luvly-writer

[luvly-writer]

A Dance of Love

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Masterlist

VIOLET

I find her in the courtyard behind the eastern wing, the one riders use for private combat drills.

Y/n is sparring with Sloane—graceful, fast, lethal. It’s like watching a dance, her movements precise and elegant in a way most fighters never are. Sloane is holding her own, grinning through the match, but it’s obvious Y/n is leading.

Aaric stands just to the side, calling points. “That’s Sloane—nope, countered! Point to Y/n.”

They all laugh, and it’s strange. Y/n laughing. It’s not forced, not polite.

It’s real.

When the match ends, Y/n waves Aaric forward to take her place and heads to her water flask, wiping sweat from her brow with a small cloth. She doesn’t see me approaching until I’m already beside her.

“Hey,” I say casually.

She turns, surprised. “Violet.”

“Thought I’d say hi,” I continue, keeping my voice light. “You guys looked like you were having fun.”

Y/n grins, cheeks flushed from the spar. “Yeah. It’s good to be back.”

I nod toward the estate. “Feels nice being home?”

She hums. “More than I expected. I didn’t realize how much I missed my bed until I actually slept in it.”

She smiles again—soft, nostalgic—and takes another sip of water. I let the silence stretch for a beat before easing in.

“It must be nice… having a space to dance again.”

Her brows furrow.

“What do you mean?”

I tilt my head, pretending curiosity. “I just figured, with your old studio and everything…”

She blinks. “My studio in Tyrrendor was burnt down during the apostasy.”

My pulse kicks up. “Oh? But… what about the one Xaden built for you?”

She chokes.

Literally chokes on her water and turns away, coughing into her arm before whipping around, eyes wide.

“He—what?”

Her voice is small. Cracked.

“He built one for me?” she whispers again, like it’s something sacred.

I nod slowly. “Yeah. That’s what he said.”

I don’t tell her when exactly he said it or to who. I don't let it know it was Bodhi who told me. I just let her fill in that blank herself.

Y/n looks down, eyes shimmering. She lifts her hand to wipe her cheek, quickly. “How… how do you know that?”

“I asked,” I say vaguely. “He confirmed it.”

Her jaw trembles, and something flickers across her face—grief, regret, disbelief. And then it shifts.

To something steelier.

“How are you okay with all of this?” she asks quietly.

I blink. “All of what?”

She scoffs. “Me and him.”

I laugh nervously. “Wait, aren’t you two just… friends?”

She turns to me slowly, then tilts her head.

“Friends?” she repeats, voice dry. “Violet. Friends don’t know how your skin tastes when you’re laughing. Friends don’t memorize the way your ribs expand when you breathe after a kiss. Friends don’t write ballroom plans in their heads every time they watch you dance.”

I freeze.

Because I was not ready for that.

Y/n watches me closely, then nods like something’s been confirmed.

“You’re a good person, Violet,” she says softly. “Really. You are. But don’t go digging for things you’re not ready to know.”

I say nothing, because for once, I don’t know what to say.

She stands, gathering her things with quiet grace.

Then she looks at me one last time, a small, tear-bright smile tugging at her lips.

“He’s so great,” she murmurs. “Don’t lose him because your inquisitive mind won’t let you rest.”

And then, softly:

“Some skeletons should stay in the closet.”

She walks away.

And I’m left there, staring at nothing, the ghost of her words clinging to my skin like smoke.

Y/N

She can’t sleep.

Again.

She’s been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, her thoughts repeating in loops that offer no comfort, only questions. Violet’s words won’t leave her alone.

"He said he built it for you."

Her fingers twitch against the blanket, the skin beneath her collarbone burning like memory.

No. Enough.

Y/n tosses the covers off and swings her legs over the bed, her feet hitting the floor like a decision. She pulls a thin shawl around her shoulders and slips out of her room quietly. The wing is still and shadowed, night settling over Riorson Estate like a hush.

Her feet take her to the door she’s both avoided and been drawn to since they arrived.

She hesitates.

Then knocks.

Moments pass. She nearly turns away—when the door opens.

Xaden stands there, shirtless, hair tousled from sleep, eyes still heavy-lidded. He blinks at her, and she’s struck with the realization: he really was sleeping. A rare sight.

He takes in her face—tear-bright eyes, trembling fingers—and his expression shifts instantly.

He doesn’t speak.

"I'm sorry, I shoudn't have bothered you.."

He just shakes his head softly and says, “Y/n. I’m always here for you. Especially if something’s wrong.”

That undoes her. She swallows hard and nods, eyes darting down as her fingers twist at the edge of her shawl.

“I…” she begins, voice small. “I needed to ask something.”

Xaden’s worry deepens. “What’s wrong?”

She lifts her gaze to him—finally—and a tear slips down her left cheek.

He doesn’t hesitate. He steps back, pulls her inside, closes the door behind her.

They stand in silence for a long second, the dark room closing in gently around them.

Then, barely above a whisper:

“Did you have a ballroom built for me?”

He freezes.

Brows knitting, confusion flickering across his face.

“…How do you know that?” he finally asks, voice low, careful.

Y/n shifts her weight, looking down.

“Violet,” she says.

That word hits him like a blade. He stiffens. The only ones who ever knew were Garrick, Bodhi, Imogen. Not Violet. He hadn’t even told her.

He forces down the burn of anger, pushes aside the betrayal, and focuses on what matters—the woman standing in front of him, raw and unsure.

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse now. “I did.”

Y/n looks up, breath catching.

“This… this was always meant to be your home,” he continues. “And I wanted you to have something that made you feel free here. Something that was yours. But then… the apostasy happened. And we never had the chance.”

Her hands tremble now.

She steps closer.

“…Did it survive?”

Xaden nods once. “Yeah. I kept it intact. I still have the key.”

Her lips part, and hope flickers in her eyes—real, glowing, gutting hope.

“…Can I see it?”

His heart stutters. He swears he stops breathing for a full second.

He holds out his hand without a word.

When she places hers in his, it’s like everything clicks back into place.

Too much. Too familiar. Too right.

He holds her hand tightly and leads her down the hall—past Garrick’s room, past her own door—until they reach the sealed double doors at the far end. He pulls a worn key from around his neck, one he never stopped carrying.

The lock clicks open.

He flicks his fingers and mage-lights glow to life, filling the room with soft golden light.

Y/n steps inside—

And gasps.

Wooden polished floors. Wide, flawless mirrors with gold frames and silver practice bars. Towering windows, some from floor to ceiling, with sheer white curtains. At the center, a breathtaking chandelier of delicate glass and golden branches glimmers gently above them.

She turns in a slow circle, her breath hitching.

“It’s everything,” she whispers. “It’s everything I dreamed of…”

She turns to him—and her face crumples. “Xay…”

Before he can blink, she’s running into his arms, and he catches her like it’s instinct, because it is.

She clings to him like she’s afraid to let go.

“Thank you,” she whispers fiercely. “Thank you.”

His voice is rough in her ear, arms locked around her. “It’s yours. Always was. I’d love for you to finally use it.”

She doesn’t pull away. She only presses closer, breathless.

“I missed you so much,” she chokes out, voice breaking.

He closes his eyes.

His grip tightens.

“I missed you too,” he whispers back, every syllable a confession, a wound, a balm.

They stay there in the quiet light of the room he built for her, in the space meant for dancing, meant for freedom—and maybe, just maybe, meant for them.

They walk in silence, the warmth of the ballroom moment still clinging to them like a fragile thread.

Xaden keeps glancing at her from the corner of his eye, knowing what’s coming. He can feel it in the air between them. Y/n has always been direct when it matters—and this moment matters.

They stop just outside their rooms, doors only feet apart.

Y/n turns to him. Her brows knit, hesitation flashing in her eyes.

He nods, a small gesture—gentle, but sure.

It gives her the strength she needs.

“…Why?” she finally asks. Her voice is soft. Vulnerable. Wounded. “Why did you stop showing up?”

Xaden’s breath catches.

He looks at her—really looks at her—and knows he can’t lie. Not to her. Not ever.

He swallows hard. “…Because I made a promise.”

Her lips part in confusion. “What kind of promise?”

Xaden glances around the hall, wary of anyone overhearing. Then quietly, “Can we… talk in your room?”

She studies him for a second. Then silently opens the door.

Inside, the space is quiet. Familiar. Safe. She closes the door behind them, and he stands there, back straight, like a soldier preparing for confession.

“It was Violet's mother,” he says. “General Sorrengail.”

Y/n’s entire body tenses. “What about her?”

“She… she forced my hand.”

Y/n scoffs, eyes sharp. “Giving you one hundred and seven scars wasn’t enough? Forcing us into Basgiath wasn't enough suffering?”

Xaden shakes his head. “It wasn’t about me. She… made me swear something. On Violet.”

He rolls up his sleeve, revealing the long scar that cuts across his forearm.

Y/n’s breath hitches. Her eyes widen in alarm, recognizing the custom.

“She made me swear to protect her daughter once she entered the quadrant,” he says hoarsely. “To ensure her safety. With my life, if needed.”

Y/n steps closer, reaching to lightly touch the scar—like it might burn her.

“She gave me one thing in return,” Xaden continues, voice cracking slightly. “One request.”

He meets her gaze.

“I asked for you.”

Y/n blinks.

“I asked that you be spared. That you never be forced into the quadrant. That they place you permanently with the Royal Ballet Committee. I wanted you safe, Y/n. Away from this nightmare. Away from me.”

She stares at him, eyes wide and wet.

“I thought… if it meant never seeing you again… if I had to lose you…” His voice falters. “At least you’d be safe. Happy. Loved. Far from this fucking war.”

Xaden’s jaw clenches. His fists tighten at his sides.

“I thought maybe you’d meet someone,” he says quietly. “Some lord. Someone kind. Someone who’d make you feel free. I thought… that’s what you deserved.”

Y/n doesn’t speak.

She just steps forward and slowly lifts her hand to his cheek.

She cups his face gently, thumb brushing across his skin, grounding him.

And then he whispers, “Imagine my fucking surprise when Violet shows up in Samara and tells me you’re in the quadrant.”

His eyes close. “She lied to me. Sorrengail lied.”

Y/n lifts her other hand to his face and pulls him gently forward, pressing her lips to his forehead. Her eyes brim with tears, but she holds him there—breathing, trembling, whole.

Xaden melts under her touch. His hands rise slowly, unsure, and settle on her waist.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes and brokenly whispers. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you.”

Y/n rests her forehead against his.

A beat of silence.

Then, softly: “I know.”

Her hands don’t move.

“If I’d been in your place,” she whispers, “and I could’ve spared you the pain… I would’ve done the same.”

Xaden pulls her closer.

Not with urgency.

But with relief.

Like a wound finally being tended. Like a truth no longer festering in silence.

They stand there, wrapped in memory and forgiveness, in the quiet that says what words can’t.

And for the first time in a year and a half, they are not alone.

They stand in that strange gravity that only comes when two people still carry pieces of each other in places time hasn’t touched.

Their foreheads part slowly.

Their hands reluctantly release.

A silence stretches between them—not awkward, not strained, just heavy with everything that hasn’t been said. Everything that still lives between them.

Alanna breathes in softly and reaches for the sleeve of her shirt, pulling it down just enough to reveal a faded scar along the curve of her right shoulder. It’s small, but deep, healed over time, but still angry-looking under the moonlight pouring through the window.

Xaden’s brow furrows.

His chest tightens. “What…?”

She meets his eyes.

“You took responsibility for 107 of us,” she says, voice quiet, but laced with a deep, aching strength. “I took one for you.”

Xaden stares at her, broken open. No walls. No shields. Just him.

His hand moves gently to hers, guiding it to his chest. Right over where his heart beats, steady but slow.

“The scar I took for you,” he says hoarsely, “is here.”

Y/n exhales shakily.

They stay there—her hand on his chest, his heart racing beneath it. For a second, it almost feels like they’re younger again. Like the war never touched them. Like they’re in some dream that smells like tiger lilies and soft candlelight.

But dreams end.

And reality is cruel.

Y/n steps back.

Xaden blinks, confused. “What—?”

She gives him a sad smile, the kind that’s far too mature for someone who deserved softness all her life.

“And now you have Violet,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Who you love.”

The words hit like a whip crack in the quiet.

Xaden flinches. Not visibly—but she sees it.

He opens his mouth, as if to deny it—but then nods.

Because it’s true.

Not in the way it had been with Y/n—burning and gentle, years in the making. But it’s true in its own way. Complicated. Different.

Y/n nods too.

“I’m glad,” she says, even as her eyes shimmer. “She’s kind. She loves you, I can see that.”

Her arms wrap around herself. “You should head back into your room… before you say something you’ll regret come morning.”

Xaden looks at her like the world is slipping through his fingers.

His mouth parts. He wants to say it. The words are right there—the three syllables he’s held in for far too long.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

Because everything’s too broken, too fragile.

So he nods.

And turns.

He reaches the door, hand on the handle—then turns back one last time.

“I could never regret anything that has to do with you,” he says, voice low and raw.

Y/n smiles sadly, blinking fast. She doesn’t speak—just nods.

They both feel the weight of what they didn’t say.

He opens the door, steps through, and closes it behind him with finality.

Y/n walks towards her door, hands shaking as she locks it. The moment she leans against it, the tears spill. She crawls into bed and lets herself cry silently into the pillow, fingers clutching the same sheets she once thought she’d only ever sleep beneath as a dreamer, not a fighter.

In the hallway…

Xaden leans against the other side of her door, head bowed, a single tear tracing his cheek.

He stays there for a long moment—then finally walks away, back into silence.

What neither of them realize… is that Violet had been there.

Quiet. Still. A few paces down the hallway. She hadn’t meant to follow, she just wanted to ask Xaden something—but her curiosity, her hunger for answers had tugged at her.

And now… she knows too much.

She had watched the scene unfold.

Heard every word.

Seen the look on Xaden’s face—the way he held her. The way he breathed for her.

And for the first time… Violet Sorrengail doesn’t feel victorious for finding the truth.

She feels like she just set something in motion that can’t be undone.

She walks away, heart aching, realizing the one thing she hadn’t expected to lose in all of this—

Was him.

Taglist: @smileysunshinesworld @poisonivy2267 @whyucloudingmymind @universallyrascaldreamercookie @shadowmarurader @ambivalence-is-me @nikfigueiredo @nesiri21 @thechibifoxcub @wolfbc97 @turb05ynth @fiahtheteaaddict @sleepysaffi @hannraumari @lolalostinstardust @minidemont @vickykazuya @immortialslane @clayme123 @n0body-is-perfect @freezerbride18 @Ireadsstuff @yuelhua @sheblogs @86laura11 @brieflyclassymortal @notnowkittenwhisker

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Author’s note: I promise I kissed the brick before throwing it. Enjoy!

[luvly-writer]

A Revealing Performance

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Masterlist

VIOLET

I knock once, and the door swings open almost immediately.

Xaden stands there, freshly changed, sleeves rolled up, collar undone—annoyingly composed as always. His eyes flick to my arm instinctively, probably checking for any lingering signs of pain. I ignore it.

“Brennan’s looking for you,” I say, voice clipped.

He nods. “I figured.”

He starts to move past me, but I step inside instead.

And close the door.

It latches with a quiet finality.

Xaden turns back around slowly, one eyebrow raised, arms folding across his chest like he’s already bracing for whatever this is.

“Why are you closing the door if Brennan’s waiting?”

I breathe in—deep, steady, the kind of breath you take before plunging into freezing water.

“Why is Y/n’s room next to yours?”

His brow furrows for a second, caught off guard, but only slightly. Then he exhales and says, calmly, “Because that’s always been her room.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say, jaw tightening. “Why is it in the family wing, Xaden?”

He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at the ceiling like the stones themselves might give him patience.

“Violet…” he mutters. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

I take a step forward. “I do want them.”

He exhales through his nose, sharp and frustrated. “Because after her mother began working directly under my father, she spent most of her time here. And since she basically lived in this house—of course she had her own room.”

“In the family wing,” I repeat.

“Yes.” He meets my eyes now, voice firm. “In the family wing.”

“So what was she to you?” I press, heart thudding. “Because people don’t usually put just anyone that close. She’s not a guest, she’s not just a friend. What is she?”

Xaden doesn’t answer right away.

He just watches me.

Then, he sighs again, clearly done with the conversation.

“She was like family to my family.”

It feels like a lie.

Or not quite a lie, but not the whole truth either.

Something about the way he says it—too carefully, too rehearsed—makes my skin prickle.

I narrow my eyes. “That’s not all of it.”

He rolls his eyes with a quiet scoff and moves past me, reaching for the door.

Before I can say anything else, he gently nudges me out of the way, hand warm but brief at the small of my back.

“I have to meet with Brennan,” he says, voice low.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door closes behind him, leaving me alone.

My stomach churns. The silence feels suffocating.

Because now I know what I didn’t before.

There are parts of Xaden’s life—of his heart—that I’ve never been let into.

And I have no idea how to find the truth.

But if he won’t tell me…

Then I’ll find someone who will.

VIOLET

I’m picking at my food more than eating it.

Again.

My squad’s loud around me—Sawyer and Ridoc arguing about whether Sloane could beat Aaric in hand-to-hand, Rhiannon chiming in with a perfectly reasonable “It depends if Aaric’s shirt is on or not”—but I’m only half-listening.

My eyes keep flicking from Bodhi, who’s a few tables down laughing with Imogen, to my plate, to the edge of the table where I’m tapping my finger restlessly.

Because he’s the key.

Bodhi.

Out of all of them—Xaden, Imogen, Y/n—Bodhi is the one who leaks information like a cracked jug if you tilt it just right. He talks too much when he’s comfortable, especially if he doesn’t know he’s being watched.

But I can’t just ask him. That’ll get shut down in a heartbeat.

I have to be subtle. Strategic. I have to—

“Oh, oh,” Ridoc says, pointing his fork at me, “that’s her scheming face.”

Sawyer leans back with a grin. “What are we up to now?”

I blink. “We?”

“You never make that face unless you’re plotting something,” Rhiannon says, narrowing her eyes. “And when you do, we are always part of it.”

I stare at them for a beat.

Then sigh.

“Not now,” I mutter, standing and grabbing my tray. “Meet me in my room later.”

Rhiannon arches a brow. “Your room? Not Xaden’s?”

I shake my head. “I asked Brennan for one of my own.”

That gets a few raised brows, but no one presses—thankfully.

Later, in Violet’s new room

The four of us sit cross-legged in a tight circle on the rug. The room still smells like fresh sheets and mint balm, but it’s already becoming mine.

And I finally speak.

“All right. I need help,” I start. “But this doesn’t leave this room.”

They all lean in slightly.

I tell them everything.

About Y/n.

About her movements, her posture, the way she interacts with Xaden—or doesn’t.

The conversation we had after I caught her dancing.

The conversation with Xaden in Samara. The way his eyes snapped to me when I mentioned her name. The fondness in his voice when he said, "It’s good that she’s still dancing."

The way Bodhi let it slip—"Old friend? He called her that?"—like he knew better.

And then today. Y/n’s room. Right next to Xaden’s. The family wing.

I watch their faces shift—Ridoc’s smirk fading into curiosity, Sawyer’s brows furrowing, Rhiannon biting her lip in that way she does when she’s mentally building timelines.

“So…” Ridoc drawls. “You think Y/n and Xaden were a thing?”

“I know they were,” I say. “The question is… what kind of thing. And when it ended. If it even did.”

“And Bodhi knows,” Rhiannon says thoughtfully. “Which means Imogen does too. And so does Garrick and Sloane probably”

“Exactly,” I nod. “But they’re too guarded. I need someone who talks.”

“Bodhi,” Sawyer says immediately.

“Bodhi,” Ridoc echoes with a grin. “Bestie can’t keep a lid on it if you just—what did you call it, Violet? Apply pressure from a side angle?”

I smirk. “Precisely.”

I look around at them, this strange, wonderful team I’ve nearly died beside.

“I need you all,” I say quietly. “To help me get Bodhi talking. We need to fill in the blanks. Because whatever happened between Xaden and Y/n—it wasn’t nothing. And if it’s not over…”

I don’t say the rest.

I don’t have to.

Because we all know what’s at stake when love and loyalty collide in a world that can barely hold itself together.

VIOLET

The trick to getting Bodhi to talk is simple: Keep him distracted. Keep him laughing. Keep him off-balance.

Which is why we’ve lured him into a “friendly” sparring session under the pretenses of team bonding—a thing we never do—and positioned Rhiannon and Ridoc as the rotating chaos agents. Sawyer plays mediator. I play sweet, innocent observer.

The perfect storm.

We’re in one of the smaller, private training rooms—the kind usually reserved for ranking officers or riders who don’t want to get pummeled in public. Perfect for… information extraction.

Bodhi’s already sweating, arms bare, laughing as Rhiannon flips him onto his back for the second time in five minutes.

“Oof,” he groans. “That’s a cheap shot, Matthias!”

“Your guard was down,” she says innocently. “S’what happens when you chat mid-lunge.”

Ridoc offers him a hand, pulling him up and tagging in before Bodhi can catch his breath.

“C’mon, Durran-boy,” Ridoc says, bouncing on his toes. “You’re supposed to be one of the elite. Impress me.”

Bodhi groans. “Why do I feel like I’m being punished?”

“Training is important,” I say sweetly from the wall, twirling a practice dagger between my fingers. “Also, you talk too much when you’re tired.”

He squints at me, suspicious.

But then Ridoc lunges, and Bodhi’s too busy dodging to question it.

Thirty Minutes Later

He’s panting. Sweaty. Distracted.

Perfect.

Sawyer tosses him a water flask and plops down beside him. “Man, I forgot how you and Xaden used to train together. Was it like that growing up?”

“Yeah,” Bodhi says, wiping his forehead. “We were all brought up together here in Tyrrendor at one point. Spent half our days training and learnig and the other half messing around all around Aretia as kids.”

Ridoc flops onto the mat. “Was Y/n with you then?”

“Oh yeah,” Bodhi says easily. “She was always around, practically lived here. Even before the war went to shit, she has always been like... one of us.”

“Wait, really?” I blink, tilting my head just right. “She practically lived here?”

He nods. “Well, yeah. Her mom was working closely with Xaden’s dad back then. Everyone loved Y/n. Especially... Xaden.”

Rhiannon quirks a brow. “You say that like it was more than just friends.”

Bodhi lets out a breathless laugh. “Gods, he was obsessed. I mean, he had a freakin’ ballroom built for her to dance in.”

“A ballroom?” I echo, playing the wide-eyed card.

“He never got to show her,” Bodhi says with a shrug. “Apostasy hit before he got to reveal it. When I tell you that he never missed her performances. Even dragged Garrick and me to every single one.”

Ridoc whistles. “That’s commitment.”

“He didn’t care about rules with her,” Bodhi mutters, lying back flat on the mat. “Even after being sent away with Duke Lindell. Broke curfew, ditched trainings. Said he’d trade protocol for five seconds with her.”

My throat tightens, but I force my voice steady. “So they were—”

“Together, yeah. Before the Catriona mess, it was supposed to be Y/n who married him. She was his first for everything”

I feel my stomach twist.

“And then?” Rhiannon asks, gently. “What happened?”

Bodhi frowns. “That’s the weird part. When Xaden got into his third year, he just... stopped. Stopped writing. Stopped visiting. Cut contact completely.”

“No one knew why?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head. “Not even Y/n. One day he was all fire and devotion and the next—silence. She waited. We all thought he'd come back. But he didn’t.”

I glance at the others.

No one speaks.

Because we all know when that shift happened.

When I entered the quadrant.

And suddenly, a lot of things feel heavier.

Later, in Violet’s Room

We sit in a circle again—same positions as before. Only now, there’s a different kind of weight in the air.

“Well,” Ridoc says, exhaling hard. “That was...a lot.”

“Ballroom. Betrothal. Firsts.” Sawyer ticks the points off with his fingers. “Gods, this isn’t a triangle. This is a love war.”

Rhiannon looks at me carefully. “You okay?”

I nod.

But the truth is—I don’t know.

Because now I know what they were.

Now I know what he never told me.

And still, the biggest question remains:

Why did he walk away from her?

And why does it still look like it hurts him to see her?

Taglist: @smileysunshinesworld @poisonivy2267 @whyucloudingmymind @universallyrascaldreamercookie @shadowmarurader @ambivalence-is-me @nikfigueiredo @nesiri21 @thechibifoxcub @wolfbc97 @turb05ynth @fiahtheteaaddict @sleepysaffi @hannraumari @lolalostinstardust @minidemont @vickykazuya @immortialslane @clayme123 @n0body-is-perfect @freezerbride18 @Ireadsstuff @yuelhua @sheblogs @86laura11 @brieflyclassymortal

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Author’s note: the WAY i didn’t expect this to blow up as it did i’m cRYING! Not only that, I just reached more than 1,000 followers….WHAT!?!? OMG THIS WOW! Thank you to everyone who has read my stories, writing means so much to me and seeing how much people appreciate what I write makes me tear up. On another hand, no honey, this is NAWT the chapter where the angst ends. We have a LONG way to go <3.

[luvly-writer]

I’m in actually STITCHES! Garrick is my spirit animal! And the fact that they muturally traumatize each other? GOLD! I was biting my lip to stop laughing! 🩷

A cousin fight

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x Sorrengail!Reader

Summary: Being Violet Sorrengail’s cousin was already hard enough—being caught sneaking out of your section leader Bodhi Durran’s bed at dawn by Xaden Riorson, fresh from Violet’s room, was a special kind of hell. But as each cousin interrogates the other, no lessons were learned.

Warning: Explicit content, mentions of smut, mutual pettiness, and way too many cousins making bad decisions.

Could be read as part two of a cousins mess or a standalone!

The second Violet shifts to the side, her bleary eyes blinking against the faint hallway light, you shove past her like a hurricane.

“Move.”

She barely stumbles back with a surprised, “What the—” before you’re already inside, spinning to face the door and slamming it shut with a sharp crack that rattles her books on the shelf.

You whirl around, chest heaving, hair still mussed from Bodhi’s pillow, and Bodhi’s shirt hanging down your thighs like a glowing beacon of your sins. But none of that matters right now. Because your cousin—your baby cousin—was just seen letting Xaden Riorson out of her room like he belonged there.

And you are not okay.

Violet takes a cautious step backward, clutching the ends of her sleep shirt. “Um…?”

You raise a single, trembling finger—your eyes wide, your mouth shut in that exact pre-explosion expression Mira wore the time she caught Violet climbing out the third-story window to avoid combat theory.

“Bed.” Your voice is low. Deadly. “Now.”

Violet blinks at you. “What—”

“Bed.” You point again like the words are a command spell, and she finally obeys, stumbling back and flopping down on the edge of her mattress like a guilty toddler.

The moment she’s seated, your hands slam down onto your hips as you stare at her like she’s personally responsible for the downfall of Navarre.

“What the actual fuck, Violet.”

She recoils slightly, pulling her legs up cross-legged and blinking rapidly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s—? What’s wrong with me?! Violet Sorrengail, I just caught Xaden Riorson walking out of this room at five in the godsdamn morning looking like he’d just fought off three wyverns and then rolled around in your bedsheets!”

Her eyes go wide. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Oh really? Because his shirt was not existent, he was sweating, and he smelled like you. You don’t have to be bonded to a mind-reading dragon to put that puzzle together!”

“I didn’t ask him to come over!” she hisses defensively, cheeks flaming. “He just… showed up.”

“Oh sure,” you say with a wide-eyed mock innocence. “Just popped by for a friendly game of cards at four-thirty in the morning, I’m sure.”

She throws her hands up. “Nothing even happened! We were talking about Tairn and Sgaeyl, and Andarna’s new cycle, and it got late—”

“Don’t you dare try and spin this into a study session,” you snap, pacing back and forth now like Mira herself is speaking through you. “Do you have any idea what Mira will do to me if she finds out I let this happen? She didn’t say ‘keep Violet alive,’ she said ‘keep Violet safe from Xaden Riorson!’”

Violet groans into her hands. “Can we not do the whole overbearing cousin thing right now? I’ve had a week—”

“Oh no. No, ma’am. You don’t get to play tired and fragile when I just caught you violating every rule in the Cadet Handbook and the unofficial Mira Sorrengail Threat Index.”

You stop pacing, arms crossing tightly, narrowing your eyes at her. “Tell me the truth. Are you sleeping with him?”

Her face flames. “No! I mean—not like—We’re not—” She fumbles, floundering, and you stare her down with pure big cousin rage until she finally mutters, “…Not... I don't know.”

“VIOLET!”

She flops back onto the bed and groans into a pillow. “You’re such a drama queen.”

You take one threatening step forward. “And you’re such a disaster! Violet, he is literally part shadow. He lives in loopholes and has a murder list. He’s got ancient enemies and a dragon who could vaporize half the quadrant. And you are—you’re you!” you gesture helplessly. “Tiny. Breakable. Soft-hearted. You cannot just… do this!”

She peeks up from the pillow. “You’re wearing Bodhi’s shirt.”

You freeze.

She smirks.

Your eye twitches. “Sit. Back. Down.*”

You point at her so fast the fabric of Bodhi’s borrowed shirt shifts with the motion. “Do not try to change the subject.”

Violet just arches one pale brow, smug despite the pillow creasing her cheek and the way her hair’s flattened on one side.

You storm closer, arms crossed again, tone sharp and livid. “This isn’t about me! This is about you sneaking around with a broody, hulking, murder-happy man who once threatened to kill you during parapet!”

“He didn’t mean it,” she mumbles into the pillow.

You throw your hands in the air. “He never means it! Until someone ends up dead and he says, ‘it had to be done,’ and Tairn agrees with him!”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Oh, really?” you snort, leveling her with a death glare that would make even Colonel Aetos flinch. “Violet, he literally has shadows that listen to private conversations. He’s probably outside the door right now, tucked in the ceiling like a spider. Or worse—he’s using his bond to eavesdrop through Tairn.”

Violet sits up straighter, brow furrowed. “That’s not how bonding works.”

“Are you sure?! Because I’m not. And neither are you.”

You start pacing again, every step heavier, fuelled by a mix of panic, protectiveness, and the sheer audacity of Xaden Riorson walking out of your cousin’s bedroom like it was just another day.

“He’s a walking war crime in leathers, Vi. He has that permanent glower like he’s personally offended by sunlight. He speaks in cryptic half-threats and thinks ‘emotional vulnerability’ is a battlefield tactic.”

Violet groans.

“Do you even know how many people he's probably killed? Do you know how many first-years are still afraid to make eye contact with him? My dragon gets quiet when he's around!”

“He’s—complex,” Violet says softly.

You whirl around. “So is a fucking dragon storm, and you don’t try to kiss that!”

That makes her laugh, which only enrages you further.

“I’m serious! He's intense, unstable, and—gods, Vi—his entire aesthetic is grief and weapons! And let’s not forget the fact that he’s our Wingleader. Which means that when I inevitably have to beat the ever-loving shit out of him for defiling your bedsheets, I’ll probably get assigned to stable duty for a month.”

“You’re not beating up Xaden.”

“Don’t test me.”

“You couldn’t take him.”

“I don’t have to win, I just have to bite hard enough that he never tries this again.”

Violet giggles again, and you whip your head toward her like she’s lost her entire mind.

“You’re laughing?!”

“I’m sorry! I just—you’re stomping around in my room in my boyfriend’s cousin’s shirt, raving like a deranged overprotective big sister, and it’s—it’s kind of sweet.”

You snap, “This is not sweet, Violet. This is trauma. This is going to haunt me for years. Every time I look at him I’m going to see the guy who turned my sweet little cousin into a whisper-shouting sneak in the middle of the godsdamn hallway!”

“I’m not little anymore,” she murmurs, voice quiet but firm.

You freeze.

Your face softens for half a breath.

And then you shake your head furiously, fire reigniting. “Not the point!”

You stomp across the room, grab a pillow off her bed, and slap her lightly in the face with it.

She squeals. “Hey!”

“Stop kissing boys who are seventy percent vengeance and twenty percent scars!”

“Maybe I like vengeance.”

You blink. Then in a strangled voice: “Oh my gods, Mira’s going to kill me.”

You’re pacing again. Arms flailing in disbelief, heart pounding louder than your voice. “I just—how?! How could you forgive him, Vi?”

Violet's brow tightens. She shifts forward on the bed, eyes suddenly a little more alert, more cautious. “Forgive who?”

You whip around, eyes wide. “Xaden.”

“I didn’t—” she begins, but you cut her off with a shaky breath, voice raw now, not from shouting but from everything underneath it.

“You know what his father did. What he helped do. Brennan is dead, Violet. He died because of the war your boyfriend's father helped orchestrate. And now you’re—what, playing house with his son?”

She flinches.

You almost wish you hadn’t said it. But it’s out now, and you can’t take it back. The silence that follows isn’t comfortable, not even close. It’s scorched earth. It’s the kind of silence that echoes louder than screams.

“Do you think Brennan would be proud of that?” you whisper, like the words are cracked glass in your throat. “Do you think he'd be okay with this? With you falling for the son of the man who might as well have put the sword in his back himself?”

Violet’s face twists—not in guilt, not in shame, but something more painful. She looks at you like she wishes you didn’t know how deeply she’s already thought about all this. Like she’s had to live in the same storm you’re now drowning in.

“You think I haven’t asked myself that every day since I realized I had feelings for him?” she says softly, hands knotting in the blanket. “You think I don’t know what it means? What it might look like?”

You cross your arms, leaning hard into the dresser behind you. “Then how are you still with him?”

“Because he’s not his father.” Her voice is quiet, but not weak. “And if anyone understands what it’s like to be judged for their parent’s choices—it’s you. It’s me.”

You flinch this time. She’s right. And that’s the worst part.

Still, your jaw tightens. “That’s not the same. Brennan was our family, Vi.”

“I know.” Her voice breaks. “Don’t you think I know?”

The silence that falls between you both is grief-shaped. Heavy. Guilt-soaked.

You exhale shakily, dragging your hands down your face. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”

Her voice is small. “I don’t want to get hurt either.”

You lower yourself onto the edge of her bed, finally still, fingers curling tightly into the sheets. “And I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She touches your wrist gently, just enough to ground you. “You’re not going to lose me.”

You shake your head once, slow. “You don’t get to promise that anymore. Not here.”

Not at Basgiath.

Not in a war where dragons choose their riders and the next fall could be your last. Not when people who love each other are dying for causes bigger than they can carry. You sit there in silence for another heartbeat, still winded from the weight of it all. The shared grief. The worry. The ghosts you both carry.

But then your eyes drift—casually, absently—across her room.

And you see it.

You blink once. Twice.

And then you recoil.

“…Violet.”

She stiffens.

“Why the hell is your armoire in pieces?!”

She looks at it—like she forgot it was even there—and winces. “It, uh… wasn’t really built to withstand, um… intense movement.”

You stare at her like she’s lost her godsdamn mind.

“Intense movement?!”

You leap up from the bed like it’s on fire, clutching Bodhi’s oversized shirt against your chest like it’s some kind of holy shield. “You defiled a government-issued furniture piece, Violet!”

“Okay, calm down, it was just—”

“Don’t say it!” You throw your hands out, nearly knocking over the small stack of textbooks on her desk. “Do not finish that sentence!”

You whirl around, eyes wide in absolute, soul-deep horror, surveying the wreckage. The crooked dresser. The unhinged cabinet door. The pillow on the floor like it had been discarded in a rush.

And the godsdamn armoire — the massive thing — cracked down the back like someone had slammed into it.

“Oh my stars,” you gasp. “Was it him?! Did he—did he throw you against it?!”

“I consented!” Violet squeaks.

You gag.

You actually gag, one hand flying to your mouth. “Stop talking!”

“You asked!”

“I regret it immediately!”

You’re pacing again, but now it’s erratic, like your soul is trying to flee your body and your legs can’t decide which direction to go.

“This is a crime scene, Violet! An actual war crime! There’s splinters on the floor!”

“Would you rather we used my desk?!”

You snap your head toward her, horrified. “You considered the desk?!”

Violet shrugs helplessly. “I mean, Tairn said—”

“Oh my god. Your dragon was giving you sex advice?!”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“I’m saying it like that because *you let Xaden Riorson reduce this room to rubble like he’s re-enacting the Fall of Aretia with your furniture!”

You stomp toward the door, but then stop and whirl on her again. “Did you at least reinforce the wards?! What if someone heard?! What if Dain heard?!”

Violet snorts. “He wouldn’t know what an orgasm sounds like if it sat on his face and sang the Navarrian anthem.”

You shriek. “I need to leave immediately.”

Violet is doubled over, laughing now.

You’re already at the door, opening it with your hand over your eyes. “I’m going to find a priest and a memory scrubber and possibly a crowbar for what’s left of your closet. Don’t speak to me. Ever again.”

“Love you!” she calls after you.

“Disowning you!” you yell back as the door slams.

The hallway is quiet, save for the fading echo of your outraged exit a few doors down. But at the other end of the corridor, a door opens with a distinct click — Bodhi Durran’s.

The creak is slow, lazy almost, as if the person behind it hadn't been in any particular rush to answer the knock.

Bodhi leans against the doorframe like he owns the entire Wing, one hand braced against the wood, the other gripping the knot of the towel slung low around his hips. His chest glistens with the sheen of steam still clinging to his skin, fresh from the short, post-makeout rinse he barely had time to enjoy. His damp curls cling slightly to his forehead, a few drops sliding down the strong line of his neck toward the sculpted dip of his collarbone.

He raises a brow, unconcerned. “This better be good.”

He doesn’t even get the full sentence out before Xaden Riorson storms past him, one heavy palm on Bodhi’s shoulder, shoving him aside as he bulldozes straight into the room like he owns it.

“What the hell is wrong with you cousin?!” Xaden snaps over his shoulder, black eyes flashing like a thunderhead about to break.

Bodhi stumbles slightly from the shove, towel shifting just enough to threaten a dangerous descent, but he catches it with one hand, letting out a heavy sigh as he watches Xaden stalk inside.

“I don’t know,” Bodhi mutters, closing the door behind them with a thud. “But I can already tell this conversation’s gonna require pants.”

Bodhi eyes Xaden from across the room with an expression caught between exhausted amusement and growing dread. The towel around his waist is definitely not built for sudden interrogation — or for fending off a Wingleader with vengeance in his eyes.

He raises both brows and gestures vaguely to his very unclothed state. “Can I, I don’t know, put on some underwear before you start your full-scale inquisition?”

Xaden doesn’t even blink. He just glares. Hard. Like he’s imagining burning a hole straight through Bodhi’s skull with the force of sheer familial disappointment.

“No,” Xaden growls, voice edged in barely contained fury. “I want to know what the fuck you’re doing with her.”

Bodhi blinks. Then sighs, running a hand through his damp curls. “Okay. So it’s that conversation.”

“You think this is funny?” Xaden snaps, stepping further into the room, arms crossed, jaw tight enough to crack obsidian. “Because I’m not laughing, Boh.”

“Clearly.” Bodhi moves slowly toward the dresser in the corner, still facing his cousin as if afraid turning his back might get him tackled. “You want to yell at me half-naked, that’s your call, but I’m putting on boxers before your rage gives me shrinkage.”

Xaden growls something unintelligible, but doesn’t stop him.

Bodhi yanks open the top drawer, slips a pair of black boxers on under the towel with one hand, and tosses the towel to the bed with a snap of his wrist. He doesn’t bother with a shirt. Doesn’t need one — especially not when facing down a pissed-off Riorson. Might as well make it even.

“You done glaring holes into my ribcage?” Bodhi asks dryly, turning to face him fully now.

“I trusted you,” Xaden snarls.

“And I didn’t break her,” Bodhi shoots back, voice sharp. “Unlike you with Violet’s damn armoire.”

Xaden’s nostrils flare. “This isn’t a joke, Bodhi. She’s a first-year. She’s Mira’s and Violet's cousin. She’s—”

“She’s not a child,” Bodhi cuts in, suddenly serious. “She’s in our section. She survived the parapet. She sparred her way to the top ten. And she can kiss me without your fucking permission.”

Xaden’s jaw ticks, his eyes molten and furious, but beneath the rage, there’s something else—protectiveness. The same kind of blind, irrational fury you showed when you shoved past Violet earlier.

“You don’t get it,” Xaden says lowly. “If she gets hurt—if she dies—”

“I’d be the one burying her too,” Bodhi says, softer now. “So don’t think I don’t get it, cousin. I just don’t think yelling at me half-naked is gonna change anything.”

The silence stretches between them, tense and brimming with unsaid things.

Finally, Bodhi sighs. “You done?”

Xaden’s answer is just a dark glower.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Bodhi mutters, flopping onto the edge of his bed, dragging a hand down his face. “At least sit down if you’re gonna scold me. You’re starting to give off serious uncle energy.”

“Fuck off.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Bodhi’s elbows rest on his knees, still shirtless, still exasperated as Xaden paces like a caged dragon in the middle of the room. The silence is taut, bristling with the tension of things neither of them really want to say but know they’re both about to scream anyway.

Then Bodhi lifts his head, dark eyes narrowed.

“You really don’t hear yourself, do you?” he says, low and clipped.

Xaden stops pacing.

Bodhi rises to his feet slowly, stepping closer. Not aggressive — just grounded. Tired. Fed up.

“You’re losing your mind over me seeing her,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway where you’d stormed away, “but you’re literally screwing Violet Sorrengail, who is her cousin.”

Xaden’s eyes flash like flint struck against steel.

Bodhi tilts his head. “I mean, forgive me if I’m missing something, but isn’t that, like... hypocrisy 101?”

“You think this is the same?” Xaden grits out.

“Oh, I don’t know, Xay,” Bodhi says with biting sarcasm. “Let’s ask Mira. I’m sure she’d love to hear how both her baby sister and cousin are getting dicked down by Riorsons.”

Xaden lunges.

Only half a step — a surge of fury too fast to leash — but Bodhi doesn’t flinch.

“Do it,” he says, jaw locked. “Let’s fight about it like idiots. I’d love for the whole Wing to hear that the great Xaden Riorson lost his shit because his cousin kissed someone with his her name.”

Before Xaden can bark a reply, a loud knock slams against the door.

Then it swings open, fast and unapologetic, revealing Garrick Tavis, shirtless in loose sweats and socks, looking half-awake and fully nosy.

“Okay,” Garrick says, lifting a hand, “first of all — I heard yelling, and since this is your room, Boh, I just assumed it was either a fight or someone naked.”

His gaze sweeps across the room. He sees Xaden — hair wild, face thunderous, boots still laced — and then Bodhi — shirtless, glowering, muscles tense.

“Oh,” Garrick says brightly. “It’s both. Excellent.”

He steps inside and closes the door behind him with a sharp click.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, flopping unceremoniously onto the floor like he’s settling in for story time at the Archives. “Continue. I can pretend I’m not even here.”

Xaden turns slowly to him, incredulous. “Garrick—”

Garrick raises both hands like a peacekeeper. “No, no, you’re doing great. There was shouting, there was moral indignation, and I’m pretty sure someone’s towel fell off at some point, so honestly, I’m emotionally invested now.”

Bodhi pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s useless.”

“Rude,” Garrick says cheerfully from the floor.

“You want to hear the tea so badly?” Bodhi snaps. “Here it is: Xaden thinks I’m not allowed to kiss anyone.”

“Incorrect,” Xaden bites out. “I think you’re not allowed to kiss her.”

“Again, with the hypocrisy,” Bodhi growls, throwing his hands in the air.

Garrick blinks, then slowly grins. “Wait... her? As in—oh my gods, her her?”

Both cousins glare at him in unison.

Garrick just laughs and lounges back on his elbows. “No no, don’t mind me. This is so much better than the interrogation drills.”

Xaden rubs a hand over his face like he's resisting the urge to throttle everyone in the room.

“You’re both idiots,” he mutters.

“Thanks,” Bodhi says flatly. “That clears things up.”

BONUS SCENE — A MONTH LATER Basgiath War College, Hall of the Fourth Wing Dormitories

The stone halls echo with soft footfalls and the easy thrum of conversation, their group clustered together as they make their way toward Bodhi’s room — late, of course, because Bodhi is never on time for anything before 10 a.m., especially not sparring drills.

Violet walks beside Xaden, one hand absently adjusting the strap on her shoulder as she listens to Liam animatedly rehash yesterday’s match between Ridoc and a second-year from Flame Section. The boy’s eyes are wide, cheeks pink with excitement as he mimics Ridoc’s footwork like a little shadow.

“His blade went whoosh,” Liam says, swinging an invisible sword in front of him, “and then he spun and kicked the guy’s knee in!”

Ridoc grins. “I did not kick his knee in.”

“You kind of did,” Imogen says, smirking.

“You definitely did,” Xaden mutters, lips twitching.

“Okay, but did you see the way he blinked at me after I knocked the dagger out of his hand?” Ridoc’s hands shoot out for emphasis. “It was like he thought I cheated. I mean, you’d think I laced his water with belladonna the way he—”

“Speaking of belladonna,” Imogen cuts in, raising a brow. “Bodhi’s still in bed, isn’t he?”

“He said he was setting an alarm,” Violet replies, already unconvinced.

Xaden scoffs. “He also said he’d stop stealing my shirts and giving them back covered in glitter.”

Imogen snorts. “That was definitely from her.”

The group rounds the corner and stops in front of Bodhi’s door. Xaden raises his fist to knock—

And that’s when it happens.

A loud, unmistakable moan pierces the wooden frame of the door. Feminine. Drawn out. Followed immediately by Bodhi’s teasing voice, low and rough:

“You gonna answer that quiz now, or do I need to make you beg for the answer key again?”

Another moan. Louder this time. Rhythmic thumping follows — gods, is that the headboard?

Violet freezes mid-step. Her face turns the color of boiled bloodroot.

Xaden jerks his hand back from the door like it burned him.

“Nope,” Violet gasps, eyes huge. “Absolutely the fuck not—”

“Nope nope nope nope—” Xaden’s already halfway down the hallway, practically sprinting like his life depends on it.

Violet takes off after him, her braid slapping over her shoulder as she gags dramatically. “WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?!”

“MY COUSIN!” Xaden yells from around the corner. “YOUR COUSIN!”

Back in front of the door, Garrick leans casually against the wall, one brow arched, arms folded across his chest, looking far too smug.

He glances at Ridoc and Imogen, then at Liam — who’s now clapping a hand over his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I told you they were fucking,” Garrick says, a satisfied grin blooming across his face. “You all said I was full of shit, but who’s the Wing’s all-seeing oracle now?”

Imogen snorts so hard she wheezes. “I hate that you were right.”

“Did they say something about quiz answers? You know what? Go girl.” Ridoc asks, delighted and horrified. “Is she studying while—”

“Oh, gods,” Imogen blurts, pressing both hands to her ears. “Make it stop.”

Garrick shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Hey, I say we leave them be. Sparring starts in twenty — let him show up late and sore.”

“I’m never touching his sparring gloves again,” Ridoc mutters, wrinkling his nose.

Liam leans in conspiratorially. “Wait...does this mean we win the betting pool?”

Garrick’s grin goes wolfish. “Damn right it does.”

And somewhere behind that door, you moan Bodhi’s name again — loud, uninhibited, and unapologetic.

Ridoc chokes. “Okay, I’m out. I’m burning my ears.”

They all turn on their heels and head back down the hallway, still laughing, still in disbelief — while far ahead, the sounds of Violet and Xaden continuing to scream about “boundaries,” “cousin crimes,” and “needing bleach for their minds” echo faintly from the courtyard below.

Reblogs, comments and asks are appreciated!

credits to @empyreanevents for the dividers!

[luvly-writer]

An Aretian grand jeté

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Masterlist

VIOLET

He’s lying in my bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting across his stomach like he’s trying to appear relaxed. But I know him better than that.

His jaw is too tight. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling like it’s going to solve something he hasn’t told me. Like the answers he refuses to speak are hiding in the cracks of the stone above us.

I sit cross-legged beside him, the blanket twisted around my ankles, arms folded.

Waiting.

He doesn't say anything.

Of course he doesn’t.

This is Xaden Riorson, for fuck’s sake.

Emotionally constipated, painfully stoic, and fluent in the language of silence.

I wait another beat. Two. Then I sigh. Loudly.

Still nothing.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on,” I ask flatly, “or are you just going to lie there pretending like nothing happened back in the hall today?”

His eyes flick over to me for a second. “Not everything needs to be said out loud.”

“Maybe not for you,” I snap. “But some of us didn’t grow up bottling our entire emotional range into a locked trunk buried under a mountain of unresolved trauma.”

That earns a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. Barely.

"No, you just bottle up pain and stick it a box"

"That is so not the fucking point"

But still—he says nothing.

I stare at him. “You froze, Xaden.”

He shifts slightly, gaze going back to the ceiling. “It’s been a long week.”

“Oh, please.”

He lets out a slow breath through his nose. “Drop it, Violet.”

I don’t.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew her?” My voice softens, but only slightly. “Y/n.”

That does it.

His whole body tenses for a breath, the way a blade hums before a strike.

“I knew a version of her,” he finally says, and I swear I can feel the cryptic deflection wrap itself around the words like armor. “That doesn’t mean she’s still the same person.”

I blink. “Wow. That’s a neat little non-answer.”

He sits up slightly, jaw tightening. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth, Xaden,” I fire back, heart beating harder. “Or is that still too much for you to give?”

He closes his eyes like I’ve hit something raw. “You’re asking questions you don’t want the answers to.”

I laugh—short, bitter. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

“I do when it involves things that could get you hurt”

“Oh, is that what this is?” I say, voice rising. “A rebellion thing?”

He stands now, pacing a few steps, back to me. “It’s everything, Violet.”

“Then tell me.”

He turns slowly, finally meeting my eyes—and it hits me like a sucker punch.

There’s pain there.

So much pain it takes my breath.

“I made a choice,” he says quietly. “One that should have protected someone I loved and... destroyed everything else.”

And there it is.

That one word.

Loved.

Not care for. Not trust. Not owe. Loved.

My throat closes.

“Is it her?” I whisper. “Was it her you loved?”

He doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to.

And that—more than anything—hurts like hell.

I nod slowly, swallowing back the sting behind my eyes. “Right.”

I slide off the bed and grab my jacket from the hook. “I need some air.”

“Violet—”

“Don’t,” I say, voice cracking. “I don’t want another half-truth. Or cryptic bullshit. Or guilt-ridden silences. Just... say what you mean. Or don’t say anything at all.”

And I walk out before he can stop me.

Because if I stay—I might just beg him to choose me.

And I’m not sure I could survive the answer.

A few weeks later...

VIOLET

The truth is out now.

The words are still lingering in the air—about the Venin, about the wards, about everything we were forced to carry in silence while others died not knowing what we were truly up against.

My voice is still hoarse from the torture. From screaming. From surviving.

Xaden stands next to me, shoulders squared, arms crossed, voice steady as he explains what Basgaith never dared admit. The second rebellion. The one not against Navarre, but against obliteration.

The quadrant is quiet.

Then a few step forward. Not many. Most are still stunned. Processing.

But she moves.

Y/n Belvie.

She steps out from the crowd—no hesitation, no flicker of fear. She doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t make some bold proclamation. She just meets Xaden’s eyes across the room and gives a single, measured nod.

Support.

Conviction.

Loyalty.

And something else I can’t name—something older than this moment, older than me.

Xaden’s head tilts slightly.

He nods back.

And it’s that look that slices straight through me.

Not lust. Not longing. Something heavier.

Heartbreak.

Like he’s seeing the memory of something already lost.

I instinctively tighten my grip around his arm. My fingers curl at his sleeve, anchoring myself.

Across the room, Y/n’s gaze flicks down.

She bites her bottom lip—just briefly—then smooths her expression into that carefully constructed neutrality she wears like armor. Like if she’s cold enough, distant enough, this won’t gut her the way it clearly is.

She turns her head back toward the crowd, saying nothing.

But I saw it.

I felt it.

The pull between them. And the pain.

Later, in Aretia, the sky is too clear for how heavy I feel.

Brennan is walking beside me, one hand lightly on my back, leading me through the winding corridors of Riorson Estate, toward a room where he can finally mend me.

My legs ache. My skin stings. But it’s not just from the torture. It’s the way Xaden keeps drifting farther away, even when he’s right beside me.

I pause at the edge of the courtyard, just as a dragon lands nearby with a thundering gust of wind.

Elixir.

Y/n slides down from the navy-blue beast, graceful even after a full flight. Her curls are windblown, eyes guarded.

She dusts off her pants, reaching for her bag when I hear Xaden’s voice behind me—steady, formal, not quite looking her way.

“I had your room prepared,” he says, gaze fixed on the path ahead. “In the estate. For your stay.”

Y/n freezes for the briefest second.

Then nods once. “Thank you,” she says, voice dry, clipped.

She doesn’t wait for a response.

Just picks up her things and walks toward the left wing of the manor—like she knows exactly where her room is.

Like she’s been there before.

I don’t even realize I’ve stopped breathing until Brennan gives me a worried glance.

“Violet?”

I shake my head quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

But I’m not.

Because there’s a room for her here.

A room in his family estate.

A room prepared in advance, without question, without hesitation.

A room that isn’t mine.

And the bitter taste in my mouth is more than exhaustion.

It’s the quiet, sharp edge of jealousy.

And the realization that Y/n isn’t just part of the rebellion.

She’s part of him.

Y/N

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

And for a moment, all she can do is stand there.

It’s like stepping into a memory.

Everything is just as it had been—the soft green curtains she used to pull open before sneaking out into the gardens. The delicate silver-trimmed mirror above the dresser, slightly tilted, like always. The velvet chaise in the corner where she used to read after training, curled up in silence while waiting for him to sneak in.

The bed still has the same quilt. The pale lavender one she once mentioned liking offhandedly during a market stroll when they were fifteen.

The air smells faintly of cedar, dragon smoke, and something softer. Familiar.

The only new additions are subtle. Grown with her.

A stack of worn books she’s collected over the years—placed gently on the small bookshelf beside the desk. The music box with the broken hinge that Garrick had given her for solstice, still cracked in the corner. And there, on the desk—

A vase.

Fresh.

Full of white tiger lilies.

Her favorite.

Y/n stares at them for a long moment, something tight pressing behind her ribs. She reaches out and brushes her fingers over one of the petals, the way she used to as a child. As a teen. The way she did that last night in the gardens, when he gave her a bouquet just like this before kissing her goodbye and promising he’d see her again soon.

That was a year and a half ago.

And he never came back.

She sets her bags down slowly, her fingers trembling against the desk, her gaze drifting over the books, the careful arrangement of everything she loves.

It’s too much. And not enough.

She turns to sit—and then freezes at the soft sound of someone clearing their throat.

Her heart lodges in her throat.

She turns.

He’s there.

Xaden.

Standing in the doorway like a ghost resurrected. The same dark uniform. The same broad frame. Only now his face looks…tired. Older. His eyes searching hers like he’s still trying to figure out if she’s real.

Her breath catches.

His does too.

They just stare for a long moment, the silence between them heavy and fragile.

Then, voice low, rough around the edges, he finally speaks.

“I had everything… organized. So you’d be the utmost comfortable.” His eyes flick around the room. “This is… your home too, after all.”

Y/n’s lungs squeeze.

Her voice comes quieter than she means it to. “Thank you.”

He nods once, like it hurts. Opens his mouth—then closes it again. Like there are too many words and none of them will come out right.

Then, softly, “If you need anything… I’m in the room next door.”

She nods. “Okay.”

He lingers for just a second longer, eyes roaming her face like he’s trying to memorize her all over again.

Then he says, almost a whisper: “Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight, Xaden.”

And then he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him, and she finally exhales.

Only—

It’s shaky.

Like breathing for the first time after being underwater too long.

And all she can do is sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at those tiger lilies, heart pounding in her chest like it still belongs to someone who hasn’t touched her in a year and a half.

VIOLET

The healing burns, but it’s over.

Finally.

My steps echo softly down the corridor of Riorson Estate, Brennan’s instructions still clear in my mind: “Go get your brooding shadow of a boyfriend. He’s impossible to wrangle.”

My heart is already pounding—not from pain this time, but the prospect of talking to Xaden after everything. After the mission. After Y/n.

I don’t even know what I want to say. Just that I need something from him—answers, maybe. Reassurance. A thread to hold on to in this storm.

I round the corner toward the family wing, where Brennan told me he was last seen.

And then I see her.

Y/n.

She steps out of one of the rooms, the door clicking softly behind her. Her curls are pulled back in a loose braid, her gait fluid, like she still hears music no one else can. She looks tired. But calm.

When she spots me, her lips lift in a soft smile. Polite. Kind.

She nods.

“Violet,” she says gently. “Good to see you up.”

I blink. “Thanks. You too.”

She doesn’t stop.

Just turns and walks down the hall, light on her feet like she belongs here.

And then it hits me.

That was her room.

The one she just walked out of.

I glance at the door. The ornate silver crest on it matches the others in this part of the wing—Xaden’s, Garrick’s, Bodhi’s.

Family rooms.

The people closest to him.

The ones he protects above all else.

And she’s here. Not in a guest wing. Not with the rest of the riders.

Here. With them.

With him.

Right next to him.

And suddenly, the air feels thinner.

My legs carry me forward, but my mind is spiraling.

What is she to him?

I know they were close. That’s been obvious for a while now. I know he loved her. I felt it in the way he looked at her in the gathering hall.

But when did it end?

Did it ever?

Was it one of those love stories that faded in silence, or one that never really stopped burning, even when they tried to smother it?

And why does she still have a room here?

Not just any room—a permanent one. Decorated, lived in, waiting for her return.

He hasn’t said a word about it.

No warning. No explanation.

And yet… she smiled at me. Like I wasn’t standing in a space where I didn’t belong, looking at a door that told me more than Xaden ever has.

I swallow hard, my hand trembling slightly as I raise it to knock on his door.

Because maybe I need to stop asking who she was to him.

And start asking who she still is.

Taglist: @smileysunshinesworld @poisonivy2267 @whyucloudingmymind @universallyrascaldreamercookie @shadowmarurader @ambivalence-is-me @nikfigueiredo @nesiri21 @thechibifoxcub @wolfbc97 @turb05ynth

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Author's note: I will try to post these as fast as I can. Like my other story, this is written before hand so I just need to update the taglist and upload. I hope you all enjoy it!

[luvly-writer]

A Broken Music Box

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Masterlist

VIOLET

Threshing is always chaos.

Blood. Roars. Riders stumbling back into the clearing—some grinning, most bruised, a few with eyes haunted from what they saw or barely escaped. The air hums with power, thick with smoke, ash, and the sharp scent of adrenaline. It’s overwhelming. It always is.

But I’m not looking for dragons this time.

I’m watching them.

Imogen and Bodhi stand near the edge of the clearing, not searching for candidates or dragons, not even pretending to help the others. Their eyes are locked on the tree line, on the place where yet another student disappeared into the Gauntlet.

I follow their gaze.

They’re waiting.

Not just for anyone—for her.

Y/n Belvie.

Imogen keeps shifting on her feet, her jaw clenched tight, arms crossed like it’s the only way to keep from sprinting into the trees after her. And Bodhi... Bodhi’s bouncing slightly on his heels, pretending to be calm but failing miserably.

I move to stand beside him, feigning casual curiosity.

“She’s still in there,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

He doesn’t answer, but his jaw twitches.

I lower my voice even more. “Maybe someone should tell Xaden she made it out alive. You know, once she does.”

That gets his attention.

He scoffs without looking at me. “He wouldn’t want to know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?” I say, injecting just the right amount of doubt. “He looked pretty fond of her when we talked about her in Samara. I thought he’d be interested in how his old friend is doing.”

Bodhi barks a short laugh. “He called her that?”

I blink, playing it cool. “Yeah. An old friend.”

Bodhi turns his head, finally looking at me with an incredulous expression.

“Wow,” he mutters. “He really said that? Old friend?” He shakes his head and gives a humorless laugh. “Damn... that’s something.”

I tilt my head, heart tightening in my chest. “Why is that... something?”

But before he can answer, a deep, echoing roar splits the air.

We all turn at once.

Out of the shadows of the trees, a great navy-blue dragon emerges, wings sweeping with slow, deliberate power. Its scales shimmer like moonlit steel, darker along the spines, eyes glowing a sharp silver-blue. It’s not just a dragon.

It’s a statement.

And then I see her.

Y/n.

She slides off the beast’s back like she’s stepping out of a dream, movements smooth despite the dried blood smeared across her arms and tunic. She doesn’t limp, doesn’t wince, even though there’s a stain of fresh crimson blooming from her thigh.

She walks straight to the scroll keeper, her voice calm despite the mess around her.

“Elixir,” she says. “That’s her name.”

The scroll keeper nods, jotting it down.

Y/n turns, eyes scanning until they land on Imogen, who immediately breaks into a wide smile and rushes forward.

Imogen pulls her into a tight hug, laughing under her breath. “You stupid, reckless bitch. You’re bleeding.”

“Not mine,” Y/n mutters with a shrug, wincing as Bodhi joins them.

Bodhi grins. “You always did like making dramatic entrances.”

“You always did like stating the obvious,” Y/n shoots back with a grin.

They both nod slightly, a shared look of grim understanding passing between them.

Someone had tried to kill her.

I take a step forward, caught in the moment, unsure why this girl keeps pulling my attention like gravity.

She turns to me and nods in greeting. “Hi, Violet.” Her voice is warm, even if her eyes remain unreadable. “I’d stay and chat, but I should probably go to the infirmary before I start dripping all over the quad. Blade wound, left thigh.”

“Sounds fun,” I murmur, still staring at her.

Imogen stops her before she can leave. “Wait. Turn around. Let’s see the relic.”

Y/n sighs but obliges, lifting the back of her shirt slowly.

Gasps echo around us.

The dragon mark stretches from the nape of her neck all the way down her spine, coiled with intricate precision. It’s almost identical to Xaden’s—except where his bleeds out into his shoulders like wings, hers clings tight to her spine, elegant and refined, like delicate black lace etched into her skin.

It’s... stunning.

“Okay, that’s not fair,” Bodhi says. “Even her relic’s pretty.”

Y/n smirks and lets the fabric fall back down. “Elixir said I needed something delicate. Something pretty to match the ballet scars.”

We all laugh—awkwardly, breathlessly—as she waves and finally walks toward the infirmary, limping slightly but refusing help.

I stare after her, the pit in my stomach now a fully formed question I’m too afraid to answer.

And beside me, Bodhi is still watching her too.

And he knows.

Two weeks later...

VIOLET

He’s back.

Xaden’s presence always changes the air—calmer somehow, heavier too, like the room knows he’s entered before anyone even turns to look. He strides through the courtyard like he still belongs here, even though he’s technically not supposed to be anywhere near Basgiath right now.

But here he is, boots crunching against stone, his usual all-black everything somehow even darker than usual, a slight shadow cast under his eyes.

Tairn and Sgaeyl’s weekly reunion. The excuse he clings to for returning.

The excuse I cling to.

We’re walking side by side, my shoulder brushing his arm occasionally, but there’s something distant in him today. Not cold, just... guarded. Like his mind’s somewhere else, somewhere not with me.

I try to play it off casually. “You should stop by the southern training wing after dinner,” I say lightly. “I hear someone’s been making a name for themselves with blade work. Might be fun to watch.”

His brow arches just slightly. “Someone?”

“First-year. Elegant. Fast. You might recognize her,” I add, voice just barely dipped in bait.

He glances at me sideways, suspicious but not biting. “What are you doing?”

I feign innocence. “Nothing.”

He hums like he doesn’t believe me for a second. And he’s right. Because this is me, trying to see something I shouldn’t care about. Trying to force a reaction I don’t want confirmed.

And for a moment, I think it won’t work.

Until we step into the gathering hall.

Noise spills from the doorway—laughter, shouting, the usual chaos of riders eating like they’re starving. But something’s... different. Warmer.

I scan the room, and then I see.

There, near the back, surrounded by a mix of third- and second-years, is Y/n.

She’s leaning back slightly, her curls tied loosely, one leg propped on the bench. She’s laughing—actually laughing—at something Ridoc just said, eyes sparkling as she points her cup at Sawyer like she’s making some ridiculous accusation.

“Say that again and I’ll gut you with my embroidery needle,” she teases.

Sawyer rolls his eyes. “You don’t embroider.”

“She could learn just to stab you with it,” Sloane adds dryly.

Even Imogen laughs, head thrown back, relaxed in a way I don’t usually see her. Bodhi’s grinning beside her, Aaric saying something quietly to Quinn.

It’s the most alive I’ve seen Y/n look since she arrived.

I glance at Xaden.

And my breath catches.

He’s frozen.

Like someone reached into his chest and ripped something open.

His entire expression shifts—no mask, no distance, just... everything. His eyes are locked on her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and for once, he’s not hiding it.

Love.

Longing.

Regret.

Pain.

I feel it before I even realize what it is—bleeding through our bond like a slow leak. His shields aren’t completely down, but they slip, just enough. And it’s crushing. A kind of aching so deep it almost feels like it’s coming from me.

Y/n looks up.

The smile vanishes like it was never there.

Her eyes meet his. Her whole body goes still, like she’s held together by nothing but muscle memory.

And in that one glance—I see it.

She knows him.

Knows him too well.

Imogen and Bodhi both stiffen. Bodhi lets out a quiet, “Oh shit.”

Y/n’s gaze flicks to me for a heartbeat. And then, like flipping a switch, she blinks, smiles at Sloane, and turns away. Her voice picks up again, casual and unbothered. As if Xaden Riorson—the Xaden Riorson—means nothing to her.

But the table around her? Full confusion. Side glances. Silence that doesn’t make sense.

Xaden clears his throat. His jaw is set tight, and when he finally speaks, it’s clipped and unreadable.

“I’m going to check on Sgaeyl.”

And then he’s gone. No explanation. No backward glance.

I’m left standing there like someone dumped a bucket of freezing water over my head.

What the hell just happened?

Y/N

The laughter from earlier still echoes faintly in her head as she lies in her bed, arms folded under her pillow, staring at the ceiling of the first-year dormitory.

The burn in her thigh has long since faded to a dull ache, healed enough by the healers to allow her to walk without limping. But the ache in her chest—the one that started the moment her eyes met his across the gathering hall—that hasn’t dulled at all.

He was there.

And she wasn’t ready.

Not for the look in his eyes. Not for the way everything she’d fought to bury slammed into her like a blade through the ribs.

She should’ve known this would happen eventually. That the past wouldn’t stay in the past.

But knowing and being prepared are two very different things.

A soft knock pulls her from the spiral, followed by the familiar creak of the door opening. Imogen doesn’t say anything at first, just steps inside and shuts it gently behind her. She’s quiet in that way that means she’s watching, her sharp eyes taking in every detail, every fracture in Y/n’s armor.

“You okay?” Imogen asks, leaning against the foot of the bed.

Y/n doesn’t answer.

Imogen sighs. “He didn’t tell her about you. That much is clear.”

Y/n closes her eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Too bad,” Imogen says softly. “Because knowing you, you’re not sleeping tonight until you get this out of your system.”

There’s a long silence.

And then—“He kissed me the night before they separated us.”

Imogen stills.

Y/n swallows, voice low, brittle. “It was my first kiss. He promised he’d look for me. And he did. Even when he was fostered with Liam, he still found ways. He’d sneak out, send me flowers. Meet me under cover like we were the only people in the world who mattered.”

She presses her fingers into her eyes. “I was his first time too...and he was mine.”

Imogen’s breath catches, barely audible.

“I gave him everything, ‘Gen. My childhood, my trust, my... heart.” Her voice breaks. “And he just forgot. Just stopped coming. No letter. No warning. Just stopped.”

Imogen moves slowly, like approaching a wild animal too close to breaking, and sits on the bed. “He didn’t forget you.”

Y/n laughs bitterly, wiping a tear with the heel of her palm. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Y/n—”

“He started seeing her, didn’t he? Violet. That’s why.” Her throat tightens around the name. “One look at the daughter of the woman who signed our parents’ death warrants. And suddenly, I wasn’t worth the risk. Wasn’t worth the time.”

“You don’t know the full story—”

“No, I don’t. Because no one ever tells me anything.” Her voice rises, trembling. “He made me feel like I was something safe, something constant in a world that burned everything else. And the second someone shinier came along, someone he could flirt with and protect and build a rebellion around, I got discarded.”

Her hands are shaking now.

“I hate that I still—” Her voice breaks entirely.

Imogen doesn’t wait this time. She just opens her arms.

Y/n hesitates for half a second before the dam finally shatters. She throws herself forward, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder as the tears come hot and fast. Guttural sobs tear out of her chest, years of silence and grief crashing down in one awful wave.

Imogen holds her tight, one hand smoothing over her curls like she did back when they were kids and the nights were colder than the blankets could fix.

“I’m so angry, Imogen. I’m so angry and I still—still love him and I hate that too.”

“I know,” Imogen murmurs, her voice steady. “I know, baby. Let it out.”

So she does.

For everything she lost. For the boy who watched her dance like she was art. For the man who kissed her like a promise and then left her to rot in the silence he never broke.

XADEN

The cold hits him the second the door closes behind him, but it’s not enough.

Not enough to burn it away—the look in her eyes, the forced smile, the indifference that didn’t used to exist.

Y/n.

He takes a sharp breath and leans against the outer stone wall, fists clenched at his sides.

Sgaeyl lands not far away, her shadow slicing across the training field like a warning.

You saw her. Her voice is cool but knowing. She is... different.

He exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. She’s not different. I am.

No. There’s no room for argument in her tone. You are in pain. That is not the same.

His jaw tightens.

Sgaeyl’s mental presence shifts—calmer now, more like wind weaving through the memories they share. You tried to forget her. That was your first mistake.

“I had to,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

Because General Sorrengail had made sure he had no choice.

He still remembers that day. How her voice never once trembled as she laid out the terms of Violet’s protection. As if it were a favor.

“She’s my youngest child,” she’d said. “Keep her alive and compliant, and the Belvie girl will be left to her pretty little dancing. Refuse, and I’ll ensure she’s dragged to Basgiath like the rest.”

He’d nodded. Agreed.

And spent months trying to cut Y/n out of his chest.

But the truth is, he never stopped loving her.

Not when he saw her name disappear from the list. Not when her letters stopped arriving. Not even when he kissed Violet that first time in the snow, guilt curdling under his skin like rot.

You tried to replace her, Sgaeyl says, softer now. But you never could.

He doesn’t answer.

Because she’s right.

He cared for Violet. More than he should’ve. He bled to protect her. Held her when the nightmares came. Let her in when she shattered walls no one else dared touch.

But it was different. Safer, somehow. A survivalist’s bond. Two people trying to keep each other from drowning.

But Y/n?

She was everything before the world taught him to be afraid of feeling.

She was stolen glances during meetings, the girl who danced for him under starlight when the world felt too heavy. The only softness left after his mother was gone, the one person he knew would never ask him to be more than he already was. She was honey and steel, grace and fire.

He had a damn ballroom built for her. At Riorson Estate. One she never even saw.

He’d planned to show her after the war was won. After they were free.

Instead, they were separated. And he spent every year since trying to convince himself that she would be safe, far away, untouched by Basgiath, and venin and all its horrors. Still dancing. Still his, in some distant, untouchable way.

But Sorrengail lied.

She sent her here. Dragged her into the bloodshed. Into the rebellion. Into his reach—close enough to taste, but farther than ever before.

And she hates him for it.

He felt it tonight. The tight smile. The polite nod. The cold dismissal of everything they once were.

Y/n, his sweet, talented, stubborn, darling Y/n.

He had lived for Sgaeyl. Protected Violet. But he’d always, always breathed for her.

And now... she looks at him like he’s no one.

He leans forward, bracing both hands on the wall, bowing his head.

“Gods, I don’t know how to fix this.”

Sgaeyl is silent for a moment. You cannot fix what you have not yet earned back.

He lets the words settle.

Then stands.

Because he may not be able to rewrite the past.

But if there’s a single shard of her love left buried under the pain—

He’ll bleed for it.

Taglist: @smileysunshinesworld @poisonivy2267 @whyucloudingmymind @universallyrascaldreamercookie @shadowmarurader @ambivalence-is-me @nikfigueiredo @nesiri21 @thechibifoxcub @wolfbc97 @turb05ynth

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[luvly-writer]

A Drop of Nostalgia

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Masterlist:

VIOLET - SAMARA OUTPOST

The room is quiet except for the low crackle of the fireplace in the corner.

We’re in Xaden’s quarters—one of the only soundproof and warded spaces in all of Samara—and it’s the only time we can talk freely while Tairn and Sgaeyl circle above, their weekly reunion ritual never missed.

Xaden sits across from me, shirt sleeves rolled up, the lines of his relic along his forearm reminding me of the peculiar girl back at Bagaith. His expression is calm, distant in that way he gets when he’s focused on a thousand things at once. But his eyes soften when they meet mine.

“You seem tired,” he says, voice low.

“Not tired,” I reply, dropping onto the small couch beside the window. “Just... trying to make sense of everything going on at Basgiath.”

His brow lifts slightly. “More kids with no business surviving the parapet and dying unfairly?”

“Actually, yes. But that’s not the weirdest part.” I lean forward, folding my hands together. “There’s this new first-year. She crossed the parapet like she was walking into a ballroom. Graceful. Controlled. You should’ve seen her, Xaden. It was like... watching someone dance across it.”

Xaden hums noncommittally.

I keep going, the words tumbling out before I realize what I’m revealing. “She’s fast. Deadly. Elegant in a way I’ve never seen. And it’s not just her movement—it’s everything. Her posture, the way she fights, even how she talks. She’s got this... captivating presence.”

I glance up and feel the shift in the air.

Xaden’s head turns sharply toward me, his body going completely still. His eyes—so often veiled and unreadable—are suddenly locked on mine with laser focus.

“What’s her name?” he asks, carefully.

“Y/n,” I say slowly, frowning. “Y/n Belvie.”

His breath leaves him in a way I’ve never heard before. Like the name ripped it straight out of his chest.

“Y/n Belvie is in Basgiath?” he says, the words almost too soft to hear.

I sit up straighter, narrowing my eyes. “You know her?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares past me, like he’s seeing something that isn’t here. His expression shifts—not with shock, but with something heavier. Older. Wistful.

I try to cover the sudden tightness in my chest. “She told me she used to dance for the Royal Committee. Said she was just that good.”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. “She is.”

I blink. “You’ve seen her dance?”

Xaden doesn’t look at me. His fingers drum silently against his thigh, once, then stop. “It’s good that she’s still dancing,” he says quietly, like it means something more than it should.

My stomach twists.

I shouldn’t ask.

But I do anyway.

“Were you two... close?”

His jaw tightens. I watch as the wall slams back into place behind his eyes, that expression I’ve seen a thousand times—the one that says don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.

He nods once, stiffly. “Something like that.”

There’s a beat of silence so sharp I can feel it cut through the space between us.

I want to push, want to know, but I also know that pressing will just build another wall between us. And I’m so tired of fighting him for pieces of truth.

So I nod instead, forcing a small smile. “She seems strong.”

“She always was.”

And that, more than anything, tells me this goes deep.

VIOLET

The sky stretches endlessly above me, Samara shrinking behind as we fly toward Basgiath. Tairn’s massive wings beat a steady rhythm beneath me, the cold air sharp against my skin despite the warmth still lingering from the last few hours.

But I can’t focus on the wind. Or the stars. Or anything.

Because I can’t stop thinking about her.

Y/n Belvie.

The name spins in my head like a loose blade, catching on the edges of things I didn’t realize were already fraying. It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.

She’s Imogen’s foster sister—that part is easy enough. I’ve seen them interact, seen how protective Imogen gets when Y/n’s name is even mentioned. There’s history there. Familiarity. Loyalty.

And Bodhi? The way he greeted her that first week, all smug little smiles and the kind of inside jokes only years could build—yeah, he knows her too.

But Xaden...

Tairn, I think, keeping my mind tethered to him even as it drifts. Did you know about Y/n? That Xaden knew her?

I do not keep track of every human Xaden Riorson has bonded with emotionally. It would be an exhausting list to catalogue.

Tairn.

I knew of her. But her presence at Basgiath surprised us all His mental tone shifts—still dry, but now... curious. And that surprises you.

Of course it does.

Because Xaden Riorson doesn’t get surprised.

Not unless something slips past him. And with his web of spies and shadows, his ability to know things he shouldn’t, the fact that Y/n arrived without him knowing—without Imogen or Bodhi telling him—is almost... suspicious.

Why wouldn’t they tell him? Why wouldn’t she?

He hadn’t seen her during any of his visits to Basgiath either. He said her name like it hurt. Like the wind had been knocked out of him. Like it mattered.

Another secret. Another locked room in the fortress that is Xaden Riorson’s life.

And what’s worse—what makes my stomach coil with something I don’t want to name—is the look on his face when he said:

It’s good that she’s still dancing.

Not just fondness. Longing.

A softness I’ve only seen in the quiet moments, the rare ones when he’s vulnerable with me. That look wasn’t new. That look had roots.

And now I can’t stop asking myself the question I shouldn’t ask.

Who exactly is Y/n Belvie to him?

The answer slips in, uninvited, like poison through a crack in the armor.

Someone he loved?

I hate the thought. Not because he has a past—I knew he would—but because no one told me. Because he didn’t tell me. Because I feel like a fool, once again, caught in the middle of a story that everyone else already knows the ending to.

The silence stretches between me and Tairn.

You are not wrong to ask questions, Silver one. But be careful of the answers you go looking for.

I exhale slowly, leaning into the curve of his neck as Basgiath’s towers appear in the distance.

“I’m always careful,” I murmur aloud.

But the truth is—I’m not.

Not when it comes to him.

Taglist: @smileysunshinesworld @poisonivy2267

To be added to taglist, leave a comment <3

[luvly-writer]

The Shadow Ballet:

Series Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes shadows tend to dance too close to the light and get found, especially when they are from the past. This is the case of Y/n Belvie, one of the marked ones and the new Cadet arriving along Sloane and Aaric in Violet’s second year. From what is known, this girl is Imogen’s foster sister, deadly, elegant, and beautiful. Word says she used to dance for the Royal Ballet Comitee, so why did her name cause so much tension when her name was brought up in a conversation with Xaden? Why did his eyes flash in hurt, longing, and regret?

A Ballerina at War

A Drop of Nostalgia

A Broken Music Box

An Aretia Grand Jeté

A Revealing Perfomance

A Dance of Love

The Tale of Three Aching Hearts

My Soul only Breathes for You

His Ballerina

The promise of Tomorrow

Author’s note: This one is one of the shorter ones , mainly cause it’s one of the last ones I wrote of the bunch and I wanted something short and nice. It will only have 10 chapters. <3

[luvly-writer]

A Ballerina at War

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Masterlist:

VIOLET

There are few things that can rattle Imogen Cardulo.

Not the deadliest gauntlet obstacle, not an explosion mid-mission, not even sneaking out of Basgiath to deliver rebellion intel right under leaderships’ noses. But right now, she’s pacing in front of the parapet like a gryphon with an itch it can’t reach, her jaw tight and her eyes constantly flicking to the narrowing edge.

Quinn leans casually against the stone wall, arms crossed. “She’s got this, Imogen. She was practically born to cross it.”

“She’s never been here,” Imogen snaps, running a hand through her pink hair. “This place isn’t like anything else. It... changes you.”

The way she says it—quietly, more to herself than anyone else—sends a chill down my spine.

It’s conscription day. Again.

I hate that it’s becoming routine. That every year, more kids are shoved across the parapet—some will die, some will bond, and a few will rise into legends. But it still makes my stomach twist watching them one by one stare death in the face.

A fresh wave of first-years begins their crossing, and I squint toward the edge. A few slip, one falls. My throat tightens.

And then I see her.

A figure emerges from the stone hallway, unshaken, chin high and shoulders relaxed in a way that immediately sets her apart. Her body is fluid, coiled with the kind of muscle memory that only comes from relentless, intentional training. She moves like no one I’ve ever seen before. Like... she’s dancing.

“Who—?” I start.

“That’s her,” Imogen whispers, frozen now, her eyes locked on the girl.

Her.

The girl launches forward in one fluid motion—not hesitating, not looking back. She leaps, and for a breathless second it’s like watching wind sculpt itself into something graceful and alive.

She lands. Steady. Sure. There’s not even a stumble. Just a small, almost imperceptible pause as she straightens and looks up.

Her h/c curls are gathered loosely behind her in a slicked back ponytail, and from here I can see the way her eyes scan the crowd like she's memorizing the moment. And then I see it—the mark that flashes along her hand and up to her elbow, curling like ink and flame all at once.

Another marked one.

She doesn’t try to hide it. Doesn’t flinch beneath the looks. Instead, she lifts her chin just slightly, a quiet defiance in every inch of her stance. A statement without words.

Imogen exhales a breath that sounds like it’s been caught in her lungs for years. “Y/n.”

I turn toward her sharply. “She’s one of you.”

“My foster sister,” Imogen says, voice low. “We grew up together. She's—” She swallows, and for the first time since I’ve known her, there's something like fear in her eyes. “She's here.”

A few weeks later

VIOLET

There’s something about her I can’t pin down.

Y/n Belvie.

She’s only been here a few weeks, yet already she moves through the halls of Basgiath like she’s always belonged. She trains like someone with years of experience in war, fights with a dancer’s grace and a strategist’s mind—cautious, quick, calculated. She adapts mid-battle the way most riders do after months of drills.

She’s fast. Flexible. Elegant in a way that shouldn’t make sense here, in a place carved out of violence and fire. Even when she fights, there’s something... beautiful in the way she moves. Controlled.

And it’s frustrating. Infuriating, even.

Because it took me weeks to walk straight, months to stop flinching at every raised voice or slammed door. I had to fight for every scrap of strength, had to learn to hide how much it hurt to keep up.

But she?

She makes it look easy.

And I don’t know why I care so much.

She’s formed quick friendships—Sloane, Aaric. That one especially sticks. There’s a quiet familiarity between them I can’t name, a shared look that says history even if no one else knows it. Not flirtation, not exactly. Something deeper. Older. It makes me wonder.

Tonight, I’m walking back from the Archives, the halls long since emptied of foot traffic. My feet ache, my brain is overloaded with names of scrolls and battle reports that haven’t been opened in decades. I should be heading to bed.

But the sound catches me.

Music.

Delicate, haunting. Piano, but not the kind anyone plays in the common room. Something... practiced. Refined.

It’s coming from one of the older training rooms—ones rarely used now that we’re off rotation. The door is cracked open just enough for the notes to slip through, and I push it open quietly.

And then I see her.

Y/n is on the far end of the room, her hair pulled back into a bun, dark curls pinned away from her face. She’s wearing fitted black training clothes, but it’s the shoes that catch my attention. Pointe shoes. Tight against her feet, satin ribbons laced up her ankles.

She’s dancing.

No—performing. Every movement is precise, every lift of her arms deliberate. She pirouettes midair, landing on the balls of her feet like she weighs nothing at all. Her arms arc over her head like they’re floating, but her eyes—there’s something hardened in them. Determined. Controlled.

It’s breathtaking.

And I can’t look away.

She finishes with a final sweep and a drop into a low pose, her back arched slightly, chest lifted toward the dim ceiling light like she’s offering herself to it.

Silence.

Then she moves. Unlaces her shoes, grabs a towel and her water bottle. She’s halfway to packing up when she freezes.

Eyes on me.

A blade flashes in her hand—small, sleek, and ready.

“I’m not here to fight,” I say, hands raised. “I just—sorry. That was... beautiful.”

Y/n blinks, and for a second, something almost vulnerable flickers across her features before the blank mask falls back into place. Her grip loosens just slightly, but she doesn’t put the dagger away. Just… keeps it close as she starts unlacing the ribbons from her ankles.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” I offer, stepping just inside the doorway.

She says nothing, just packs her shoes carefully and changes into boots. Still watching me.

“You’re a dancer?” I ask.

She gives a single nod. “Was.”

“For the... Royal Committee?” I hedge, piecing it together from the way her arms curved and her posture held itself.

She finally looks up at me. “You recognize the style.”

“My sister trained with them for a bit before she chose to train for the Rider’s Quadrant. I only saw one performance, but...” I glance at her again. “It’s unforgettable.”

Y/n’s expression doesn’t shift. Not even a smile.

“So... you danced there,” I say, and I can’t help it—my gaze drops to the relic spiraling up her hand, black against her skin. “But you’re from Tyrrendor.”

There’s a pause. The air goes still.

“I’m just that good,” she says coolly, picking up her bag.

I blink, not sure whether to laugh or apologize. “Is that why you’re so good at training? Why you move like—like that?”

Y/n’s brow lifts, as if she doesn’t understand why I’m still here. “Ballet training isn’t that different from torture,” she replies. “You just have to smile through the pain.”

And she turns on her heel and walks out.

I stand there for a moment, stunned. It takes me a second to catch my breath.

Then it clicks.

Belvie.

Marjory Belvie. One of Fen Riorson’s known spies. High noble turned rebel asset. There’d been whispers—rumors of a daughter sent to be a dancer in the capital under the royal eye. A punishment for her mother’s betrayal. A message to every other noble who dared defy the crown.

They turned her into a weapon by turning her into a spectacle.

And now she’s here.

Taglist: @smileysunshinesworld @poisonivy2267

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment. <3

[luvly-writer]

This was amazing!

A cousin mess

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x Sorrengail!Reader

Summary: Being Violet Sorrengail’s cousin was already hard enough—being caught sneaking out of your section leader Bodhi Durran’s bed at dawn by Xaden Riorson, fresh from Violet’s room, was a special kind of hell. What follows is a tangled mess of whispered arguments, loyalty wars, and night-time rendezvous no war college rulebook could prepare you for.

Warning: Explicit content, mentions of smut, mutual pettiness, and way too many cousins making bad decisions.

Being a Sorrengail had always come with weight.

You carried it like a second skin, worn and stretched tight across your bones since the moment you could walk. Expectations were stitched into your name, assumptions following like a shadow you could never shake. Mira blazed a path of honour and command. Lilith forged hers in steel and blood. Violet? Violet shattered every mould she touched.

And you? You were the cousin. The one tucked just far enough away from centre stage to be forgotten—until now.

Basgiath didn’t care who you were related to. It chewed on legacies and spat out corpses, and you were doing your best not to become one of them. Being in the same year as Violet made it… complicated. Mira had pulled you aside before Conscription Day, her hand gripping your shoulder with that unshakable Commander focus in her eyes.

“Protect her,” she’d said, voice low, urgent. “She doesn’t know how to survive in a place like this. Not like we do.”

Except Violet—blessedly stubborn, recklessly brilliant Violet—seemed to have no interest in being protected. She disobeyed the basic laws of physics with her ability to get herself nearly killed. Climbing trees to outrun other cadets, defying direct orders from Xaden Riorson, jumping headfirst into challenges with nothing but sarcasm and sheer nerve.

And now? Now she was bonded to Tairn—a dragon older than most mountain ranges and mated to Sgaeyl, the most terrifying creature in the sky.

Which meant your cousin was irrevocably linked to Xaden Riorson.

And you were stuck watching their growing bond unfold in terrifying proximity. Mira’s warning haunted you—“Keep her away from him”—but how the hell were you supposed to do that when their dragons were soul-bound lovers and Tairn would probably set the entire quadrant on fire if they didn’t breathe the same air?

So while Violet and Xaden bristled and burned their way toward whatever inevitable storm they were summoning, you were left fighting off Dust-born threats, surviving gruelling assessments, and covering for your cousin’s increasingly dangerous choices.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos… you fell for Bodhi Durran.

Gods, you told yourself it was just a crush. Something fleeting. A temporary infatuation born of stress and sweat and the way his hair curled at the ends when it got too long. But that was weeks ago.

Now?

Now you were tangled in his sheets, your skin bare beneath his as sunlight threatened the horizon but didn’t dare break through yet. The dorm was quiet. Everyone else had long since collapsed into sleep or vanished into early morning training. But Bodhi?

He had other plans.

“You’re not getting out of this quiz,” he murmured, lips brushing the slope of your neck, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. “You’ve got an exam in three hours, and you said you wanted to pass without cheating.”

His fingers lazily traced the curve of your thigh where it hooked over his hip, holding you close. Your body still buzzed from everything that had happened minutes ago, a warm ache spreading deep in your bones in the most satisfying way.

“Boh,” you sighed, drawing out the nickname only you called him. Your voice was thick with sleep and the remnants of pleasure, and he hummed at the sound of it against his skin. “You’re literally inside me and trying to quiz me on military history.”

“You’re smart. You can multitask,” he said, smirking, dipping his head again to place another maddeningly slow kiss beneath your jaw, your collarbone, lower. “Name the last battle Commander Melgren led before the Third Rebellion.”

“Gods,” you breathed, arching into him. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“You said you wanted to learn. I’m a very thorough teacher.”

You swatted lightly at his shoulder, and he laughed softly against your skin, nuzzling at your neck before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was sleepy and warm and dangerous all at once—because Bodhi Durran had always been dangerous. Not in the same way Xaden was, all shadows and smoke and silent rage. No, Boh was sharp in a different way. Subtle. Patient. He cracked you open one kiss at a time.

You hated that you liked him. Loved that you did.

And in moments like this, when the world wasn’t watching and Violet wasn’t nearly dying and you weren’t buried under the weight of Sorrengail blood… you could breathe.

“You’re thinking again,” he said quietly, fingers brushing your temple. “Don’t. Not yet.”

“I have to,” you whispered. “Eventually.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, and the teasing was gone now, melted away into something real. Something that made your chest ache.

“You’re not your cousin,” he said softly. “You’re you. You don’t have to carry everyone.”

You blinked, and your heart stuttered painfully. “Yeah? And what if carrying her is the only reason I’m still breathing?”

Boh didn’t answer right away. He just kissed you—slow and deep and grounding.

And for a little while longer, you let yourself exist only in the warmth of his arms, your tangled sheets, and the promise of a tomorrow you might actually live to see.

You sigh against his lips and pull back—just slightly—pressing a hand to his chest. He’s warm under your palm, steady and solid like the only thing in this godsdamned place that doesn’t shift beneath your feet.

But your voice is soft when you speak. “I should go.”

Bodhi frowns, his dark brow creasing, but doesn’t move. “No.”

“Boh—”

“It’s not even light out yet,” he says, voice still husky from sleep and sin. His fingers flex on your hip like he could keep you here with just that touch, and honestly, it’s unfair how effective it is. “Stay a little longer.”

You shake your head, though it kills you. “If I leave when everyone else is waking up and sees me sneaking out of your room, it’ll be all over the quadrant by breakfast.”

He groans and rolls onto his back beside you, flopping dramatically into the pillow like you’ve mortally wounded him. “Let them talk. You think I care what they say?”

“I care,” you admit, pulling the blanket up over your chest as you sit up slightly, heart hammering as you glance at the door like it might swing open at any second and reveal a very judgmental Sorrengail sister. “I’ve got enough eyes on me already. Violet, Mira, Xaden—”

That gets his attention. His head snaps toward you. “What the hell does Xaden have to do with anything?”

You glance down at the sheets, twisting the corner of the blanket between your fingers. “He doesn’t, not really. But he’s always around Violet. And I’m always around her. And he’s your cousin. So, you know, it’s… messy.”

Bodhi pushes himself up on one elbow, dark curls a mess against his forehead, bare chest glowing gold in the faint predawn light sneaking in through the window. His voice is gentler this time, but still firm.

“Messy doesn’t mean wrong.”

You look at him, eyes narrowed. “We’re cadets sneaking around in the middle of a quite traumatic year. You’re my section leader. I’m a Sorrengail. You’re a Durran. And this—” You gesture vaguely between your bodies. “—is very, very naked.”

He smirks like the smug bastard he is. “Best part of my day, honestly.”

You groan and shove his shoulder, but he catches your wrist before you can pull away, lacing your fingers together.

His voice drops lower, almost serious. “I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”

The honesty in his tone slices through you with all the gentleness of a blade. And for a second, just a breath, you hesitate. It would be so easy to stay. To curl back into his warmth and let the outside world fall away.

But you know better. Basgiath doesn’t allow easy.

So you press your forehead to his and whisper, “You’ll see me tonight?”

His smile softens. “Every night you’ll have me.”

Gods, you are so screwed.

You pull away—slowly, deliberately—feeling every place your body protests the loss of his heat. You collect your clothes silently, his gaze never once leaving your figure as you shimmy into your leggings, his oversized shirt still clinging to your shoulders like it belongs there.

He stays in bed, one arm thrown over the pillow where your head just was. His expression is unreadable, a strange mix of longing and something darker beneath it, something he’s not ready to say out loud.

You pad barefoot to the door, pausing with your hand on the handle.

“I’ll get points docked if you fall asleep in class,” you say over your shoulder, trying to keep the mood light.

“I’ll survive.” He leans back and grins. “But your punishment will be making it up to me later.”

You roll your eyes but smile—genuine and maybe a little too wide—and slip out before you lose your nerve.

The hallway is dim, the stone cool beneath your bare feet as you tiptoe your way toward your own room, Bodhi’s oversized shirt hanging past your thighs and still warm from his body. You’re three doors down—so close to freedom—when another door creaks open ahead of you.

You freeze.

It’s Violet’s door.

And stepping out—hoodless, shirt askew, hair unmistakably mussed—is Xaden godsdamned Riorson.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s too busy pulling his jacket straight, running a hand through his dark hair, looking every bit as guilty as you feel.

But then he looks up.

You both stop.

Eyes widen.

And in perfect synchronicity, you both whisper shout at the exact same time:

“What the hell were you doing in my cousin’s room?!”

“What the hell are you doing in my cousin’s shirt?!”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He gestures wildly, pointing at the garment hanging off your frame. “That’s Bodhi’s! That’s his shirt!”

“And you were just in Violet’s room,” you hiss, stalking toward him with a level of righteous rage that has you vibrating. “You swore to Mira—you know what? No. I swore to Mira that I’d keep Violet safe from you!”

He scoffs. “Safe from me? I’m the only reason she’s still breathing.”

You jab your finger into his chest, teeth clenched. “That’s my cousin in there!”

He leans in, dark eyes blazing. “That’s my cousin down the hall!”

You both pause, breathing hard in the near-darkness, your whispered shouting echoing off the stone walls.

His voice drops, tight and clipped. “You’re a first year. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You blink at him, slow and deadly. “Try pulling rank on me again, Riorson. I dare you.”

He opens his mouth like he might try it anyway, but the stare you level at him—pure Sorrengail steel sharpened by years of being underestimated—makes him think better of it. He shuts his mouth with a snap and takes a half-step back.

There’s a long beat where you both just glare at each other. Silent. Fuming.

You mutter, “I’m gonna vomit.”

He crosses his arms. “Yeah, right after me.”

You spin on your heel, storming toward Violet’s door. “I swear to the wards, if you broke her heart I’ll find a way to make Sgaeyl regret ever mating.”

“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he calls after you, already stalking toward Bodhi’s door. “If you mess with Bodhi, I’ll tell Mira you slept with your section leader.”

You whirl around, whisper-yelling, “YOU WON’T—”

Both of you freeze again—guilty, caught, panting with rage—and then scramble in opposite directions.

You rush the last few steps to Violet’s door, knuckles already rapping in rapid succession, whispering furiously, “Violet, open up! I need to scream into your pillow or jump out your window or maybe shove you out of it, whichever happens first—”

Behind you, you hear Xaden’s fist slam against Bodhi’s door. “Bodhi, open the door before I throw you out the godsdamn window—”

Two doors creak open at once.

Two cousins blink sleepily in the thresholds.

Two pairs of voices say, in perfect, groggy harmony:

“What the hell is going on?

[luvly-writer]

hi there! your writings are just absolutely wonderful, and I look forward to all of your updates! no rush at all, but do you have a plan for when you’ll be releasing the rest of ‘of light and shadow’? lol I’ve been checking nonstop for the rest of it. thank you so much for your works! <3

Hello!! The final chapters are posted. Enjoy!! :)

[luvly-writer]

hi love! do you think you’ll finish Of Light and Shadow? no rush at all! i just love your writings and am super excited to see how it ends 🫶

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, all parts are posted!! :)

[luvly-writer]

Of Light and Shadow Incorrect quotes:

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! reader

Masterlist:

Xaden: *wearing black*

Y/n, ever the icon: breaking out the spring colors i see

Y/n: Ridoc, tell Xaden that he is an idiot, but i still love him

Ridoc: Absolutely not. Tell him yourself

Y/n: No, i am mad at him

Ridoc: you are in his lap?

Y/n: I’m also sad? keep up??

Y/n: can you help me with the zipper

Xaden: sure, love

Y/n: UP, Xaden

Xaden: are you sure?

Garrick: so did you kiss her?

Xaden: No, the moment wasn’t right

Xaden: Look, Y/n could be my future wife, I want our first kiss to be everything

Imogen: That is so sweet, you chickened out like a little bitch

Xaden, with barely contained amusement: All my shirts are disappearing

Y/n, absolutely unbothered and wearing a shirt three times her size: mysteriously?

Xaden, biting back a grin: mhmm

Y/n: that is so weird.

Y/n, after convincing Xaden to do her makeup: Don’t forget to blot

Xaden: The fuck does that mean?

Y/n: Like dap the excess off?

Xaden: Say less

Xaden:*kisses her*

Y/n: I know that you are working but i pulled you aside just to ask if you still love me cause the way you put your shoes on this morning seemed a little angry and i needed to be sure

Xaden, melting: my love…

Y/n: If I died, how much would you miss me?

Xaden: It’s funny you think death can get you out of this relationship

Y/n: don’t say a word

Ridoc: …fergulous

Y/n:

Y/n: I said no word

Ridoc: Oh i see how it works, you see cause two weeks ago when we were playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word cause it’s convenient for you?

Y/n: *accidentally brushing her hand with Xaden’s*

Xaden: *aggressively grabbing her hand*

Xaden, muttering: Fucking commit to it, will you?

Violet: Whose turn is it to give the pep talk?

Xaden: *sighs* Ridoc

Ridoc: Fuck shit up out there, but don’t die

Garrick, Sawyer, Bodhi: *whipping tears away with they hands in their chest* inspirational

Y/n: for fuck’s sake

Y/n: It sure is dark in here

Xaden:

Y/n, still doesn’t know how to summon light in the dark: I’m not scared or anything. I’m good. I swear.

Xaden, smirking:

Y/n:

Xaden: Do you want me to hold your hand?

Y/n: Thank Amari, I thought I was gonna have to ask

Y/n: What if Xaden kisses me?

Violet: You kiss back, naturally

Y/n, half listening cause she got distracted by Xaden sparring: uh huh…

Y/n: not that i’m opposed to it, but why his back exactly?

Violet: YOU KISS HIM BACK!! HIM!!

Garrick: Be yourself, honeybear

Xaden: “bE mYsElf”? Garrick, I have one day to win Y/n over. How long did it take before you guys started liking me?

Liam : Couple weeks

Imogen: Six Months

Bodhi: Depends on the day

Xaden: See, Garrick?

Xaden: ‘Be myself”. What kind of advice is that?

Garrick: For fuck’s sake, sHE ALREADY LIKES YOU YOU DUMB FUCK

Xaden: I am forgetting something

Y/n: morals, probably

Xaden: no, my love, something important

Y/n: i need to test out my new signature, can someone tell me if it’s any good?

Xaden: Sure, here, use this to practice

Y/n: oh! thank y-

Y/n:

Y/n: this is a marriage certificate

Xaden: i fail to see the problem

Xaden: My girl could stab me and i’d sink in to the dagger just to be closer, but that’s just me

Y/n, with full on heart eyes: awee

Ridoc: AND YOU DON'T SEE HOW THATS CONCERNING WHY????

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[luvly-writer]

Bliss: Stressful situations

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The war room was colder than usual, the fire in the hearth crackling low. Maps littered the table. Reports. Threat assessments. Requests from outposts. Royal eyes watching their every move. And silence hung sharp between the Duke and Duchess of Tyrrendor.

“I told you we shouldn’t have promised the supplies yet,” Xaden snapped, pacing. “We don’t have the numbers. We can’t protect everyone.”

Y/n’s jaw clenched. “And what do you want me to do, Xaden? Let them starve?”

“I want you to think, not act on emotions. You’re not just a rider anymore.”

Her eyes flared. “And you’re not just a commander. You’re a leader, my husband—maybe try not treating me like one of your lieutenants.”

Xaden stopped, turning to face her. His voice was low, hard. “You act like your heart is more important than the people depending on us.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart stung, like he’d sliced straight through it.

“And you act like your logic is the only thing keeping this duchy alive.” Her voice cracked. “Like you have to carry the world on your own and anyone who cares too loudly is a liability.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “You did. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I do feel too much. But at least I still feel. At least I still remember why we fought, why we bled, and why we lead.”

He flinched like she’d slapped him.

A long, painful silence filled the space between them. Two hearts still aching for each other, but bristling with everything left unsaid.

Y/n swallowed hard and looked away, blinking quickly. “I’m gonna sleep in Ridoc’s quarters tonight.”

Xaden didn’t stop her. His jaw locked, eyes heavy with regret, but he nodded once, barely.

She turned, hand resting on the doorframe. “I love you,” she said softly, without looking back.

“I love you too,” he whispered, but she was already gone.

And the war room fell silent again—colder than ever.

The hallway outside Ridoc’s quarters was dim, lit only by the low hum of lanterns along the stone walls. Xaden stood there, silent for a long moment, knuckles hovering just short of the door.

He hated this. The tension. The space between them. The weight of the fight still clinging to his chest like ash.

They had promised—no matter what, they wouldn’t go to sleep angry.

So he knocked.

The door creaked open a few seconds later, revealing Ridoc shirtless, hair a mess, blinking like he’d just been dragged out of the deepest sleep imaginable.

“What,” Ridoc said flatly, narrowing his eyes, “do you want, Riorson?”

Xaden didn’t hesitate. “I need to see her.”

Ridoc sighed, scratching the back of his head. “She’s asleep. Or trying to be.”

“I just... We never go to bed mad. That’s always been our rule.”

Ridoc leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed now, brows drawn together. “And normally, I’d tell you to get in there and fix it.” A pause. “But not tonight.”

Xaden stiffened. “Ridoc—”

“She’s hurting. You’re hurting. You both said things you regret, but if you go in there right now, raw and exhausted, it might make it worse.” His tone wasn’t cruel, just… protective. Steady. “Let her breathe, Xaden. Let her rest.”

Xaden looked down, jaw clenching. “I hate this.”

Ridoc sighed. “Yeah. Me too.” He stepped forward just a bit. “But she’s my sister, and you’re my friend. So trust me when I say—give her the night. Talk to her tomorrow when your head isn’t still clouded with war maps and guilt.”

The weight of it all settled over Xaden’s shoulders, but he finally nodded.

“Tell her…” His voice cracked slightly. “Tell her I still love her.”

Ridoc’s expression softened just a touch. “She knows.”

And then the door closed gently.

Xaden stood there for a long while, staring at the wood. Then he turned back toward their quarters, empty and cold without her—counting down the hours until morning.

Y/n sat on the edge of Ridoc’s bed, legs drawn up to her chest, hair messily braided over one shoulder. She hadn’t slept much. Not with the argument still echoing in her mind, not with the hollow ache of regret lodged deep in her chest.

She heard Ridoc move about quietly in the adjoining room, giving her space. Always giving her space when she needed it most.

But then came the soft knock at the door.

Her heart stilled.

Ridoc’s voice drifted in, quiet and almost amused. “It’s for you.”

She blinked. Stood. Walked toward the door like her body moved on instinct, not entirely ready—but still needing to see him.

Xaden was there, in the hallway. Dark circles under his eyes. Hands tucked in the pockets of his coat like he didn’t know what else to do with them. And when his eyes lifted to meet hers—

Gods.

There was so much in that look.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough with sleep and guilt. “For everything I said. For the way I snapped. For forgetting I’m not doing this alone.”

She blinked, throat tightening. “I said things I didn’t mean either.”

He took a slow step closer. “You were right about the pressure. About how I shut you out sometimes. But I need you. Not just beside me in court. I need you.”

A pause.

“I hate waking up without you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched. Her walls crumbled.

And before she could think twice, she stepped into his arms, burying her face into his chest as his arms wrapped around her tightly, like he’d never let go again.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s like the air goes still when you’re not near me.”

She laughed softly against his chest, then pulled back just enough to cup his face.

“We’re both learning,” she said, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. “And we’ll keep learning. Together.”

He leaned down, forehead pressed to hers. “Together.”

And when their lips met, it was slow. Healing. The kind of kiss that sealed the cracks they’d caused in the night.

Later that morning, when they returned to their own quarters hand in hand—Ridoc took one look at them, grumbled something about “soft idiots,” and walked away with a smirk.

But the way Xaden kept his hand tightly clasped in hers?

Y/n knew they’d be just fine.

They sat together in their quarters, curled on the couch beneath a shared blanket. The first light of morning filtered through the windows, golden and soft, casting a glow over the room. The fire in the hearth crackled low, comforting. Xaden had made tea—well, burnt it slightly—but Y/n still sipped it like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

They hadn’t said much since returning, just stayed close. Reassuring. Steadying.

Finally, Y/n broke the silence.

“I hate that we let them get to us,” she said softly, staring into her mug. “The advisors, the court, the expectations. I feel like I’m constantly trying to prove that I belong here… and sometimes I wonder if I’m failing.”

Xaden looked over at her, something dark and fierce softening in his expression. “You’re not failing. You never were. They don’t know the woman who’s won battles and built bridges with her bare hands. They don’t see what I see.”

She looked up at him. “And what do you see?”

His voice lowered, steady and sure. “A force of nature in pearls and gold. The strongest person in any room—and the kindest. The reason I can even breathe through any of this.”

Y/n blinked fast. “I just… I want to do this right. For Tyrrendor. For us.”

“You are,” he said, gently taking her tea and setting it aside. His hand came to rest on her knee, thumb brushing in circles. “But we can’t forget us in all this. I think I got so wrapped up in the title—trying to be who my father never could be—that I stopped listening.”

“And I stopped giving you the benefit of the doubt,” she admitted. “I forgot that it’s always been us against the world.”

He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her temple. “Then let’s remember it now.”

She leaned into him, her voice muffled against his neck. “We promised to always talk before bed. No more silence. Even when it’s messy.”

“No more silence,” he echoed, wrapping his arms tighter around her. “And maybe fewer meetings at sunrise.”

Y/n laughed softly. “Agreed.”

They stayed there for a long time. No thrones, no court, no titles—just Y/n and Xaden, reminding each other that their love had always been the strongest thing they carried.

Author's note: IM CRYING?! I can't believe this is over. This story meant so much to me! I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing and reading it. I have a small surprise for you guys and it is that I made a Of Light and Shadow incorrect post cause I wanted something cute. It will be linked to the masterlist. As for updates, I currently have a post with all my drafts so be sure to check it out to know more of my next project from The Empyrean Universe. Thank you so much for reading!

Next Story selections

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[luvly-writer]

Bliss: Just Pure Love

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

Random moments where they are just so deeply in love

Basgaith Era, Pre-Dating

Xaden was deep in thought, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall of the commons, reviewing the latest quadrant assignments on a small parchment. The sun filtering through the stone windows caught the angles of his face, painting him in gold and shadow. Y/n sat nearby, pretending to read, but her eyes flicked toward him with growing mischief.

She had just finished applying a bold new lipstick—a deep crimson that matched the fire in her veins. She pressed her lips together, assessing the pigment’s hold, then smirked.

He hadn’t even looked up.

Typical.

She closed her book with a snap and rose from her seat, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Xaden,” she said lightly, and he finally looked up, brow slightly raised in curiosity.

“Walk with me?” she asked, sweet as ever.

He tilted his head, suspicious of her tone but already slipping the parchment into his pocket. “Sure.”

They wandered down one of the quieter corridors near the archery training halls, the air dimmer, quieter, and completely empty.

Y/n glanced up at him with mock-innocence. “I need your help with something.”

Xaden raised a brow, a subtle smirk forming. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, it is.” She turned to face him, stepping into his space before he could process it. “Hold still.”

Before he could question her, she pressed her lips to his cheek—then another kiss to his jaw—then one just under his ear. His breath caught, eyes widening, stunned still.

“Y/n—”

“Shh,” she whispered, grinning. “I’m testing something.”

Then her lips met his—soft, teasing, coaxing—and he all but melted. His hands found her hips before he realized they had moved, his mind blank except for the feel of her, the scent of her perfume, and the taste of wild cherries.

By the time she finally pulled back, they were both breathless.

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, and tapped her chin with mock thoughtfulness. “Hmm. It’s long-lasting, but not smudge-proof. Good to know.”

Xaden could only blink, still dazed, lips slightly parted.

She smoothed her smudged lipstick with one finger, glanced at him, and winked. “Thanks for being my test subject.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked away, like she hadn’t just turned his entire afternoon upside down.

As she rounded the corner, Garrick strolled by, did a double take, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Xaden was standing there, flushed, breathing a little too hard, and absolutely covered in crimson lipstick marks—his jaw, his cheek, his neck, and one vivid, perfect kiss at the corner of his mouth.

Garrick’s eyes widened, then he grinned like the bastard he was. “You good, Riorson?”

Xaden exhaled slowly, a smirk curling across his lips. “Never better.”

And Garrick just cackled as he walked away, already planning how he was going to tell the squad.

A Quiet Moment in His Arms

The late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of their private study, warm and golden, casting a gentle glow on the room’s stone walls and soft furnishings. The door was shut, the world blissfully far away. In that golden silence, Y/n sat straddling Xaden’s lap, facing him, her arms draped loosely around his neck as she told him about her day—her voice light and animated, her laughter rippling like sunlight on water.

She absentmindedly played with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, her fingers brushing delicately through them, curling them around her fingertips, and smoothing them out again. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed with the joy of simple conversation. She was barefoot, relaxed, still in one of his tunics that hung soft and loose off her shoulder, and to Xaden, she had never looked more like home.

He didn’t say much. Didn’t need to. He was just looking at her—utterly captivated.

Her voice faded into the background as he took her in: the way the sunlight kissed the high points of her face, how her curls framed her jaw like a halo, how her smile tugged at something deep inside him and made his chest ache with a love so consuming it was almost unbearable. She smelled faintly of their soap and citrus, her skin warm from the bath they’d taken earlier, and her presence wrapped around him like a lullaby.

Y/n paused mid-story, noticing his silence.

Her fingers stilled. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” she asked, amused, her head tilting slightly.

“I am,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “I just... I’m trying to commit this to memory. The way you look right now. The way you smell. The sound of your voice. Everything.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

He leaned in and pressed his forehead gently to hers, his hand finding the small of her back, grounding her against him. “You’re so beautiful it makes me stupid sometimes.”

Y/n laughed, soft and surprised, her nose brushing his. “You’ve always been stupid around me, Riorson.”

“Only for you,” he whispered, his smile crooked as he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Always for you.”

She melted then, arms tightening around his neck, her forehead resting against his as her fingers resumed their gentle play. The moment stretched, slow and sacred, both of them suspended in it—no war, no titles, no pressure. Just her. Just him.

Just love.

That's My Wife

The estate was quiet, bathed in the golden hush of late afternoon light. The festival had passed, the estate buzz faded to a lull, and for once—once—they had no pressing duties, no messages, no interruptions.

Y/n was sitting on the windowsill of their chambers, one leg curled beneath her, the other dangling, a book in hand and a soft hum on her lips. Her curls were loose, catching the light like silk, her neckline brushed with saltwater and sun, still wearing one of his shirts from the morning. The one with the slightly stretched collar and faint ink smudge from when she wrote letters.

Xaden walked in and paused.

Just… paused.

Because godsdamnit, that was his wife.

His.

The woman who used to roll her eyes at his flirting, who used to nudge him with teasing smiles and pretend she wasn’t watching him train. The woman who wore Tyrish silk like armor and light like a crown. The one who fought for their people, for him, for their future—and who now sat barefoot, humming like she belonged nowhere else but in that very moment.

He crossed the room in four strides.

“Xaden?” she asked, glancing up just as he reached her.

He didn’t answer.

He kissed her.

Hands on her waist, lips pressed to hers like it had been months instead of hours, like he needed to make up for every second he wasn’t touching her. She laughed against his mouth, soft and surprised, one hand gripping his shirt.

“What’s gotten into you?” she murmured, breathless.

“You,” he muttered, pulling back just to kiss her again. And again. And again.

On her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, down her neck. He couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.

She giggled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Xaden—”

“That’s my wife,” he muttered like a prayer between kisses. “My godsdamn wife.”

She melted into him, fingers threading into his hair. “Yours.”

Forever and always, in every stolen kiss and every breathless laugh.

They Don’t Even Notice

Outside their chamber door, Ridoc froze.

He had come with a very valid reason—well, somewhat valid, depending on who you asked. A new delivery of wine had arrived and he needed Y/n’s opinion before the kitchen staff hoarded the best bottles. That was fair. Logical. Entirely noble of him, really.

What he hadn’t expected was to open the door (because knocking was clearly not something he understood) and be hit with the full force of domestic, married bliss.

Xaden had Y/n wrapped in his arms like she was made of stars and honey. Her book had long since fallen to the floor, forgotten, and she was giggling into his mouth between kisses that were entirely too much for his poor brotherly brain to handle. Xaden’s hand was under the hem of her shirt—his shirt, obviously—and his lips were tracing a line just under her jaw, whispering something low that made her sigh and tug him closer.

“They don’t even notice me,” Ridoc muttered, scandalized.

Behind him, Sawyer peeked in, widened his eyes, and slowly backed away like he’d just witnessed a war crime.

“Leave them,” Rhiannon whispered, appearing behind them both with a smirk. “Let them have their moment.”

“They’re always having a moment,” Ridoc hissed. “Do they even eat anymore?”

“They definitely do,” Violet muttered, sipping her tea behind them and then, pointedly, “just not at our table.”

Garrick chuckled from where he was lounging against the hallway wall, arms crossed. “He’s not letting her go anytime soon. You know that, right?”

“She married him, not fused to him!” Ridoc hissed. “I need my sister back!”

Back in the room, Y/n was giggling breathlessly, curled in Xaden’s lap now, arms draped lazily around his neck as he kissed her again, then her temple, then whispered something in her ear that made her blush and swat at his chest.

“Let’s just wait until they come up for air,” Rhiannon grinned.

“They never come up for air,” Ridoc groaned. “We’re never getting her back, are we?”

“Not a chance,” Violet laughed.

And inside, completely unaware of their very not-private privacy being invaded, Xaden pressed his forehead to Y/n’s and whispered, “Mine.”

Her smile turned soft, luminous. “Yours.”

Part tree sprite

Xaden slowed to a stop in the middle of the training field, something tugging at the edge of his senses. The bond hummed with quiet contentment—not worry, not danger, but… peace.

He followed it like a string, brow furrowing as he passed the edge of the trees, scanning the area. And then he spotted it. Her.

There, nestled between the sturdy branches of a tall oak, lay Y/n, one leg hanging lazily off the side, her dark curls tied loosely with a ribbon, swaying with the breeze. Her fingers toyed with one of the small shells from her necklace, eyes half-closed against the late afternoon sun.

Xaden stared up at her, utterly baffled and entirely endeared.

“Can my wife explain to me why on earth she’s in a tree?” he called out, folding his arms, one brow raised.

Y/n blinked down at him and grinned. “Why wouldn’t I be in a tree?”

He blinked slowly, lips twitching. “Not exactly standard duchess behavior.”

“Maybe not,” she said, sitting up and stretching like a cat. “But back home, I used to climb this huge ceiba by the sea. I’d lay up there for hours just listening to the wind in the branches and the ocean in the distance.” She paused, eyes softening. “It felt a little like home up here.”

Xaden’s amusement melted into tenderness, the way it always did with her.

“I should’ve known you’d be part tree sprite,” he muttered, shaking his head fondly.

Y/n giggled and held out her hand. “Wanna come up?”

He gave the tree an unimpressed look. “I’d rather not break my spine impressing my tree-scaling wife.”

“Your loss. Great view up here.”

He just smiled, stepping closer so he could rest his hand on her ankle where it dangled. “No better view than the one I’ve got now.”

Her heart gave a little flutter. “Smooth.”

“I try.”

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Thanks for finding me.”

“Always,” he said, brushing his thumb over her ankle like a silent vow.

And even though he didn’t climb up, he stayed right there below her, watching the breeze rustle the leaves and her smile, until the sun dipped low.

Spiderkiss

Xaden had just walked out of the strategy meeting when he heard soft humming above. His steps slowed, instinctively scanning the treetops, already half-expecting what he might find.

Sure enough, perched on one of the sturdier branches of the same damn tree she'd claimed as her “thinking spot,” Y/n was moving about in that confident, feline way she always had when climbing—barefoot, nimble, sure.

Except this time, she did something he absolutely did not expect.

She flipped.

Effortlessly. Gracefully.

One moment she was crouched on the branch like a lounging bird, and the next, she was dangling upside down by her knees—ribboned curls swaying like a pendulum, charm bracelet jingling faintly, golden piercings glinting in the sun.

“Y/n—” Xaden froze mid-step, heart stuttering. “By the gods, what are you—?”

“Hi, handsome,” she said sweetly, upside down, her smile downright mischievous.

And then she cupped his face in both hands and pulled him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t gentle, it was fun—all lips and laughter and tangled breath as her legs wobbled a little with the shift in gravity, and he instinctively grabbed her waist to steady her.

The kiss deepened just enough to make him forget she was upside down and he was very much not in control of the situation.

When she finally pulled back, giggling, she smirked down at his stunned expression. “Been waiting all day to try that.”

Xaden blinked. “You just—kissed me upside down.”

“Yep,” she said proudly, still hanging. “Spider-Rider kiss. Pretty badass, huh?”

He let out a slow breath, hands still on her waist. “You’re going to give me a damn heart attack one day.”

She beamed. “But I’ll kiss you better after.”

He growled softly, brushing his knuckles along her jaw. “Don’t test me, Y/n Gamlyn-Riorson.”

“You love being tested,” she teased, flipping down in a smooth arc to land right in front of him.

Xaden stared at her, totally disarmed.

And then he kissed her again, right-side up this time—just to prove that no matter which way gravity pulled, he’d always fall for her.

You will always catch me

They were scouting a cliffside near Tyrrendor—Y/n and Xaden moving ahead while the rest of the team surveyed the lower terrain. The sky was soft with the pink hue of approaching dusk, wind rustling through the sparse trees that clung to the rocks.

“Xaden,” she called from above, standing on a jagged outcrop a good few feet higher than where he stood below.

He looked up, immediately tense. “Y/n. Don’t.”

Her grin was wild and full of mischief. “Catch me?”

His eyes widened. “Don’t you dare—”

She jumped.

The air caught in his lungs, heart stalling mid-beat, but his arms shot out automatically—because they always would. And just like every time before, he caught her perfectly.

The force of it rocked him a step back, but she was safe in his arms, weight curled against his chest, laughing breathlessly.

Xaden just stood there, clutching her to him, glowering down at her with wide, frantic eyes. “Do you want me to die?” he growled. “Like genuinely, Y/n. Do you want to give your husband a godsdamned heart attack?”

She smiled, soft and warm, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “I’ll always trust you to catch me.”

His breath hitched—because those words... those words wrecked him. He buried his face in her neck for a moment, letting her heartbeat calm his own, arms tightening around her.

Then she pulled back and kissed him—slow and sure and sweet. A promise. A thank you. A declaration.

Xaden exhaled against her lips, muttering, “You are infuriating, you know that?”

She just smirked. “You love me.”

He kissed her again. “I really do.”

And as he carried her down from the rocks like she weighed nothing, still cradled in his arms, she rested her head against his shoulder, whispering, “Always.”

My man

Y/n was sprawled across a couch in the war room lounge, her cheek resting dramatically on her palm, her lips forming an exaggerated pout. Rhiannon sat on one side, Violet on the other, both pretending to be deeply invested in a set of reports while sneakily watching her.

With a soft, mournful sigh, Y/n muttered, “I miss my man…”

Rhiannon immediately bit down on her lip to stifle a laugh. Violet nudged her with her elbow, her voice barely above a whisper. “You do know he’s literally in the room, right?”

And sure enough, from across the room where he’d been speaking with Garrick, Xaden turned at the sound of her voice, one dark brow lifting. “Y/n,” he called out, slowly making his way toward her, “what do you mean you miss your man? I’m right here.”

Y/n, still fully committed to her dramatics, gave him a long, yearning look. “No,” she said wistfully, “I miss my man.”

He stopped right in front of her, arms crossing as he narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion. “Define your man.”

She blinked up at him, all faux innocence. “Tall, broody, shadow-wielding. Smells like mint and arrogance. Really good with a sword. Loves me stupid.”

He stared at her, deadpan. “Y/n. That’s literally me.”

She tilted her head playfully. “Then why don’t I feel like it right now?”

Violet covered her mouth with both hands, practically shaking with suppressed laughter. Rhiannon lost it entirely, snorting into her sleeve.

Xaden leaned in closer, eyes narrowing further, but there was the faintest upward twitch of a smirk on his lips. “You’re going to regret this, wife.”

“I doubt it,” Y/n teased, grinning now. “I like making you jealous. It's cute.”

“Cute,” he repeated under his breath, before leaning down and planting a kiss on her pouty mouth with such slow, deliberate affection that both Violet and Rhiannon groaned in mock agony behind them.

Rhiannon fanned herself dramatically. “Okay, I miss your man too now. Thanks a lot.”

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosefire @shadowhuntyi @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore @nesiris21 @itsbeenmyhonor @stelena-klayley @littlemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @profoundpizzasong @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life @laterria201 @bestillmystuckyheart @casiiopea2 @ineednewdaggers @fictionalrelapse @smileysunshinesworld @perfectwrites @soccerstarstories @whosethatnotme @muffin-baby @thatonegameaddict

[luvly-writer]

Bliss: Her Birthday

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

Y/n didn’t know what to expect when she read the note on her pillow that morning.

Meet me where we first argued about shadows and stubbornness.

A quiet smile had touched her lips. Of course he remembered. Of course Xaden Riorson, the most observant, infuriating, maddeningly perfect man she'd ever known, would take her back to the place where it all began.

Now, standing at the edge of that windswept cliff near the old overlook — the very same one where she’d once rolled her eyes at his brooding silences — she couldn’t breathe.

Because it was glowing.

Dozens of floating lanterns bobbed gently in the breeze, casting golden halos over the field of soft grass. Enchanted orbs drifted like fireflies. A canopy stood at the center, draped in gauzy white and Tyrrish reds, the colors of their home. Under it, a table set for two shimmered with candlelight.

And standing at its edge — black shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, seashell necklace glinting at his collar — was her husband.

Xaden turned slowly, smile lazy, warm.

“You’re early.”

Y/n walked forward, heart a wild, fluttering thing in her chest. “You said sunset.”

“I did. But I also said where we argued. And you always liked winning,” he teased, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. “Happy birthday, Y/n Riorson.”

Her name on his tongue felt like a promise every time. She looked around, wide-eyed, touched beyond words. “Xaden… this is—”

“Just the start.”

He led her under the canopy, pulled her chair out for her — because yes, the man was still a menace and a gentleman in equal measure — and they sat. The table was lined with her favorite dishes: warm Tyrrish spice bread, rich cheeses, fresh strawberries, and sweets she hadn’t tasted since visiting her village.

She gave him a look.

He raised a brow. “I had the baker travel here. I may have threatened him. A little.”

She laughed, heart aching with love.

But the true surprise came when he set a leather-bound book in front of her. Her name was embossed in gold. She opened it, fingers trembling, and inside was a handwritten page for every day since they got married.

Day 1: She smiled at me like I was everything. Day 74: She wore that cursed dress that made me forget how to form sentences. Day 143: She defended me before I could even speak. Day 365: She told me she didn’t need stars, because she had me.

Tears spilled over before she could stop them.

“I wrote one every day,” Xaden said quietly. “So you’d never question how much I love you. How much I see you. How much I still fall, every single damn day.”

She reached for him across the table, pulled him into the most tender kiss. One filled with everything: awe, gratitude, the breathless kind of love that never left.

And then, under the floating lights, they danced.

No music but the wind, the rustling grass, and the beat of her heart against his.

The next morning, Y/n walked into the dining hall glowing.

Literally glowing.

She was wearing one of her old favorite robes, her hair braided with fresh jasmine, and her lips curved into a smile that told everyone exactly how her night had gone.

“Okay, what the hell?” Ridoc squinted at her. “You’re radiant. You were either blessed by the gods or—” He paused. “Nope. It was definitely Xaden.”

“I’ve never seen her look this smug,” Rhiannon said, biting into a pastry. “This is suspicious.”

Sawyer leaned in. “Do we know what happened?”

Garrick just pointed his fork. “I bet he did that thing where he reads her poetry with his shirt off.”

Y/n only snorts in amusement.

That’s when Xaden walked in, carrying her tea. Shirtless. Again.

Ridoc groaned. “You’re enabling this!”

Xaden kissed Y/n’s temple. “She deserves the world.”

Violet, already sipping her tea, sighed with a smile. “Honestly? I’m jealous.”

Imogen raised her cup and mocks seriousness. “To marrying soft-hearted, dangerous men who write us love journals.”

Quinn clinked hers back. “Hear, hear.”

Y/n leaned into Xaden’s side, sipping from the cup he’d brought her, eyes locked on him with unshakable affection.

And everyone in that room — friends, family, rebels, warriors — knew one thing for certain:

The heart of Tyrrendor had never beat stronger than in the hands of its duchess and the man who would spend a lifetime proving he was worthy of her.

It started suspiciously.

The day after her very romantic private birthday with Xaden, Y/n awoke to a note left on her nightstand.

Do not ask questions. Wear something you don’t mind getting glitter on. Come to the war room at noon. - R

She blinked. Glitter?

When she arrived, slightly wary, she found the war room dark. Silent.

Then—

“SURPRISE, DUCHESS!”

The lights blazed to life — and her entire squad (and then some) burst out from behind a ridiculous pile of poorly wrapped presents and rainbow streamers that definitely weren’t regulation-approved.

Confetti flew.

Rhiannon and Violet had strung Tyrrish red and Ceaelyan silver banners across the ceiling. Imogen was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a rare smile on her face. Even Quinn had helped rig up a shimmering illusion that spelled “Happy Birthday, Y/n!” in floating gold letters above the table.

“Oh my gods,” Y/n gasped, hands to her mouth.

“This,” Ridoc said dramatically, tossing glitter into the air like flower petals, “is the party you deserve, little sister.”

“You did not need to use the glitter,” Imogen muttered.

“I used all of it!” he declared proudly.

Sawyer grinned as he pulled her toward the dessert table. “We have three cakes. Three. One of them is dragon-shaped, and one of them is filled with tiny explosive sparkles. Guess who made which.”

“Please tell me Violet didn’t make the one with actual explosives,” Y/n muttered.

“She absolutely did,” Rhiannon said brightly.

The squad had clearly gone all out. There were little cupcakes decorated with her seashell necklace design. The drinks were color-coded to match her favorite nail polish shades (Sawyer swore this was Rhiannon’s idea, but she swore it was his).

One corner of the room had a photo wall of the worst possible shots of Y/n from their years in Basgaith, curated by Ridoc and Quinn. Another corner had a tiny “pamper station” stocked with lotions, nail polish, and glitter body oil labeled Duchess Essentials.

Y/n couldn’t stop laughing.

Xaden walked in an hour later — wearing a clean tunic, barely hiding his suspicion — only to stop short when he saw the chaos.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

“Xaden!” Ridoc clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the glitter zone!”

He glanced down. “You got it on my boots.”

“You’re married now. Her glitter is your glitter.”

Rhiannon looped her arm through Y/n’s. “You should’ve seen her face when she walked in. Absolute royalty.”

Xaden’s eyes softened as they found Y/n’s, taking in her wide smile, the way she’d let her curls run wild, gold glitter dusting her cheeks.

He crossed the room to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I love seeing you like this.”

“I love them,” she whispered back, heart full to the brim. “But please don’t let them put more glitter in our bed.”

“No promises,” Sawyer called out from behind them. “It’s already in your sheets.”

Everyone laughed.

Y/n did, too — bright and free and untamed. Her cheeks ached from smiling, her stomach from laughing.

Because she had everything: her love, her people, and a kingdom’s worth of affection wrapped in chaos, cake, and confetti.

The squad was still half-covered in glitter, lounging across chairs and floor cushions as the last crumbs of cake disappeared and the laughter began to settle.

Y/n had tucked herself against Xaden’s side on the long bench beneath the window, her cheek resting against his shoulder, fingers lazily tracing the edge of his sleeve.

“I still can’t believe you all did this,” she murmured.

“I can,” Xaden said dryly. “I saw the glitter order come in.”

Ridoc, from the other side of the room: “Worth. Every. Coin.”

Xaden ignored him, gently tilting Y/n’s chin up with a finger. “But… I’m afraid your birthday isn’t quite over yet.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He smiled — and gods, it was the soft one, the one he reserved only for her. “The villagers. They planned a festival.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“They’ve been working on it for weeks. Decorations, food stalls, a parade. There’s music, I think a few dragon-shaped lanterns, something about a ‘Duchess Delicacy’ that sounds suspiciously like cake dipped in rum.”

She laughed, her heart cracking open with joy again.

“You’re serious?”

Xaden nodded. “They care about you. And today is… well, it’s not just your birthday. It’s the first one you’re celebrating as their duchess, fully and openly. They want to show you how much they love you.”

She blinked fast, then nodded, biting back tears.

“Better change into something that won’t clash with fireworks,” he added with a smirk, brushing his knuckles across her jaw.

From behind them, Sawyer perked up like a wolf at the word festival.

“Wait. Did someone say festival?”

Rhiannon sat up straighter. “Like with dancing and food stalls and music?”

Xaden turned to them with the most leaderly tone he could muster while holding back a grin. “If you want to come, you might want to change. Y/n’s not the only one who looks like she’s been in a glitter explosion.”

Ridoc pouted. “But glitter is festive!”

Imogen stood up, already dragging Quinn by the arm. “Nope. I want real clothes. You’re not getting glitter on me again.”

Y/n shook her head, laughing, before turning back to her husband. “You really helped organize a whole village celebration for me?”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss just behind her ear.

“For you?” he whispered. “I’d organize the stars if I could.”

The village square had been transformed into something out of a storybook.

Strung lanterns swayed between rooftops, glowing softly in the early evening light — delicate orbs shaped like dragons, like violets, like seashells. Silk banners in rich reds, warm golds, and deep blue-black fluttered gently in the breeze. Stalls brimmed with handmade jewelry, sweets drizzled in honey and rose syrup, and steaming platters of roasted meats and flatbread. Music drifted through the air — fiddles, drums, the low hum of flutes — as dancers twirled barefoot in the open space near the firepits.

Y/n stepped into the square in a flowing dress of Tyrish red, her curls pinned half-up with gold clips and her charm bracelet clinking gently at her wrist. Her new necklace of duchhess nestled just above her usual pearl choker.

And beside her, hand in hers, was Xaden.

In a black shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his own charm — a matching necklace shell — tied at his wrist. His dark eyes weren’t on the crowd, though. They were on her.

Always on her.

The moment the villagers spotted her, the cheer was instant.

“She’s here!” “Our duchess!” “Y/n!” “Look at her, gods—she’s glowing!”

Dozens surged forward with joyful restraint — hands clasped to hearts, wide grins, respectful bows. Children ran by her skirts, laughing. An old baker placed a flower behind her ear. One of the smiths shook her hand so hard it made her giggle.

“Welcome home,” someone whispered reverently, and her heart clenched.

Xaden didn’t let go of her once. He let her pull him along, his grip steady, grounding — but his gaze never stopped watching her. And the villagers noticed.

From fruit-sellers to weavers to guards, they all exchanged the same quiet glance: That’s his whole damn heart walking in silk and laughing with the healers’ children.

He didn’t need to say a word. The softness in his eyes when she hugged an elder, the way his shoulders relaxed when she laughed — that was enough.

Later, under the lantern glow, someone handed Y/n a ribboned flute of sweet wine and told her it was “Duchess' Delight.” She cackled. Xaden sipped it, made a face, and said it tasted like sugar and power.

“I am sugar and power,” she replied, kissing his cheek.

He pulled her close. “You’re everything.”

They danced until the stars were high and the market hummed with joy. The duchess was back — not just in name, but in spirit. And with her returned the heartbeat of the duchy.

The music had slowed to a gentle lull — violins humming in the background like the sound of wind in high branches — when someone called for a toast.

It started with the baker’s wife, raising her glass and calling out, “To our duchess!”

Others followed, a wave of voices rising in the market square under the lantern light.

“To Y/n!”

“To the heart of Tyrrendor!”

“To the one who always shines!”

Y/n blinked, caught between laughter and sudden emotion, her hand over her heart as her eyes shimmered in the firelight.

Then Xaden stepped forward.

He didn’t raise his voice, but the moment he moved, the crowd fell silent. It was the kind of stillness reserved for storms and saints. He held his goblet in one hand, the other resting gently at the small of Y/n’s back.

His eyes swept the crowd — proud, calm, and undeniably in love.

“She’s been called a duchess, a warrior, a leader,” he began, voice low and rough like gravel soaked in honey. “But before all of that, she was the one who made us believe Tyrrendor could be more than just a name. That it could be a home.”

Y/n looked at him, stunned, her lips parted. But he wasn’t done.

“She brings light into war rooms. Laughter into grief. And wherever she goes, people remember how to hope.” A pause. “I know I did.”

A few gasps, a sniffle or two, some giggles when Ridoc muttered something like oh for the love of all that is holy. But no one looked away.

Xaden raised his goblet.

“To the woman who gave this place a heart. Who gave me mine.”

He looked directly at her, his voice quieter now.

“To my wife. My duchess. My Y/n.”

A roar of applause and cheers echoed through the square, glasses clinking, children shouting “Y/n!” like a song.

She laughed through the tears, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder.

“Gods, I love you,” she whispered against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured, smug and soft as he kissed her temple. “But say it again.”

She did — three more times, just to feel his smile.

The festival lights were still flickering behind them, music and laughter echoing faintly across the hills, but Y/n tugged at his hand with a soft smile and a whisper only meant for him:

“Come with me.”

Xaden didn’t ask where — he never needed to. He just followed, lacing their fingers together as they slipped away from the lantern-lit square, down the winding path past the wild thyme and sea lavender, until the dirt gave way to cool sand and the hush of waves welcomed them like an old lullaby.

The moon hung low and full over the water, casting everything in a soft glow. Y/n dropped her shoes and walked barefoot, her skirts in one hand, the other never letting go of his.

“I always come back here,” she said quietly. “Even in my dreams. Even when I felt lost.”

Xaden slowed, watching her toes sink into the sand, the sea breeze catching the curls around her face, tugging gently at the silk ribbons in her hair. “It makes sense,” he said. “It’s where you’re most yourself.”

She glanced at him, the kind of look that held lifetimes. “And you? Where do you feel most yourself?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Right here.”

Her eyes shimmered. “Xaden—”

“With you,” he clarified softly, stepping closer, brushing a hand down her arm. “Wherever you are.”

She smiled and leaned into him, resting her head against his chest as the waves kissed their ankles. His arms wrapped around her, warm and steady, grounding her in the present after so many storms.

“You really meant all of that?” she murmured. “At the festival?”

He tipped her chin up gently. “Every word.”

“I’m still learning to believe this is all real,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. “Then I’ll remind you every day. Every night. Every time the tide rolls in.”

And they stood like that — two souls tangled, salt-kissed and starlit — until the moon moved higher and the ocean whispered secrets only they could understand.

The moonlight shimmered over the gentle waves, painting the shoreline silver. Y/n’s laughter echoed over the sand, warm and wild, as she swung their joined hands between them while they walked, barefoot and relaxed. Xaden, usually so composed, wore the softest smile — the kind reserved only for her.

“You know,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder, “you’re awfully quiet for someone who planned an entire festival for me.”

“I’m admiring the view,” he replied, eyes fixed on her.

She rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her. “Smooth.”

They walked in companionable silence for a few more steps, the sound of the waves mingling with the rhythm of their hearts — steady, sure, content.

Then, mischief sparked in her eyes.

Without warning, Y/n kicked up a splash of seawater toward him, droplets catching the moonlight like stars. Xaden froze, blinking, a few drops clinging to his dark curls.

“You didn’t just—”

Y/n took off running, laughing breathlessly as she sprinted down the beach. “You started it by being too handsome!”

“That's your excuse?” he shouted, chasing after her with a grin that lit up his whole face.

She shrieked with delight as he gained on her, sand flying behind them in a blur of adrenaline and affection. She made a sharp turn toward the water, but he was faster. He caught her around the waist, lifting her off the ground as she squealed.

“Xaden!” she laughed, breathless, as he spun her around.

“I warned you,” he murmured against her ear, voice low but playful.

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, curls tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Then what are you going to do about it?”

He answered by lowering her gently to her feet and cupping her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips — slow, lingering, and full of everything they’d fought to get back to.

When they finally pulled apart, she leaned her forehead against his. “You know,” she whispered, “this might be my favorite birthday ever.”

He smiled, running his thumbs along her jaw. “It’s mine too.”

And together, they walked back along the shore — hands swinging again, hearts lighter, the sea carrying their laughter into the night.

The estate was quiet, bathed in the soft golden glow of lanterns as the festival slowly wound down in the village below. Y/n and Xaden moved through the front gates in a rhythm only they shared — slightly tipsy, entirely smitten.

Her heels dangled from his hand, his other arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Y/n was barefoot, dress slightly hitched up, curls tousled from wind and laughter, and cheeks flushed from dancing and wine.

“I told you I could carry my shoes,” she murmured, leaning into him.

“You’ve been dancing for hours,” Xaden said, his voice low and amused. “Let me spoil you.”

“You always do,” she whispered with a grin, eyes soft on him.

At the top of the steps, the familiar sound of hushed laughter met them.

The squad was just coming in through another entrance — Ridoc, Rhiannon, Violet, Sawyer, and Imogen — all a bit windblown from the festivities, still glowing with the energy of the celebration. They paused at the sight of them.

Xaden, shirt sleeves rolled up, slightly undone, carrying her shoes like a man fully, hopelessly in love. And Y/n, gleaming in the lantern light, holding his hand with that unmistakable pull — like gravity worked differently around him.

Sawyer gave a low whistle. “Now that’s a man down bad.”

“Absolutely tragic,” Imogen deadpanned, but the corner of her mouth twitched up.

“Disgusting,” Ridoc muttered dramatically. “He used to be intimidating.”

Rhiannon snorted. “And now he’s letting her lead him upstairs like a love-drunk fool.”

“She is his wife,” Violet said with a smirk, crossing her arms. “Let her drag him.”

Y/n turned, walking backward up the stairs, still pulling Xaden with her. She winked at the squad. “Good night, nosy.”

“Good night, duchess,” Rhiannon called back, grinning.

Xaden just raised his brows at them all, expression unreadable — until he smirked and tossed a wink over his shoulder.

And then they disappeared at the top of the staircase, her laughter echoing faintly behind them, and the squad collectively sighed.

“They’re so disgustingly in love,” Ridoc grumbled, shaking his head.

“And you love it,” Violet replied, nudging him.

“…Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

The door clicked softly shut behind them as Y/n led Xaden into their chambers, her fingers still laced through his. The room was dim, moonlight slipping through the open balcony doors, the gentle sound of the sea breeze rustling the curtains.

Xaden set her shoes down by the door with care, then turned to find her standing by the bed, arms crossed loosely, watching him with that soft, knowing smile that always undid him.

“What?” he asked, his voice husky from wine and devotion.

“You,” she murmured. “Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m everything.”

He stepped closer, arms sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “That’s because you are.”

Y/n leaned into his chest, her hands resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her palms. “Today was perfect.”

“You were perfect,” he whispered into her hair. “You always are.”

She chuckled softly. “I tripped during the dancing.”

“And still somehow looked like the most regal woman in the realm while doing it.”

She tilted her head back and looked at him, eyes shining with emotion and amusement. “You’re drunk.”

“Drunk on you,” he said, shameless, kissing her forehead.

Y/n laughed, warm and real, then leaned in and kissed him — slow and sweet, tasting of peach wine and moonlight and the years they’d fought to find their way back to this exact moment.

They melted into each other, the world falling away as Xaden guided her gently to the bed, hands reverent, lips brushing hers again and again, until they were curled beneath the sheets in nothing but skin and contentment.

Her head rested on his chest, his fingers lazily trailing up and down her spine. “Stay right here,” she whispered sleepily.

“Always,” he murmured. “There’s nowhere else I’d ever want to be.”

And in the quiet of their quarters, with only the sea and each other, Y/n Gamlyn Riorson fell asleep in the arms of the man who had always, always been home.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosefire @shadowhuntyi @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore @nesiris21 @itsbeenmyhonor @stelena-klayley @littlemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @profoundpizzasong @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life @laterria201 @bestillmystuckyheart @casiiopea2 @ineednewdaggers @fictionalrelapse @smileysunshinesworld

[luvly-writer]

Bliss: His Birthday

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The sun rose quietly over Tyrrendor, the light slipping through the curtains in lazy ribbons of gold. And yet, the estate remained unusually quiet.

Too quiet.

No sparring, no squad bickering, no Ridoc yelling down the hallway about breakfast or wine or his traumatized soul.

Because they all knew what day it was.

Inside the duke and duchess’s chambers, Y/n stirred first, blinking slowly as the morning glow kissed her skin. She smiled instantly, already aware of the strong arms tangled around her waist, the warmth pressed against her back.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered without turning, knowing full well he was awake.

Xaden hummed, voice still low and rough with sleep. “The only gift I want is already in my arms.”

Y/n laughed softly and turned to face him. “That’s cheesy.”

He grinned lazily. “That’s true.”

She kissed him once, soft and slow, fingers brushing his cheek. “Well, good thing I’m spoiling you today. Breakfast in bed, a massage, wine at your favorite spot in the gardens later. A gift you’ll actually like tonight.”

His brows raised. “Oh? You’re gifting yourself to me twice?”

“Maybe three times,” she teased.

“Best. Birthday. Ever,” he groaned and rolled her onto her back to start said spoiling immediately.

She laughed into his kiss, fingers threading through his hair. “You just want to stay in bed all day, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. You, me, no interruptions, just—this. All day.”

And so they stayed. Wrapped in sheets, in kisses, in whispered confessions and laughter. A world made of two people who loved each other in the quietest, deepest ways.

Outside the doors, Ridoc stood with a tray of baked goods, stared at the closed doors, and sighed dramatically.

Sawyer walked by and did a double-take. “You’re not going in?”

Ridoc scoffed. “It’s Xaden’s birthday. I’m not that much of a monster.”

Sawyer blinked. “Personal growth?”

“No,” Ridoc replied, handing him the tray. “Self-preservation. You think I’m gonna interrupt him today? I like living.”

Garrick smirked from behind them. “One day a year. That’s all Xaden gets.”

Ridoc huffed. “He gets my sister every damn day. But today? Fine. Today she’s all his.”

And back inside, Xaden pulled Y/n closer under the covers, kissed the corner of her mouth, and murmured with a smile, “I never thought I’d get this.”

She rested her forehead against his. “You deserve everything.”

“Then I’ll take this,” he whispered. “You. All day.”

As night fell, the soft glow of candles filled their room, flickering with the gentle breeze from the open balcony doors. The stars were high, a brilliant canvas across the sky, but inside, all that mattered was the quiet, intimate space they’d created together.

Xaden was stretched out on the bed, a glass of wine in one hand, his free hand tracing soft patterns on Y/n’s arm, still glowing with the touch of their earlier time together. His gaze wandered over her face, the way the light played off her skin, making her look ethereal in the dim light.

She had insisted on getting him a proper dinner, and after much coaxing, they finally stepped out of their chambers to enjoy the meal in the private dining room. But now? Now it was just them, once more. The way it always should have been.

Y/n settled beside him, curling into his side with a content sigh, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Her fingers played with the soft strands of his hair, the way she always did when she needed to ground herself. She felt at home with him, surrounded by nothing but his presence.

"Best birthday ever," Xaden said, breaking the silence, his voice a little hoarse, thick with affection.

Y/n smirked, her lips brushing against his chest as she moved slightly to look up at him. “You say that now... but I did spoil you rotten today."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, a deep, satisfying sound that always made her heart skip. "I don’t need material things, Y/n. I just need you."

Her lips softened into a smile as she met his gaze, those dark eyes so full of warmth. “You have me.”

“And I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, his hand coming to rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin.

The quiet serenity of the room felt like a perfect contrast to the world outside. She nuzzled into him, the wine’s warmth still lingering in her veins, feeling light and content. Xaden followed, holding her tighter, if only for the sheer desire to keep her as close as possible.

"You’re mine now, aren’t you?" he murmured, the question soft, though the possessiveness in it was unmistakable.

"Always," she replied, the word carrying an unspeakable weight of promise.

They stayed like that for a long while, in their own little bubble of peace, not needing to say anything more, just enjoying the moment.

Then, as the night grew deeper, Y/n lifted her glass, offering it to him. “To us. To this life we’ve built.”

Xaden clinked his glass against hers, their eyes locking as they shared the same unspoken thoughts. “To you, Y/n. And to whatever comes next.”

They drank together, and after, Y/n rested her head back on his chest, her breath steady as she let herself drift.

Xaden, however, stayed awake for a little while longer, tracing her back with his fingers, watching the moonlight through the open window. A small, content smile danced on his lips.

His wife. His life.

And nothing could ever take that from him.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosefire @shadowhuntyi @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore @nesiris21 @itsbeenmyhonor @stelena-klayley @littlemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @profoundpizzasong @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life @laterria201 @bestillmystuckyheart @casiiopea2 @ineednewdaggers @fictionalrelapse @smileysunshinesworld @perfectwrites @soccerstarstories @whosethatnotme @muffin-baby @thatonegameaddict

[luvly-writer]

Hello, everyone!! I have been gone for some time and I’m sorry, having two summer internships is NAWT easy. I will try to get the final chapters of “Of Light and Shadows” out this week, swear. Having said that, I do want to know which of the stories in my drafts you’d like to see first. I had a few more but they were too messy and all over the place so these where the ones that finally made the cut:

The Other Gamlyn: Bodhi Durran x Reader

The Cruel Prince x Fourth Wing Cross over

When a message arrives that Ridoc’s younger sister, Y/n Gamlyn, has been missing for two weeks, a recon group is sent to search for her, especially after seeing how affected Ridoc is. What will they find when they get to Ceaelyn? Is Y/n still alive? What happens when darker forces are at play? When they get there and finally meet her, they are surprised. They expected a victim and found a survivor.

The Shadow Ballet: Xaden Riorson x Reader

Sometimes shadows tend to dance too close to the light and get found, especially when they are from the past. This is the case of Y/n Belvie, one of the marked ones and the new Cadet arriving along Sloane and Aaric in Violet’s second year. From what she knows, this girl is Imogen’s foster sister, deadly, elegant, and beautiful. Word says she used to dance for the Royal Ballet Comitee, so why did her name cause so much tension when her name was brought up in a conversation with Xaden? Why did his eyes flash in hurt, longing, and regret?

Carita Linda: Garrick Tavis x Reader

(Inspiration from Rauw Alejandro’s song)

Negotiations with one of the Lord’s of the Calldyr Region are difficult, specially when they don’t know the land well. Not to fear, Ridoc comes to the aid by exposing the fact that HE is from that region and becomes a valuable asset for the mission. When the group is sent, Ridoc reveals the fact that he has a young sister, Y/n Gamlyn, known to be the more charming version of him. Let’s just say no one is prepared for the absolute ray of sunshine, filled with laughter and charm? that is Y/n, specially not Garrick.

Pain and Trouble: Xaden Riorson x Reader

When a mysterious lieutenant arrives to Aretia bringing reinforcements, Violet is surprised at her familiarity with Garrick and Xaden. She is even more surprised to see how she banters so easily with Xaden, how he goes back and forth without biting her head off. When she researches, she finds out this is Y/n Vora, who was the wingleader of Third Wing alongside Xaden when he was wingleader, who appears to be one of his best friends and closest allies, and the only person gets him to laugh so easily.

The Little Mermaid: Bodhi Durran x Reader

When sent into a mission close to Ceaelyn, Ridoc’s hometown, everyone starts to notice how restless he becomes as they near. Once there, the group catch a conversation between his father about his sister? How he needs to visit her? Wait, Ridoc has a sister? And what happened to her?

Let me know which one you are interested in more!