could never be that casual about him, wouldn't be able to handle having him without having all of him. And if you tried and it ended up not working out, things would be terribly awkward. It's not like you would be able to avoid him, thanks to your dragons.

But watching him almost die made those worries pale in comparison to the sheer terror you'd felt at the idea of a life without him.

It's not like this was the first time you've witnessed him in mortal danger; gods know you've all had your share of close calls in your years as cadets, and even more since graduating. But somehow, this felt different. This wasn't just a blade evaded by hair's width, not an almost. This time, he stood right on Malek's doorstep — a door wide open, only waiting for him to walk through.

You've never come as close to losing him as this, never really had to think about what it would be like to have to go on without him, never quite realized just how much you need him, how much you rely on his presence to keep you sane in the midst of this war. You'd never dared to truly let yourself imagine what it would be like to have more than the friendship you built, kept telling yourself it's not worth the risk of destroying what you have, but after you almost lost him completely today...

You're not sure how you're supposed to keep hiding your feelings for him. Everyone saw you freak out. Oh gods, did they realize why you had reacted so extremely? Would they tell Garrick? Would it even matter if they do?

You know he cares about you, the question is just in what way; purely platonically, or maybe romantically, too?

If you don't find the guts to talk to him, you'll never know.

With a sigh, you turn onto your stomach, head resting on your folded arms, turned sideways in a way that will probably leave you with a stiff neck so you can keep Garrick in your sights. Your bedroll is laid out far enough from his to not seem clingy or improper, just close enough that if both of you were to stretch out an arm, your hands would be able to touch.

That's not going to happen, of course. He's sleeping, and you won't reach for him, no matter how much you want to.

You'll just watch over him, let the rise and fall of his chest reassure you that he's breathing. You know you won't be able to sleep anyway, no matter how hard you try.

Every time you close your eyes, the day's events play out in your mind again and again. Garrick chewing on that cursed cake, Garrick collapsing, Garrick laid limp on the floor, unbreathing. Better to stay awake, thinking about your feelings for Garrick and what to do about them, than to relive those moments over and over.

Maybe you should risk telling him. You only have this one life, only one chance to be with him. Do you really want to waste it just because you're scared he doesn't feel the same? What if he does? Wouldn't that be worth risking your heart for?

In the end, you must have dozed off after all, because the next thing you know, the stars overhead are gone, replaced by the dull twilight of early morning.

You've rolled closer to Garrick in your sleep — you're lying on the blank sand between his bedroll and your own, your blanket tangled around you like a constrictor snake.

Garrick's arm is stretched out in the sand next to you; a twitch of your hand is all it would take to make your pinkies touch. To your embarrassment, he stirrs before you can untangle yourself and move back onto your bedding. You can't even pretend to still be asleep; your fight to free yourself from the bondage-loving blanket made you twist into a position no one would believe you can sleep in.

Garrick doesn't even waste time on a good morning before he starts teasing you. "Careful, princess, or I'll get used to that beautiful face being the first thing I see when I wake up."

His voice, low and still rough with sleep, sends shivers down your spine. You're still so sleepy you can't stop yourself from imagining what it would be like to always wake up beside him and get to hear his morning voice.

"Shut up."

He doesn't, of course. "If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do is ask."

"Shut up! I must have gotten cold in my sleep or something."

Garrick chuckles quietly. "Yeah? Come here then, princess. I'll keep you warm."

If you actually were cold, the heat rising to your cheeks at his words would certainly be enough to change that. Nonetheless, you scoot just a tiny bit closer. A second later, Garrick's hand slides under your waist, pulling you flush against him so suddenly you can barely stifle your yelp of surprise.

Everyone else is still asleep around the dying fire, except for whoever had taken the last watch. In the dim light of dawn, you can just make out their silhouette on the opposite side of your campsite.

Garrick's body is warm and solid against your own, and though you hadn't actually been cold at all, you're far from complaining. You only hope he can't feel the way your heart is racing.

This close, you can make out every detail of his handsome face, from the stubble on his jaw over the scar he got at Resson and those oh so kissable lips to his ever observant eyes.

"You're staring again," he whispers. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you haven't stopped staring at me since we left Hedotis, except to sleep. Did the poison give me purple freckles or something, or is just my good looks that have you so enraptured?"

You're not yet awake enough to make up an excuse or evade the question, so you answer honestly. "Just assuring myself you're still here. That you're breathing. Yesterday was—" You shake your head, words failing to adequately describe the horror you'd felt. "I almost lost you. I just— I can't bear the thought of a world without you in it."

"Aww, you really care about me that much, huh?" he teases.

"Yes," you simply say. You don't feel like joking about the matter.

Garrick must realize it, his expression turning serious. "I heard you, you know. When you told me not to leave you. I thought you didn't like giving orders, but it seems you do have it in you after all."

You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant as you desperately try to remember what exactly you'd said. Had you let slip any of what you felt for him? You'd been so upset — too upset to care what you said or who might hear. "I figured it was worth a try, considering how you always say you'd do anything for me. Thought I'd see if that includes staying alive."

"It does. My life is all yours, princess."

Though the words are lighthearted, joking, his tone is anything but.

"You shouldn't say things like that," you whisper. "I might get the idea you actually mean them."

"I do. Not even Malek himself could make me leave if you tell me to stay."

Your hand curls into a fist around the fabric of his shirt. Gods, when he talks like that, you can almost convince yourself he feels about you the same way you feel about him.

"Good, because I don't know what I would do without you by my side. I don't— I don't think I want to know. When it looked like you were about to die it was like— like I couldn't function anymore." You hadn't meant to admit it, but the words are gushing out faster than you can stop them. "Everyone else did what they had to, but I— I was completely petrified. All I could think was that I was going to lose you and I couldn't do anything about it."

"But you didn't lose me. I'm alive, princess. And I won't be going anywhere, I promise."

He pulls you closer, both arms wrapped tight around your waist, and you rest a palm on his chest. His heart beats strong and steady, not at all like the sluggish slow stumbling it had done when he lay dying on Talia's dining room floor. Without thinking, you rest your head against Garrick's chest and close your eyes, soaking up the sound, every beat a promise that he's alive and will stay that way.

"Garrick?"

"Yes, princess?"

"What would you do if I said I love you?"

With your head still lying on his chest, you can hear his heart speed up at the question.

"If that were the case, I would have to kiss you."

You bite your lip, slightly angling your head to peek up at him. "Really?"

One of Garrick's hands leaves your back and gently lifts your chin, making you fully face him.

"Why don't you try saying it and find out?"

Because you're scared, that's why. But he wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it, if he didn't feel something, too. He wouldn't play with your feelings like that. And the way he's looking at you...

You shove the fear aside, and say the words you've held back for so long. "I love you, Garrick."

"I love you too, princess," he says just as quietly, and then his lips are on yours.

[hscherryblossom]

Belly and Conrad first see each other in The Summer I Turned Pretty 1x01 & 3x03 And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

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↳ MAT BARZAL ON THE FOREPLAY PODCAST | 7.29.25

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Then I saw him. Standing there in the back was Conrad, in a gray suit. I stared, and he lifted his hand in a wave. I lifted mine, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

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Conrad admitting he can't be alone with Belly because he might admit his feelings.

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Just a little reminder that you can change your whole life in 1 day with 1 decision. You can decide to move out of town, to start going to the gym, to finally talk to that person, apply for a new job, take up a new hobby. The littlest action can change the trajectory of your life. If you’re feeling stuck, just do one new thing and see where it takes you.

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Belly and Conrad Flashing Back to Christmas 1.0

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THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY | 3.02 "Last Christmas"

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glasses are the sluttiest thing a man could wear.

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