strange-and-unsual4

[strange-and-unsual4]

Complicated Pairing - Garrick Tavis x RiorsonSister!Reader Summary - You're finally reunited with your brother and your long term crush after years of separation, and one of the first things Garrick does is catch you hooking up with a fellow cadet. You've finally given up on him, so why is everyone insisting he's jealous? Word Count - 3.8k Warnings - Language, but that's it!

“Gotta admit, Gamlyn. That was fun.” You said, tugging your clothes back into place the best you could in the cramped closet. 

Ridoc grinned at you. “Anytime you want a repeat sweetheart, you let me know.” 

You threw him a smirk, still catching your breath. “I might take you up on that.” And you might. It had been nice having a release after all the adrenaline from the fight you two had sparring on assessment day. While you didn’t know him that well, you had a nice feeling about Ridoc. He was in your squad and seemed like a good person. “Now we should get back -”

The door flew open, causing you to stumble into Ridoc’s arms who thankfully caught you. The light blinded you both for a minute before a large figure blocked it out, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Shit. Well at least it wasn’t Xaden or Ridoc might not be alive right now. 

“Damn it Garrick, you scared the shit out of me!” You said, stepping out of Ridoc’s arms to shove him out of the way. 

Garrick’s hand clamped on your hip, hot and possessive, and the jolt it sent through you made you hate yourself a little. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked - voice low, lethal - but his gaze wasn’t brotherly. It was territorial, and he was looking over your shoulder at Ridoc who you guessed was probably about to shit his pants. 

“Woah, calm down, we were just . . . Blowing off some steam.” You said, shrugging your shoulders and trying to get Garrick’s attention on you by tapping his . . . Ridiculously toned chest. 

It worked, but you weren’t a fan of the result. In all the years that you’d known Garrick, you’d never seen him look so angry at you. “Oh? Do you think Xaden would be fine knowing I’d found you in a closet with him?” He snapped, his eyes dark and sharp. 

Now it was your turn to be upset. “Why the hell would I tell him anything about this?” You asked in disbelief. It’s not like you wanted Ridoc dead. 

“Uh, why am I getting the feeling you two know each other?” Ridoc spoke up behind you. 

“I’m pretty much her brother-” Garrick started, looking at Ridoc like he was about to rip his head off. 

That one cuts deeper than you care to admit. You bite it down with the same blade you’ve been using for years to carve him out of your heart. You took a step back so his hand fell off you and at his side instead. “No. He’s my brother’s best friend.” You snapped. Who was he to come around and judge you for your decisions anyway? “And someone who has no right to try and make choices for me.” 

His gaze shot back to you. “I’m your section leader-”

Was he trying to pull rank?! On you?! Now?! Fury must have shone through your eyes, but Garrick didn’t back down. “Who has no say in who I have sex with!” You’d spent years pining after him, dreaming about what it would be like to have his attention, and now, as soon as you stop hoping, he shows up acting like he still gets a say?

His eyes flashed with pure shock for a moment before a fire blazed in them, and he leaned down, invading your space. “Maybe not, but I’m sure your brother would love to know what you’re doing with a squadmate in his Wing.” He added as if you needed the clarification. 

“Riorson is your brother?!” 

That’s it. You were going to kill Garrick Tavis. You turned back to give Ridoc a sheepish smile. “Did I not mention that?” 

Garrick let out a snort, and you turned around to find the asshole looking pleased with himself. 

Gods you’d never been so pissed at him. “You know, section leader?” You spat the words like they tasted foul. “You can go fuck right off, and hope and pray to Dunne that I don’t stick spiders in your bed again like Bodhi dared me to when I was thirteen. Or maybe I’ll let Ridoc do a full report after our next closet rendezvous. I’m sure you’d love that.” You shoot him a certain finger, and turned on your heel, throwing over your shoulder, “And go ahead - report me. I’m sure Xaden would love to hear about his baby sister’s sex life from you.” You added, calling his bluff. 

Garrick didn’t say anything. His jaw ticked, like he was chewing on words he wanted to hurl after you, but they never came.

Good. Let him choke on them.  

“You know, now that I’m looking at you, the two of you kinda look alike.” 

Surprised, you turned to look at an appraising Ridoc who had fallen into step beside you. “Wait - you’re not - you’re not running for the hills based on what you found out?” 

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Should I be?” 

You blinked. That . . . wasn’t a reaction you were used to. Most people either ran or kissed your ass the second they connected you to Xaden. Ridoc? He didn’t even flinch. You were sure as soon as anyone in your squad found out who you were that they’d want nothing to do with you. Mostly because, you weren’t afraid to admit, your brother was in fact fucking terrifying the majority of the time. “I - I guess not. I just assumed you would be.” 

Ridoc slung his arm around your shoulders. “Listen, I’m not about to let a little thing like your super hot, but totally scary brother get in the way of what I think is the start to a beautiful friendship.” 

Something warm unfurled in your chest - not the kind of heat that came from adrenaline or attraction, but something steadier. Safer. Like you’d found something you didn’t even know you needed. You’d had people your whole life, friends and family you loved, but . . . They’d always been Xaden’s friends first. Ridoc? He felt like a friend just for you. “A beautiful friendship, huh?” 

“I would say friends with benefits, but I don’t think Tavis is going to let you stay single for long.” Ridoc said, raising his eyebrows at you with a smirk. 

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

Ridoc drew the both of you to a stop. “Did you miss the way he was preparing to crush my skull with those enormous, unfairly sexy biceps?”

You rolled your eyes. “He was just being overprotective on Xaden’s behalf.” 

Ridoc stared at you, and you got the distinct impression that he didn’t believe a word you said. He shook his head though, and the two of you started walking again. “Sureeee . . . Whatever you say. Now, how are you in history? Because I’m pretty sure without some help I’m definitely going to fail.” 

If only he knew the real history. “Unfortunately my dear friend-” you wrapped your own arm around his waist, giving him an apologetic smile. “When it comes to history, we are well and truly fucked.”

“Fuck.”

---------------------

You were still irritated at Garrick when it came time for your little meeting with the rest of the marked ones. In fact, you were feeling pretty irritated about everything until you took a step outside and found someone waiting for you. “Liam.” You said, a bright smile forming on your lips at the sight of your fellow blonde cadet. 

“I was sent here to get you out of a foul mood?” He said, raising his eyebrows at you, but his grin made you feel right at home. 

You frowned, proving his point, but quickly wiped it away as you stepped forward to wrap your arms around the boy you considered your second brother. “People are being dumb. I don’t like it.” You murmured into his shoulder. 

Liam laughed, returning your hug for a moment before pulling away. He put his hands on your shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “You know, you might not be surrounded by so many dumb people if you’d gone to the squad you were supposed to.” He said, raising his eyebrows at you. 

Immediately you’re annoyed again. You turn your back on him, letting out a groan. “I’ve already had my lecture from Xaden, I don’t need another one from you.” 

He hurried to catch up with you, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “No lecture. Just reminding you of how we could be kicking ass together.” 

“I got curious about her. She’s supposed to be this weak, fragile thing, yet the first time I saw her she’s practically chopping off Barlowe’s balls.” You shrugged as the two of you approached the other marked ones. “Plus I thought it might help Xaden . . .” Gods you wished he could see that. That your brother could know all you wanted to do was try and make his life a little easier. 

The man in question glanced up as the two of you neared the quiet crowd, and Xaden gave the smallest smile, meant only for you. Garrick was next to him, but you pointedly ignored him, returning your brother’s little smile. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the shift - Garrick’s jaw tightened, eyes tracking you like you were something he couldn’t look away from. 

You pretended not to notice. 

Of course Liam picked up on it, he picked up on everything. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not just upset about Xaden?” He said, nodding pointedly to Garrick. 

You clenched your jaw. 

Liam smirked, shaking his head. “What did he do this time?” 

“You mean besides treating me like a child who’s not old enough to enjoy some male company when the mood strikes her?” You snapped before you could think better of it. 

The smirk on Liam’s face only widened. “Thank gods it’s finally happening.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” You asked, your voice pitched just a little too high. Defensive. 

Liam wiggled his brows. “Just that Garrick is circling like a territorial dragon and you’re pretending you don’t like it.” 

“I don’t,” you said automatically, but the heat in your cheeks said otherwise. 

“Come on, it’s obvious. We’ve all been waiting for it to happen for years.” Liam said, smirking at you. 

Your heart pounded harder in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out why. “What are you talking about?” 

“Garrick finally realizing he’s in love with you.” Liam answered matter of factly. 

If you had been drinking something you would have choked on it. “Liam, what the fuck?” You gasped. 

“Oh come on,” he said, looking at you in disbelief. “It’s so damn obvious. We’ve been taking bets for forever on how long before he noticed your massive crush and realized how perfect you two are for each other.” 

You could feel the heat rushing to your face as your eyes glanced at the man in question for the briefest moment. He was talking to Xaden, and your heart gave its all too familiar lurch at the sight of him. 

His head tilted like he felt your eyes on him. Just for a second. His brows drew together, confused, like he couldn’t quite figure out what you were thinking. Or maybe what he was. 

You looked away, fighting back a sigh. It’d be pointless to deny your crush. You hadn’t known how to be subtle about it when you were younger. Now though? You could hide it. Try to move on from it. Which you definitely wouldn’t be doing if there was a chance that Garrick was into you. “Well that’s never going to happen,” you muttered, forcing your eyes away from Garrick. “I got the message loud and clear when he called me his best friend’s little sister like I wasn’t even standing there.” 

Liam’s smirk never faded. “Want to test that theory?” 

This was ridiculous. There was no way Garrick Tavis had any sort of feelings for you other than being his best friend’s little sister. “You’re wasting your time.” You told him, rolling your eyes. 

“Which means you’ve got nothing to lose.” He grinned. “Unless you’re scared he might actually feel something back.” 

You scowled. “This is ridiculous.” 

“So prove it,” he said, eyes dancing. 

. . . Liam knew you entirely too well. You couldn’t back down from a challenge. “Fine, what pointless thing do you want to do?” 

Liam slung his arm around your shoulders again, tugging you right against his side. “You don’t have to do anything. Just go with it.” He said, turning his attention back to Xaden who had started speaking. 

You’d been on the receiving end of enough Xaden lectures to not feel bad about your lack of attention. He was talking to the rest of the first years, figuring out what he could do to help them. It made you proud to be his sister. Was he harsh? Yes. Was he telling them things they needed to hear? Yes again. 

“Watch his body language.” Liam whispered to you.

You did what he asked, letting yourself look at Garrick as Xaden continued to speak, splitting up the first years between Garrick and Imogen. “Garrick’s the best fighter we have, but Imogen’s right there with him.” 

“Well actually-” Garrick looked over at you, but froze immediately. 

Liam turned his head, letting his lips come so close to your ear that his breath made you shiver. “Jaw and fists,” he murmured. Then, more playfully: “Let’s test a theory.” Before you could ask what he meant, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek. 

You did what Liam said, keeping your eyes locked on Garrick’s body as he took in the sight of you and Liam. Surprise flooded your system as Garrick’s eyes narrowed on Liam’s arm, his jaw clenched. Your eyes traveled down his tense arms to his hands which were now clenched into fists. All signs that Garrick was not happy about what he was seeing. Something low and wild stirred in your stomach. You weren’t sure if it was victory or something more dangerous, but it hit you hard. 

“Yeah, well we’d all be great fighters too if Xaden was our brother, and had been training us since birth.” A cadet snapped near you. 

You turned slowly, leveled him with a glare, and flipped him off without a word. Liam stifled a laugh next to you. Garrick, though? He stepped forward before Xaden could respond, his eyes burning into the cadet. 

“You might want to think before you speak again, cadet,” Garrick said, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s the last person you want as an enemy.”

Your eyes widened in shock and . . . pride. You glanced back up at Xaden who was clearly fighting a smile and Garrick still looked like he would like nothing better than to let Chradh drag the kid around by the foot and grin while he did so. He was hardly one who easily got mad or upset, and you knew you wouldn’t want that look he was giving the cadet thrown in your direction. 

“Do you believe me now?” Liam whispered in your ear again, and you playfully shoved him with your shoulder. 

“He’s just being protective.” You muttered, but even to your own ears the words sounded thin. 

Liam snorted. “Protective? Please. Xaden’s not throwing daggers with his eyes every time I touch you.” He said, subtly nodding in the man’s direction. 

You followed his nod. Garrick’s jaw was tight again. His arms were crossed. His gaze flicked to where Liam still held you, like it physically pained him. 

It was hard for you to deny it. Was Liam actually right? You let out a soft sigh and rested your head against Liam’s shoulder like you’d done thousands of times before. “He still told Ridoc he was like my brother.” You admitted. 

Liam was silent for a couple of moments. “Well, I never said he wasn’t an idiot.” 

You had to fight back a laugh, but the humor died as you looked back to find Garrick’s eyes on you again. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he actually looked . . . Upset. For a moment, guilt twisted in your gut, but then heat bloomed in your chest.

Seriously? He could look at you like that - like you’d just betrayed him - after all his lecturing, all his possessive bullshit? He didn’t get to act like that. Not when he’d made it clear you were just someone to protect. Not when he’d told Ridoc you were like a sister. 

If you wanted to crawl into Liam’s lap or fuck half the damn quadrant, it was your business. Not his. 

You turned your gaze away from him, focusing back on the conversation right at the moment when they were complaining about Violet. You rolled your eyes. “She’s stuck here too, you know.” 

The whole group quieted, turning toward you.

“What?” You heard Imogen say, clearly offended. 

You straightened, lifting your head off Liam’s shoulder. “I said, Violet’s stuck here just like the rest of us. Bleeding the same blood. Going through the same hell we are. Her mother’s a monster, yeah - but Violet’s not her, and shouldn’t we be striving to show the Navarrians that we’re better than they are by not punishing them for the sins of their parents?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. You hated Violet’s mother. Given the chance you’d probably try and kill her too. But Violet was not her mother, just like you and Xaden weren’t Fen. She’s lost a brother, at least she thought she had, and you’d lost a father. Hadn’t everybody already lost enough? 

“What the hell, are you seriously defending her now?” Imogen snapped, her expression twisting like you’d just stabbed her in the back. 

You knew Imogen couldn’t stand her, and you hated pissing off your friend, but you also thought she was wrong. You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s hard not to respect a girl who’s got the guts to put a dagger to some asshole’s balls the first time you see her.” You admitted. 

Imogen couldn’t say anything to that, because she knew you were right. She also wasn’t going to admit it either. 

“I will take care of Sorrengail.” Xaden said, cutting through the tension with a voice like steel. He shot a glance at Imogen, then at you - unmistakably a warning to drop it. 

The conversation ended quickly after that, but before you could leave Xaden called you over to him. “Great, time for another lecture.” You muttered to Liam, who just laughed and gave you a shove toward Xaden and Garrick. 

“Are you still pissed off?” Xaden asked you, not wasting any time, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him and matching his posture, crossing your own arms while you completely ignored the man standing beside him. 

He didn’t answer for a moment, but then let out a sigh. “I was trying to keep you away from this as much as possible.” 

“Well that sure was a dumbass move on your part. Guess Garrick’s bad judgement is contagious.” You glared at both of them, pulse hammering in your ears. “You need to accept that I’m in this. I’m your sister, and I love you. That means I’m not going anywhere.” Finally you turned to Garrick plastering on the fakest smile you could summon. “And you? You can still fuck right off.” You spun on your heel. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted. Try getting your heads out of your asses.” 

It was strangely cathartic to tell off your brother and Garrick, like they hadn’t just taken off two years ago, and the three of you were right back at Riorson house. All you needed was to add Bodhi to the picture. Gods you wished you were back in Aretia instead of this place you had to call home for the next three years. You were almost at the door when a call of your name made you groan. 

“Wait, please!” Garrick called, and you felt his arm grip your wrist way faster than he should have been. 

You glanced back at where Xaden was, measuring the distance. “How the hell did you get over here so fast?” You asked in disbelief. 

Garrick ignored your words. “I don’t like it when you’re mad at me. Especially when I’ve barely gotten to see you the past two years.” 

Irritation leapt up once more, and you yanked your wrist out of his grip. “Well I don’t like being mad at you when I’ve missed you like crazy for the past two years, but when you do dumb shit like act like an overprotective brother-” you spat the word like it was poison, “-you don’t give me much of a choice.” 

Garrick actually flinched like you’d slapped him. His mouth parted slightly, like the word had knocked the air right out of his lungs. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Why not? That’s what you are right? Just another overprotective brother-”

One moment you were facing Garrick, and the next your back hit the wall, his body crowding yours, the heat of him pressing in. His hand landed on your hip, strong and grounding, thumb brushing slow, gentle strokes that sent a wildfire through your veins. Your heart stuttered stupidly at his closeness, but before you could say anything he did. “I am not your brother, and I definitely do not look at you like a sister.” 

Oh fuck it felt so good to be this close to him. You felt crowded in the very best way - absolutely protected and safe. If only that feeling applied to your heart too. “Then tell me, Garrick,” you whispered, voice trembling despite your best efforts. “How do you look at me?” You asked, even though you were terrified of the answer. 

Garrick didn’t answer at first, instead letting his free hand rise to your face, and you closed your eyes as he brushed some escaped hair behind your ears like he’d done a million times before, but somehow this time it felt a million times more intimate. “Fuck, I don’t know.” The words came out raw, almost broken. “It’s like . . . you’ve always been there, and now I can’t look at you without -” He cut himself off. 

Well that . . . Was not the answer you wanted to hear, but it sure woke you up. You opened your eyes and placed your hands on his chest, ignoring how muscular it was and shoving him back from you so you could get past him to the door. “Then you need to figure it the fuck out.” You shoved past him, fury and heartbreak warring in your chest. “And don’t expect me to sit around waiting while you do.” 

You didn’t look back, and the door slammed behind you so hard it rattled the frame.

[strange-and-unsual4]

second wind. 1 . xaden riorson (fourthwing)

Xaden doesn't believe in second chances until he meets you.

genre: slowburn, fluff, suggestive content, mentions of death, violence and abuse. Reader is a Healer.

a/n: Happens after the fight at Resson. Don't come after me. I love Xaden and Violet and this is just for shits and giggles so if you don't like it please just ignore it. Also, let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! This one's gonna be quite a long one <3

part one | part two

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Broken heart. That’s the only thing that hurts.

Surely it must be that.

Because that’s all he can feel.

Xaden Riorson stares out into the beautiful green valley, the lush lands of Navarre filling up his peripheral in shades of green and brown and orange. Navarre has always been magnificent to set eyes upon, had always been a land filled with crackling magic that he can taste in the air. If one had to describe this land, they would simply not find the words, for this landscape was impossible to describe with words. So many times people have tried, and yet no one has ever been able to capture it the way Xaden believes it to be true.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because the love of his life is gone. And he wishes to be gone too.

Do not dwell in your grief, Shadow Wielder.

Sgaeyl’s lush tone is a caress against the back of his mind. A soothing lullaby that makes him tilt his head up to the sky.

You are grieving just as much as I am, he replies.

Yes, but unfortunately I have someone to take care of, she huffs gently, the sound non-committal, barely aggressive. Totally unlike Sgaeyl if he has to be honest, she needs me.

How is she?

She does not want to talk to anyone. Has been hiding inside the Vale ever since.

Understandable.

Yes, Sgaeyl chortles once more, but I feel like it is high time I drag her out.

It’s only been three weeks, his lips curl up slightly.

Precisely my point, Shadow Wielder.

Her presence leaves his bond like the softest shadows giving way to sunlight and Xaden lets out a soft sigh, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head up to the bright blue sky. A few dragons are flying overhead, the sight surprisingly peaceful amidst the tormented waves of his heart.

It’s been three weeks since he’s seen Violet die in his arms. And yet, he still cannot fathom it, cannot believe that it is real. He must be dreaming; wrapped up in a horrible nightmare that seems to last forever. That’s what he hopes this is anyway. But every step forward, every injury that twinges at his movement makes him realize that this, indeed, is reality.

And that he’s still alive, somehow, even despite it all. That his dragon had made it, no matter how broken she was.

“Hey, they’re ready.”

He turns to find a red-eyed Dain with his arms crossed over his chest and looking ashen grey. His lips were turned down into a firm line and even at this distance Xaden can spot the bruises under his eyes.

Dain lifts a brow, “are you coming or what?”

It takes him a moment. But Xaden finally hauls himself up from his spot, dusting off his pants as he looks at the brunette.

“So?” He asks gruffly.

Dain’s eyebrows dip into a frown, “well, I suppose that’s the best they could do for her.”

“Meaning?” Xaden prods as he strides past, not glancing back to check whether Dain is following. The crunch of his boots join him in the muddy courtyard.

“That Violet would’ve hated all the fuss.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Xaden’s lips despite it all, “you’re right,” he croaked out, “she would’ve hated it.”

It hadn't been in his plans to bury the love of his life so early on. He imagined a wedding, living in his birthplace with her to rule by his side, having a myriad of children and learning how to let his heart love again after so long, after years of hiding and painfully facing the people that have hurt him and called him a monster.

Violet was the one that had chosen him, for who he was. Not for who he had been before, not for who he will be. But for what she saw in front of her eyes.

"And he'd lost her. It's like a curse, to still be living on this earth after she's gone, like Malek is laughing his face, scolding him and scoffing at his stupidity. Like, really? Did Xaden really think that he had a chance at a happy ending?

"Hey," Dain's voice brings him back to reality. He feels a warmth of a hand landing on his shoulder and stiffens automatically.

"It'll pass," says the brunette. He sounds less certain than he ever did, and for once Xaden doesn't feel like fighting with him, "it will hurt. But it will pass."

Bullshit, is what Xaden wants to say.

Because how in the world will it pass when every step he takes, every waking moment is haunted by Violet's absence?

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

... 3 MONTHS LATER ...

"You again?"

You don't even try to mask the surprise in your voice at this point. There stands the raven-haired man with the multitude of tattoos and the dark, onyx eyes that makes you want to grab your things and make a run for your life with one mere glance.

That's probably the third time this week that he's made his appearance at the Healer's Quadrant, and fuck knows you're tired of having to patch him up only for him to go and play swords so that he could re-open them once more, wasting all of your efforts in the process.

The dark-haired Rider steps in, dark gaze flickering past the empty beds as if assessing the area, before he finally makes his way towards an empty bed. You sigh, following after him and grabbing onto one of your first-aid kits on the way as you watch him settle onto the hard mattress without so much as a sound.

A man of such strength, and yet, looks like he's been broken from the inside out.

He doesn't speak. Doesn't bother acknowledging you. You've come to terms with his rudeness, but it still irks you, that he can waltz in here and ask for your services without batting an eye.

"So," you plop the first-aid kit atop the bed table next to him and cross your arms over your chest, giving him a once-over, "show me. What is it this time?"

The dark-haired rider flicks his gaze towards your face, a brief moment of assessment passes through his eyes. He then reaches for his tunic and in one swift movement, tugs it over his head.

You gasp.

There's blood everywhere.

On his neck. Along his collarbones. Slathered down his chest that you can barely make out where the wound starts and ends. You gape at him for a full five seconds. And then, your mouth snaps shut and you shake your head incredulously.

"What--" you stop yourself. What good will it do to ask him if he barely acknowledges you? "Gods, why in the world would you do this to yourself?"

You don't wait for him to respond before getting to work on his injury, not even flinching under his dark stare. He's been doing that a lot ever since he started coming here more frequently; staring you down as if he wants to make sure you know what you're doing, silently monitoring your progress and judging your skills.

It's almost like he has a lot to say. But doesn't.

And you want to ask. Except...he's a rider.

And riders...well, they always have secrets.

Secrets that you prefer not to know.

His gash is big this time, bigger than you've ever seen it to be. It runs all the way from his right shoulder blade down to the middle of his chest, almost like someone had slashed at him with a knife. You take your time to clean it up, wiping down the blood and disinfecting the wound as best as you can with some alcohol. At some point, you have him bite down onto a towel as you start sowing the skin closed and he grits his teeth under your ministrations, grunting with every poke of needle that pierces through skin.

“Sorry,” you mutter out when he swallows up what you feel might be a groan of pain. You’re not unfamiliar with its sensation and nod your head towards the bottle of whisky on the nightstand.

He does as told, swiping up the bottle with his good arm and taking a huge gulp.

Finishing up the last of the stitches, you cut off the rest of the thread and straighten up all while trying to avoid his very naked chest. The scent of blood is almost nauseating that you have to turn away.

“Right,” you feel awkward, his dark eyes are unsettling. They cause goosebumps to rise up along your arms and you continue on in a blunder, “no training for you until the stitches are out. It’s going to take a week unless you come in for mending. But Nolon’s a bit busy at the moment.”

“What’s his earliest slot?”

Your eyes snap up in surprise.

You’ve never actually heard him and his voice takes you by surprise. Rich, gravelly. With a depth that sends a fuzzy feeling down to your stomach.

“Uhm,” you can’t help but stammer when he’s looking at you with those deep, infinite onyx eyes, “early morning, I suppose. He’s up at five.”

“Fine,” the rider straightens up, grabbing ahold of his tunic while striding towards the entrance. He calls out over hos shoulder, “tell him not to be late.”

“Wait—“ you follow after him, “I need a name.”

And that’s when he pauses by the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder with furrowed brows and you swear you spot the slightest curve of his lips.

“Tell him,” he says, “it’s for Xaden Riorson.”

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“You need to find another hobby other than getting yourself beaten up.”

You let out an annoyed sigh as you swipe at his brow. Once again, this rider — Xaden Riorson— is here so that you can patch up his wounds and honestly, it’s starting to get a little infuriating.

Xaden lets out a sound between a huff and a laugh, and you take it as progress. Between the two of you, he hasn’t bothered speaking to you again. But that doesn’t deter you from telling him off when you can.

This time it’s his face. Bruised and battered in so many places that you can’t count that he looks like a walking artwork. Not that he seems to mind though. On the contrary, it’s almost like he revels in the fact that he hurts himself, as if he does it on purpose just to fall victim to the pain. As if it’s the only way he can feel alive.

Not that you’ve asked. You’ve healed too many riders to know that asking questions is not something that you can do. Not with him, not when they’re always so filled with secrets like they’re the ones solely responsible for the success of Basgiath and the powering of the wards.

Pompus jackasses, that’s what your friend Kaede would say.

Finally clean of all the blood splattered over his face, you dab some healing ointment onto a cotton paid and gently dab it along his cheek, the bridge of his nose, all the way down to his jawline where you can still see the scrape of a wound.

Xaden hisses, his beautiful face turning away on impulse.

You tut, “don’t move.”

He tenses, but does as he’s told until you are finished.

You let out a soft breath as you pull back and throw away your cotton pads, “alright. You’re done,” tiredness lines your voice. It’s been a rough week and you’re inclined to dump yourself in your bed for the rest of the weekend, “I’d hold off on sparring for now.”

You pause then, eyes flickering back to his and trying not to gaze at his beautiful, broad set of shoulders, the muscles cording and rippling whenever his arm bunches.

“But what I say doesn’t matter…does it?”

His dark eyes lift to yours.

Something in his jaw locks. He averts his gaze.

“Look,” a soft sigh escapes your lips as you proceed to disinfect your tools, “I don’t know why you’d want to do all this—“ you motion towards his body then, ��—to yourself. But it’s not helping.”

He stays quiet.

“And this is my quadrant. It’s my duty to mend anyone who walks through these doors,” you continue, “but you’re doing this to yourself on purpose. And I can’t just keep mending you.”

Xaden’s eyes lock back onto yours.

You flinch. Look down.

Because dear gods, he is terrifying.

Slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey, he stands and it’s only then that you notice how tall he is, how imposing. Because you keep on craning your neck and— bless Malek, what in god’s name is this man made of?

He takes one step towards you.

Then another.

And another.

Until you’re forced to look up into his eyes and all breath ceases you at the intensity in his dark pools of onyx.

When he speaks next, his voice is rough and deep, striking a chord through your tummy.

“Do you know who I am?”

You blink, “uhm—no?”

You wonder if it’s your imagination that plays tricks on you— the way the corner of his lips curl up to the side.

Not a smile. But close enough.

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” he leans in close, so close that you lurch back on instinct. Dark, black onyx glimmers with gold as they clash with your brown ones, “stay away from me.”

You swallow. Clamp your lips together but hold his gaze in defiance, “you’re the one coming to me,” your voice falters at the coldness in his eyes, “…if I remember correctly.”

He makes a sound, low in his throat, like he can’t quite believe you, before swivelling around and striding out the door without another word. You’re still clutching at your medicine, the vials clustered against your chest, and let out an exasperated huff.

What a jackass, you can’t help but think to yourself.

And you’re stupid enough to mend his every whim, just because he’s got a cute face.

He doesn’t come back for the rest of the week, which is good because you’ve seen enough of him to last you a lifetime. The weekend finally comes around and you take this moment to scurry out into the courtyard on Saturday afternoon, enjoying the way the summer breeze cools off your sweat-slicked skin while munching on some fruit you’d carried out from your dining hall.

That’s when you see them. The riders.

They’re dresses in all black as usual, like bands of shadows moving across the field with the kind of silent confidence only reserved towards their kind. You huff and look away, but glance back in realization that you know one of them.

It’s Xaden, in all his six foot four glory, striding through the courtyard and looking pissed as hell.

The conversation increases to distinct voices as they approach and you quickly turn your face away, proceeding to stuff your face to distract yourself from the fact that you’re not technically supposed to be eavesdropping on whatever they say.

But to be true, you were here before them. So surely they should be the ones moving, right?

“—cannot just abandon them. We’ve worked too hard for this,” one of them is talking. He’s smaller in build, but still as impressive, with young features and a trimmed beard along his jawline, “we must find another way.”

“You’re being very loud Bodhi,” the other one, with the broader shoulders and an easy smile, quips up, “need a microphone?”

The younger one, Bodhi, just scowls at his friend, “we’re far from the Riders. No one will understand anyway.”

“That doesn’t mean you can scream it at the top of your lungs—“

“I wasn’t screaming—“

“Both of you shut up,” Xaden finally snaps.

You flinch from where you sit, sneaking a raisin into your mouth and hoping against hope that he walks straight past you.

He does, and you wait with bated breath until the three figures disappear behind the stone bridge that will lead them back to the Rider’s Quadrant before finally allowing yourself to collapse against your picnic mat, heart galloping so fast you swear you can feel yourself having a heart attack.

Gods. Whoever he is that Xaden Riorson, you decide that he’s not good news and that you should stay away from him. As far as you possibly can.

Alas though, it seems like Malek is out for your soul today, for as the evening sun slowly slips away beneath the shadows of the castle, you’re about to pack up your things when you feel a restraining pull against your arm.

You look down, letting out a sharp yelp upon noticing that there’s a tendril of black halting your movements.

What in Malek’s name—

“I thought I told you to stay away.”

His voice prickles with anger. The kind that rumbles through him, causes your breath to stutter in a gasp.

You turn your head— very slowly— until your eyes skid up to find Xaden leaning against one of the trees.

You tug on your arm but the tendril of black is more resistant, weaving around your entire elbow, “let me go,” you try to sound firm.

Xaden pushes off the tree in one swift motion before closing the gap between your bodies. His eyes are hard and steely as they search your features for any kind of tell that you’re lying.

“You’re going to tell me exactly what you heard,” he murmurs softly, “and I’ll consider letting you go unscathed.”

“I’m not bound by your rules,” you stammer out, heart banging wildly inside your chest, “you cannot just order me around—“

The shadows surge up and make a grab at your neck. You yelp as it tightens around your throat, eyes widening with panic.

“I can,” warning lines his tone, “so speak.”

“I didn’t hear anything I swear,” you stutter through words, helplessly fighting against the shadows pinning you in place, “I just— I was having a picnic and I saw you guys coming from the forest. That’s all, I didn’t hear anything of substance. And—And anyway, I wouldn’t even understand half of what you’re saying—“

The vines crawl up your nape and tighten even more, causing you to gasp out as fear trickles through you.

You struggle desperately as tears line your eyes, “please please, I promise I’m not lying, I—“

And then, the shadows fall away.

You crumble to your knees and gasp for breath, chest heaving as logic and reason make it back to you like finally breaking through cold icy waters after being deprived of oxygen. You don’t notice Xaden approaching until you spot his booted feet just mere meters from yours and you quickly shoot, stumbling and falling onto your backside as you do so.

How pathetic. You wish for the ground to swallow you up right there and then.

“Why are you out here alone?”

Your eyes snap up to his face, taking note of the rigid line of his jaw.

You swallow thickly and measure your words carefully, “I have some…time off.”

You realize how lame it sounds that you’re out here alone, enjoying what you call a picnic when it’s basically just you and your sandwich. And from the cocked brow that Xaden gives you, it’s clear he’s thinking of the same thing.

“Alone?” He echoes.

“Alone, yes.”

A pause. Then, his eyes narrow.

“Why?”

You blink up at him, slowly stumbling to your feet as you do so, “what do you mean— why?”

Keeping hold of his onyx eyes, you don’t fail to miss the flash of pity surging through his gaze. You quickly look away, a rock forming in your throat at the pathetic picture you probably paint for him.

“Don’t think that the Riders’ quadrant is the only place they call hell,” is what you finally murmur out after a long, prolonged silence, “the Healer’s quadrant is not as nice as it seems to be.”

“I never said that.” He said, tone clipped.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

For a second, you spot the surprise on his face. That quickly disintegrates into forced neutrality as he replies, “it sound suspicious, is all.”

You can’t help the exasperated sigh that escapes, “honestly, can you just give me a break? Are all riders such dicks?”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward, “apologies, on behalf of the rider’s quadrant.”

“I’m not here to kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you huff, “otherwise I would’ve done it already.”

He hums, cocks his head, “fair point.”

“So…am I off the hook?”

“For now.”

“For now?” You frown, “what does that mean?”

“It means I’m still keeping an eye on you,” he steps back then, throwing a hand up in a casual wave as he turns away, “don’t make me regret it.”

“Regret what?” Annoyance bristles through you as you call after him.

His next set of words send a chill down your spine.

“Not killing you.”

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“You did not say that to him.”

You’re halfway through spearing your chicken with a knife while your one and only friend, Kaede, looks at you like you’ve just told him you’d set the riders’ quadrant on fire.

“What?” You frown at the way he’s looking at you, all horrified eyes and a look of utter disbelief in his eyes, “he was annoying.”

“Tala, do you even know who this man is?” Kaede’s eyes are as wide as saucers, which keep on growing bigger and bigger with every word that leaves her mouth, “he’s Xaden Riorson. Doesn’t that ring a bell?”

Should it?

“Fen Riorson’s son?!” Kaede waves his fork around with barely restrained frustration, “the one who practically brought war to Basgiath?! He led the Rebellion?!”

It doesn’t make sense at first.

Until it does.

The pieces fall into place and you suck a breath as panic barrels into you without warning.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Fen Riorson ‘s son.

You’ve been insulting Fen Riorson’s son.

“And if that isn’t enough to scare you away, this guy is practically bonded to one of the most ferocious dragons Navarre has ever seen,” Kaede continues in a flurry of words, “you cannot just casually address him— scratch that, just don’t talk to him full stop unless you want to be charred to bits.”

There are countless rumours regarding the youngest Riorson and you’ve heard of too many to count ever since your conscription. But it hadn’t clicked back then, that the rider with a broken heart and moping around the Healers Quadrant would be the same merciless, flesh-killing vagabond that would be spoken of in hushed murmurs down the corridor.

But the dark eyes. The cold, clipped tone in which he spoke. The way he held himself, like a weapon and as though ready for any surprise attack. As though he was born to kill.

A shiver runs up your spine as dread slowly curls into your stomach.

“Oh my god,” Kaede is looking at you like you’ve grown an additional head, eyes wide, “oh my god,” he breathes and starts fanning himself as he shakes his head, “you—you didn’t have a clue, did you?”

You bite your lip, trying your best to force your dinner down even though you feel like it might come right back up at this rate.

"Stay the hell away from that guy, Tala," Kaede tuts, "he literally screams danger."

You hum in response, ducking your head and hoping against hope that Xaden Riorson doesn’t appear before you ever again after that last encounter.

Alas, for some unknown reason, he seems to turn up at the exact time your shift starts. You see him standing the double oak doors and quickly slip behind one of the makeshift curtains for privacy, motioning for one of your classmates to take him instead with the excuse that you need to re-arrange the medicine box.

But she comes to fetch you ten minutes later in the storage room.

“That rider is looking for you, Tala,” your classmate, Ariel, says as she props open the door.

Your grip tightens on the bottles in your arms, “why?” You mutter aloud more to yourself than to her.

She shrugs, “only Malek knows. But he’s got a nasty bruise on his lip. It’s split open.”

You all but storm back into the Healer’s room with barely restrained anger only to spot the said Rider decked in his flight leathers still, his onyx eyes finding yours like he’s been waiting for you all along.

“You’re avoiding me,” he states when you come close enough to hear. His face is a cold, impassive mask that makes you want to run for the hills.

You swallow thickly and avert your eyes, focusing on the wound instead, “I was busy. Someone else could’ve tended to your wound.”

It takes a long moment for him to answer. His eyes are so intense they practically bear holes through your face, “I don’t trust anyone.”

You blink in surprise, “and you trust me? After what you’ve done to me in the courtyard?”

Amusement curls at the corner of his lips and something in his gaze lightens, “had to make sure you weren’t bluffing.”

Anger simmers through your stomach, but you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as you set about fussing over his injury. Before he has time to process, press the cotton pad filled with disinfectant to his split lip.

Xaden tenses but makes no noise, though it’s clear that it hurts as much as it should. Satisfaction curls through you at his lack of response, glad that it’s gotten him to shut up at least.

You hate people like him. Who walk around with all the power, knowing that others fear him just because of his goddamn name.

You hate people like him, who believe that everyone owes him the truth just because.

It’s not until you’re almost done with his wound that Xaden speaks. By then, most people have left the Ward in favour of grabbing dinner, leaving you alone with Navarre’s most impressive warrior and your fingers are shaking as you force yourself to finish up as quickly as possible.

“You’re afraid of me.”

He says it like a statement. Not a question.

You freeze underneath his stare. Hating how your heart does a small flutter at the intensity in his eyes.

“No I’m not,” you let out a small laugh, trying your best not to sound shaky, “why would you say that?”

He sends you a look that says he’s not convinced, “is there another reason why you sent someone else to clean my wound?”

“Like I said— I was busy. Packing up the medicine.”

“And yet, you look like you’re ready to bolt.”

Your eyes snap up to his and flinch. Your heart drops to your stomach at the cold, calculating way his features are set in stone.

You’re literally seconds away from bolting.

“Why—“ you bite at the inside of your cheek and forced your hands to keep going, to not let yourself fall apart underneath his stony countenance, “why are you doing this to me?”

Your voice is shaky. It gives away to the fear you feel but you can’t help it. You are scared of him. Because these hands can kill you. Can practically rip your throat apart if he wanted to.

You stumble back on impulse but you realise you can’t go any further when there’s a shadow curling around the back of your calf.

The hold is firm. Not tight, but it keeps you there and your horrified eyes go back up to Xaden as you try to squirm against whatever magic trick he’s doing.

“What— let me go,” your hands go up to try anything, but shadows are there too, gripping your wrists and caging you on the spot. Fear curdles your stomach like spilt milk, “what are you doing?!”

Xaden still sits. He leans forward, hands clasping together as his elbows press against his knees. He’s searching your face, it’s clear he’s trying to figure out whether you’re still against him or on his team.

“I’m having a hard time,” he says it low, slowly so that you hear every word. His tenor is laced with danger, the kind that makes you want to shrivel, “believing that you told me the truth back then.”

“What?! No! I told you the truth!”

“And yet you avoid me.”

“Because you scare me!”

The words roll off your tongue before you can stop them. He looks at you with mild surprise, your wide, terrified eyes meeting his as dread coils in your stomach.

Fuck. You’re fucked.

Cooked for good.

He’s going to feed you to his dragon.

He’s going to burn you to ash.

Oh who are you kidding? One twist of this weird dark vine thing around your neck and snap it in half.

You’d be dead in a heartbeat.

And then, just when you think he might pulverize you with a flick of his fingers—

The shadows fall away.

You gasp.

Fall to your knees, chest heaving from the aftermath of this near-death incident. It takes you every ounce of self-restraint not to throw up on Xaden’s boots.

He leans down so that you’re face to face with him, dark eyes locked on yours like he can’t quite figure you out. Like he’s trying to read you.

“I’m not the one you should be scared of,” he says coldly, “I don’t know what you’ve heard. About me, who I am. And truthfully, I don’t give a damn. But you will trust me when I say this—“

“Trust you?” You gasp for breath, heave and stammer. Sweaty strands of hair stick to your cheeks, your lip. You forcefully brush them away, “trust you? When all you do is—is threaten me?”

“Yes,” he answers flatly, “because you don’t want to know what’s outside these walls.”

He doesn’t give you time to reply, already straightening and walking out from where he’d come from. You wait for his footsteps to recede until there’s nothing but the empty walls that ring with silence, and that’s when you slowly get to your feet and try not to let your fear consume you whole, shaky legs and all.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

What is wrong with him?

That's all that's been running through Xaden's mind the moment he's left you behind, gasping and reeling, on the Healer Quadrant's floor. He strides forward without looking back, calling for his shadows to mask his footsteps so that he blends into the night and does not stop, not until he reaches the Rider's Quadrant, all the way to his room.

It's only when he locks his door and seals it with a silent locking spell that he falls back against its surface, letting out a staggered breath that he's been holding all along.

Why is he being like this?

She torments you, Sgaeyl's lazy drawl curls around his bond, a midnight shadow shimmering past his closed lids, why is that so, Shadow Wielder?

"I can't read her," he whispers, jaw clenching at the thought.

Maybe there is a reason for that, Sgaeyl answers.

What if she's a traitor? Or a spy? Xaden's thoughts reel to a stop as panic takes over, what if she's one of them?

She is too clueless, too human to be even considered a worthy opponent, Sgaeyl huffs as though the idea is laughable, she can barely stand on her own two feet.

Something’s off, Xaden tells his dragon.

You are overthinking it.

You underestimate my instincts.

She is just a girl. A naive, stupid girl.

And what if she's not? He walks over to his window and peers out into the darkness. With no one in sight and only the lamps shining over the courtyard, the place almost looks peaceful. A pang of sorrow washes through his heart at the memory of the blissful nights he'd spend by Violet's side.

He would give anything to bring her back.

Gods, he'd sacrifice himself to Malek if that's all that it took.

But life unfortunately does not work that way. And he's left to suffer alone. Maybe it's fate, it's to atone for all the sins he's done. After all, he's not a hero. Just someone who wants to make things right despite being branded evil.

And yet, he would’ve spilled all of his secrets, just because he can’t seem to read you. Just because whenever he tries to probe your mind all he gets is a massive brick wall that seems unsurmountable.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he gets a whiff of your emotions whenever they’re strong enough to overwhelm your control. But most times, most times it’s as though he’s talking to an invisible wall.

And that frustrates him to no end.

So preoccupied he is with his own mind that he doesn’t hear the soft knock on his door. Until Garrick’s voice echoes from the other side:

“You in there, Riorson?”

Xaden’s head tilts up. A moment later, he unlocks the door to find the other young man sporting an expression he cannot quite place.

“What is it?” Xaden asks roughly.

Garrick pushes past him and enters the room, hand carding through his hair as he does, “there’s been an attack from venin. Another neighboring village close to our borders.”

Xaden instantly straightens, alert, “how many dead?”

“Don’t know yet. The Fliers didn’t reach in time. Village was already in ruins when they got there," Garrick presses his lips together to draw a thin line, "they need more weapons. It's the only way."

"And how do you suggest we do that when we're already stealing as much as we can?" Xaden snaps, "You saw what happened at Resson. They know we're up to something. They just don't know what."

"So we're just going to let them die? Is that what we were doing all this time? Is this the reason we're risking our lives to smuggle weapons out?" Garrick's voice rises and Xaden clenches his jaw in response, "we need to get away from here, Xaden. I say we sneak out and disappear before they even realise it."

"They're going to send me away soon," the dark-haired shadow wielder leans back against his desk, his muscles aching from the tiredness of sparring for three whole hours before this. He rubs at his jaw in thought, "they're watching me very closely. I cannot move against them. Not right now."

"So then?" desperation lines his friend's voice, "what do we do?"

Xaden settles his dark eyes over his friend and his tone suggests that whatever he says is final, "we lay low. I'll scout for information once I'm sent to the outpost. For now, don't do anything that might attract attention."

Garrick is clearly not convinced, but who is he to fight his leader when all Xaden has done was for the good of his people?

It's only when his friend leaves with a soft grumble of approval that Xaden finally allows himself to breathe. He washes away the grime and dirt from his earlier training before collapsing onto his bed, trying not to think too much about the missing warmth that used to welcome him in the form of his lover.

Do not blame yourself, Sgaeyl murmurs from the other end of the bond, go to sleep, shadow-wielder. You'll need it.

He isn't the type to listen to his dragon. Under any normal circumstances, Xaden would find himself pacing his bedroom floor as he tries to piece together solutions and strategies the next few moves.

But he finds he cannot find the energy to. Or maybe that isn't it. There's been something off with him ever since Violet's death and he's pretty certain it's his broken heart.

And so he closes his eyes and allows the shadow to wrap him up in its arms.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

A month goes by. Then two. Then three.

Before you know it, you've placed Xaden Riorson at the back of your mind and hoped that he wouldn't appear before you again like a nightmare you'd rather forget.

Soon enough the weather turns cold, the air crisp with the north winds as fall takes its place. The trees turn beautiful shades of orange and yellow and russet brown, the foliage transforming the land into an array of warm colours that always manages to catch your breath. You barely get glimpses of it though, in-between study sessions, theory courses and being on shift at the Healers' Quadrant for Infantry and Riders, there is barely any time to rest, the urgency of having Healers deployed all along Navarre a rumour that only seems to expand tenfold as the weeks go on.

You're dispatched to one of the outposts of Samara as part of your Healer Theory module, in order to shadow the third-years that are currently stationed there, and it is no surprise that you have no other choice to get to that outpost other than on the back of a dragon. That is, unless you want to take the travel route which takes more than enough time for the entire outpost to be torched to pieces before your arrival.

Needless to say, the dragons make you want to run for it. That, or pee your pants.

"Don't worry," one of the riders whose face seems eerily familiar, steps forward with an easy smile, "they won't bite. Unless we ask them too. Or if you piss them off."

"No eye contact," says another blonde rider, "don't squirm. Don't move until we tell you to, unless you want to be charred for this night's dinner."

You swear you can feel your heart pound when the familiar-looking rider steps towards you, an arm outstretched in a friendly gesture, "Come on then," his voice is deep and rich, like that of gravel, and it's quite the torture how handsome he is when the beast that huffs behind him is more than ten meters tall and has teeth as big as your entire body.

You stretch out a shaky hand, eyes darting to the ground and gluing there the entire time he helps you climb the scales. They are smooth and warm under your touch, not a sensation that you had expected. You reach the top seat and the rider practically hauls himself up with the ease of a monkey before reaching out for your hand.

You take it, breath stuttering when he hauls you up like you weigh nothing before instructing you to sit right behind him, hands locked around his waist.

"Hold on tight. You don't want to fall off," he says, sneaking a peek at you from behind his shoulder with another grin, "my name's Garrick Tavis. This is Chradh. He's usually nice, though I doubt he likes strangers."

You can't help but flinch when you feel the dragon rumble a growl from deep inside its belly.

Garrick tips his head back in laughter, "I'm joking. He's telling me off for frightening you."

And with a final wink, his dragon launches into the sky.

Your scream is lost within the winds that howl through your ears and on impulse you just hold onto Garrick for dear life. Your arms are an iron grip that don't cease, not even when you finally spot Samara from the distance.

He helps you down like a gentleman, holding onto your hand and grabbing your waist to lift you from his dragon and settling you on solid ground.

You blush, stumbling back while you mumble out, "th--thank you."

"Pleasure's all mine," he grins with sparkling eyes, "what's your name again? Sorry, I didn't even ask."

"Tala Huang," you mumble out. You can still hear your heart pounding inside your ribcage, and you're surprised he cannot hear it too.

"Well, it was nice to fly with you, Tala Huang."

It isn't until evening time, after you're all showered and glowing from the warmth of the baths, settled into the Healer's common room while you wait for your shift to begin, that you come face to face with none other than the one person you were trying so hard to avoid.

You practically jolt up from your seat, eyes wide, "wh--what are you doing here?"

Xaden cocks a brow and god does he know it makes him hot. Your face flames as he strides in, dark brows furrowed as his eyes look you up and down like he's not quite sure what to do with you here.

You back up unconsciously, the back of your knees hitting the soft mattress. Words dry up at the back of your throat.

He cocks his head to the side, "I'll have you know that I was the one dispatched to Samara."

"You're--" your brain reels with shock at that information, "you're a graduate? You--You've been here all this time?"

"Why?" he takes a step closer, "miss me?" his lips curl up into a smirk.

You frown and hope he can't spot your soft blush, "no."

Turning away to busy your hands with the medicine box, you wait for him to sit atop one of the beds before treading over to him with more reluctance than necessary.

"So, what do you need?" you ask while taking out your disinfectant and finding your cotton pads. A mere habit now, one that you've developed because of him.

Xaden's eyes are still on you, flickering across your features as though trying to read you.

Then, he turns away slowly. Almost hesitant as he lifts the edge of his shirt to show you his back.

You gasp at the huge, gaping wound sizzling with blood. It's ghastly, like a creature has chomped onto his skin and wrenched it away. And it must hurt like hell, surely.

"What in Malek's name..." your words trail off as your eyes find his face. But his is set in stone, jaw ticking and body tense.

"Don't ask," he grumbles.

You take his advice and get to work, the silence enveloping you like a gentle hum as the wind— muffled by the windowpanes — echoes through the stone walls.

It’s impossible to to admire the said rider when he’s sitting right in front of you; his chest is broader than most men you’ve seen, not to forget that he’a built like a goddamn fortress. Every single muscle in him cords and bunches with every movement, like a sinuous dance that makes your mouth water. You breathe out through your nose and grip the cotton pads a little tighter as you clean around his wound, trying not to blatantly stare at his abs despite the fact that they’re right there.

You’re not immune to men, and you’re not all that innocent either. Throughout your first-year it was safe to say that you had a flirtation going on with one of the cadets from Infantry. But that had soon turned to dust the moment he’d told you he hadn’t wanted any kids and that women should stay in the kitchens where they belonged, just like his mother had. After all, you’re here for the long ride, not for a vacation hookup, as amazing as it sounds. That, and the fact that you did not work your ass off just to be stuck home while your husband is out making a career for himself.

With all the Healer preparation exams, the late nights, the continuous shifts in the Infirmary, you’d practically closed yourself off to any romantic adventures lest you failed to pass your exams.

But by gods, just one glance in Xaden’s direction makes your insides turn to mush.

“Like something you see?”

You’re so caught up in your own head that you don’t realize you’re staring blankly at the said six-pack in question, until his voice snaps you back to reality.

Heat blazes through your cheeks. You whip your head away, focusing on treating his wound as you curse at yourself inwardly, “you wish, Riorson.” You mutter.

“I didn’t know Healers were dispatched before graduation,” Xaden shifts to the side so that you have better access to his wound.

You grab another cotton pad and soak it up with healing medicine; a crushed mixture of natural ingredients that speed up the healing process and would dry it off, “it’s part of our term grade. We shadow graduates and receive hands-on training,” you spare him a glance then, “but this is the first time they’ve sent someone this far.”

He hums, “are you the only one dispatched here?”

“To Samara, yes.”

When your eyes flit up next, they lock on his own. You notice, for the first time, that his pupils are dark, flecked with golden.

“This is Navarre’s cruelest outpost,” Xaden searches your eyes with that same, poised mask that makes you want to shrivel up, “why would they send you here, if not to die?”

The word death reverberates through you and you flinch back on impulse, “what? What are you talking about?”

“We're practically on Poromiel's border, making us the primary target for our enemies," something that looks like half-amusement flickers across Xaden's features, "did they not tell you that before you volunteered?"

"I did not volunteer," you try not to let the panic take over, instead focusing on dressing his wound and putting on a plaster so that it won't get infected. Your hands are shaking at this point, and it's definitely not from the cold, "I was assigned to it without choice."

He doesn't say anything. But he doesn't have to. It's as clear as day that being stationed here is literally like a guillotine hanging over your head. You might die tonight. Or tomorrow. Or in the days to come.

"Stay away from the guard towers," Xaden speaks, his voice somehow softer. Or maybe it's just your imagination, though you do flinch when his gold-flecked dark eyes meet yours next, "lay low and don't bring any attention to yourselves. The riders here are not like the ones in Basgiath. They're..." he presses his lips so tight they form a thin line, "they won't hesitate to kill you if they think you're a nuisance. Just stay inside the Healer's quarters as much as possible, unless you have specific reason to be out."

You blink at him, "why..." you hesitate, not knowing exactly what to say. This is the rider that had practically threatened to end your life and now, he's being all protective? "why are you telling me this?"

His brow lifts in that very seductive way of his, the corner of his kips curling up, as though amused by your display of confusion and nervousness.

"Do you want to die?" he asks.

"No."

"Then do as I say."

Smartass, is what you want to yell. But you don't. What if he's the one that kills you for being out of line. You clamp your lips together and finally draw back, motioning towards his abdomen, "you're all set," you say in a grumble, "I would tell you not to spar, but you won't listen anyway, so what's the point?"

"Feisty," he smirks, "didn't know you had it in you."

"Oh shut up Riorson," you roll your eyes, move away and start to pack the medicine bottles, "and don't let it get into contact with water. if you have to clean it, come see me," you say over your shoulder.

You almost yelp when you feel the warmth of his breath along the back of your head.

You freeze, eyes widening as you realise that he's standing millimetres from you and could practically thrust a knife into your chest and be done with it.

And when he speaks next, his tenor practically rumbles through the walls in a vibration that has your skin sizzling.

"I never asked for your name."

"Uhm..." you scramble for a response and have half a mind to lie about it, but decide that maybe it might bite back at you later, "Tala," you murmur out with a defeated sigh, "Tala Huang."

You don't have to look at him to know that there's another growing smirk on his face when he says, "try not to get yourself killed, Tala Huang."

He's gone before you can turn around.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, gazing at the emptiness that now surrounds you. Funny. When Xaden was here, his presence had filled the entire room and you'd felt safe. Now, with the cold walls and the soft howling wind your only companions, the Healers Quarters isn't looking the most friendly.

Great, and now I'm becoming used to him, you mutter inwardly to yourself.

That is definitely something you don't want to get accustomed with. Because, for all you know, Xaden Riorson is a monster.

A very handsome monster.

But a monster nevertheless.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Xaden's life soon becomes routine at Samara, whether he likes it or not.

He spends the early morning inside the sparring gym training with whoever is available at the moment, faces and names that he doesn't quite know yet recognises all too well by the shapes of their blows and their signet abilities manifesting on the mat. Then, he grabs a quick breakfast before heading out into his first patrol of the morning. He flies all the way till mid-afternoon, sometimes more, rotating around the perimeter until his superiors are satisfied with his work and dismiss him for the night. He then either eats his dinner inside his room, entertained with none other than his dragon that exchanges comments and pleasantries as he wolfs down his food, or finds himself searching for any kind of rooftop upon which he will sit and watch the night sky unfolding before his very eyes.

Sometimes. Just sometimes, he'll tread down to the Healing Quarters and allow his shadows to reach for you. Gently. Out of sight. But still there.

It's merely his amusement. His curiosity, at the incredible innocence that seems to drip from your countenance. You're a walking rabbit into a lion's angry den and you don't even realise it. Your wide eyes are always filled with the fear of being eaten alive and the only time Xaden sees you actually comfortable in your skin is when you have a medicine box in your hand, or when you're diligently stitching up someone.

And that's fascinating. Because despite the shy, reserved nature that is you, the girl that keeps to herself and doesn't usually speak her mind, is a quiet confidence as you work through horrible wounds, burns, scars that can traumatise literally anyone in this Outpost. But not you. Never you.

The contradiction is a miracle. And one that fascinates the said raven-haired shadow-wielder.

That, and the fact that he can't read you no matter how much he tries.

So he settles for watching over you from afar. Reading into your mannerisms, understanding every tick, every tell that you have; like chewing on your lip whenever you're afraid of saying something. Walking with your eyes downcast like you fear anyone that might approach you. Scratching your jawline when you're in deep thought. You're always ready to help, so eager in your movements that sometimes you get clumsy. And that small, humanistic aspect renders you...what? Cute? Adorable? Sure, that can work. As adorable as a five-year old kid at a Carnival fair.

That's what Xaden tells himself. You're like a sister. A sister that he can't see as anything more.

Hell, he's still not over Violet. He will never be.

Because he's the famous Xaden Riorson and because you're you, he doesn't want people to notice someone as defenceless as you are. And so, sends out his shadows to do whatever he cannot. For instance, hiding behind the doors during your night shifts and allowing his shadows to support your feet whenever he senses that you're tired, or letting the darkness accompany you back to your room until you're safe and locked away. You don't take notice, or maybe you don't even know that this is him. Maybe you can feel something different, something more than just the air. But somehow, your inability to recognise his power makes you even more...endearing. In a way.

You are getting soft for this girl, Sgaeyl chuffs at him when he meets her along the tower's border one morning.

Nonsense, Xaden replies flatly as he climbs up her midnight scales and settles along her back. Sgaeyl lets out a grunt, launching into the air a beat later as her wings expand to catch the morning drift.

Then what is it with your little escapades down to the Healers' room? Why are you so insistent on keeping her safe?

She's defenceless. I'm just doing my job.

And who told you to do that for her? Last I heard, you were not responsible for anyone but yourself, shadow-wielder. Do not forget why you are here, why the Marked ones depend on your survival.

He clenches his teeth together, leaning to the side when his dragon suddenly banks left, "you don't need to remind me," he snaps.

Sgaeyl is right. He doesn't need any more distractions. The civilians around the border are getting attacked and the wards are slowly failing with every day that passes. Now is not the time to be looking for any sexual escapades in the form of any kind; rider or healer or infantry alike.

But when he finds another rider trying to get his hands on you a few nights later, all those thoughts go straight down the drain.

He's gotten you pinned to the cold stone wall of the corridor, practically caging you with one leg lodged between your thighs and his hands glued to your hips. It would've made for a romantic picture of two lovers meeting in the middle of the night, if not for the whimpers and the helpless "please don't" that escapes your lips at intervals as he tries to litter your skin with marks and bruises.

Xaden steps out of the dark, his shadows curling around him in a threatening manner.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

His words come out as a growl. Raspy and menacing. Filled with danger.

The rider freezes in mid-action and from where Xaden stands he can see the tears caking your cheeks.

That makes him want to tear this fucker's throat apart.

"Oh hey Riorson," the rider, a graduate a few years above him whose known as Clence Killig, has the audacity to send him a sickeningly sweet smile, "look what I found all alone in the Healer's room. Nice, ey?"

"Get your hands off her," Xaden snarls. He steps closer.

"whoa hey, we can share. Bet you need a bit of release yourself, after what happened with--"

"I said," Xaden punctuates every word, "Hands. off."

A beat passes. Then two.

Xaden holds Clence’s gaze. His own features a hard stone mask.

Finally, Clence releases you from his grasp. You stumble to the floor, catching yourself with your hands as you heave in ragged, relieved breaths.

“Leave,” Xaden growls.

Clence doesn’t need to be told twice, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath as he disappears down the corridor.

Xaden is at your side in an instant, arms gripping your elbows to pull you up.

His touch is gentle, unlike the tone of his voice, “are you okay?”

You nod, though don’t trust yourself to speak.

Pulling you up with minimal effort, the rider ensures you’re on your feet before he asks if you can walk back to your room. You say yes, though no sooner have you taken a step that you’re stumbling face first into the cold cobblestone beneath.

Shit. That hurts like a bitch.

“Need a little help?”

You scowl at the ground, hating that you can practically hear the amusement in his tone. Quickly pushing yourself up to your feet while ignoring him, you force your shaky legs forward as his chuckle echoes through the corridor, all the way up to your room.

He follows you. Not far behind, but far enough that it gives you space to breathe. His eyes locked on your dark silhouette, his shadows seem to have a mind of their own as their curl over the walls around you almost protectively. The thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t interrupted the scene earlier flashes through his mind and disgust reels in his stomach. He curls his fists and clamps them in by his sides as the dark bond with Sgaeyl resonates with her small growl.

Get a grip, shadow-wielder. You are not here to play hero.

Thank you for your wonderful contribution.

She chuffs in what sounds to be annoyance. A second later, the bond dissipates with her absence. She’s probably gone to sleep. Or feed on sheep.

Xaden only comes to a stop when you swivel around just outside your doorway, “are you—following me?”

“No,” Xaden states.

“Then…” you make a shooing motion and his eyebrow quirks up. Really? You’re acting like he’s a horse. Or worse, a pest, “you can go now.”

He snorts, "thanks for the dismissal."

"I did not--" you purse your lips, the sight surprisingly adorable as your eyes narrow up at him into a glare, "look, thank you. For tonight. But I'm fine now."

Xaden can definitely take your words as fact and walk away.

He can definitely try to pass this off as an accident, some kind of weird coincidence that he'd been roaming the halls at the same time that you got attacked. That this will probably never happen again, especially when he's fucking Xaden Riorson and everybody is scared of him.

There's no way that rider will mess with you ever again, unless he wants a good punch in his face to wake him the hell up.

And you've practically dismissed him. Technically, he has all the right to walk away. Right now.

He can.

But his eyes catch your lips.

They wobble.

As if you're holding on.

Your eyes flicker past him. Filled with uncertainty. Fear.

Xaden's resolve breaks.

He doesn't hesitate. Pushes past you despite the overflow of protests from your lips about what the fuck is he doing but he strides into your room without remorse before sending you a look that might cause anyone to shrivel under his gaze.

In all honesty, you do flinch back like he's burnt you.

When you speak next, your words are barely above a murmur, "what are you doing?"

"You're clearly not fine," Xaden states matter-of-factly. He finds your closet, opening it up to pull out the spare duvet and pillow that every room has, and starts to lay it out next to your bed.

"What--Yes I am. I'm fine, see?!" you wave your arms about in growing concern of what he's currently doing, eyes flitting back and forth between him and the now spread-out blanket, "honestly--what are you doing?! And this is--this isn't even allowed! They said--"

"Fuck what they say," Xaden cuts you off, looking up to lock eyes with you and when you take note of the silent anger etched onto his face, words die in the back of your throat, "do you want to stay here alone and risk getting taken advantage of? Just tell me the word Tala, and I'll be gone."

His admission causes something to tug in your heart. You just look at him, jaw parting as you blink. What in the world is he saying?

"Why..." you find your voice after a few beats of silence, "why are you doing this?"

I wish I knew, is what goes through Xaden's head.

This is a dangerous game you're playing, boy. Sgaeyl warns.

I'm not leaving her defenceless, Xaden snaps back.

His jaw ticks, tongue poking at his left cheek, "a Healer getting killed is not on top of my list of priorities at the moment."

"Who says you won't attack me in my sleep?"

"Smart. I'll give you that," he smirks, "if I'd wanted to, you'd already be dead."

True. That doesn't make it any easier.

Seeing you won't relent, the shadow-wielder lets out another annoyed breath, "I'll be out before you wake up. You won't even know I'm gone," then, sensing as if that's not enough, he quickly unsheathes the four daggers hidden at his thighs and throws them to the ground before you. They clatter onto the stone floor and make you wince, the noise bouncing off the walls of the room. Too loud in the small space.

"These are my daggers," he meets your petrified eyes and softens slightly, "riders win them through sparring. The more daggers, the better the rider. We usually sleep with them as a precaution, mostly from other riders," he releases a soft breath, "you keep them, if it makes you feel any better."

“Me?” You echo, “keep your…daggers?”

Amusement flickers across his lips, “yes. So that you’re sure I don’t kill you in your sleep.”

He watches your chest heave. Once. Twice in small rapid succession.

You blink at him, press your lips together as the silence envelopes the room. In the distance, the softest howl of a dragon is heard.

After what finally feels like eternity, you slowly bend down and— keeping your gaze on his— gather up his daggers against your chest.

His chest tightens.

He’s never seen anyone hold his daggers this way.

And that… is surprisingly cute.

He blinks, looks away before he finds himself in deeper troubled waters. What is he even thinking?

“Fine,” you tilt your chin in defiance, a contrast to the fear reflected in your maroon pupils, "only for tonight. But you stay--" you point a shaky hand to the duvet that serves as a mattress pushed against the windowpane overlooking the outpost, "you stay in your corner. Or that dagger's going to end up where it doesn't belong."

"Are you threatening me?" he can't help but let out a chuckle. He shakes his head, "relax, cadet. I'll stay on my side of the room."

You mumble something incomprehensible under your breath but it seems that his words satisfy you, for you quickly disappear into your private bathroom as Xaden tries to get as comfortable as possible with his single-layer mattress that doesn't even count as a mattress in the first place.

You are being an idiot, states Sgaeyl like she is reprimanding a five-year-old dragon. He can practically see her roll her eyes at him, you are wasting your energy on a girl that does not deserve any of it.

Maybe I am, Xaden curls up on his side to stare at the stone wall, but leaving her alone does not feel right. Even for me.

You could've just warded the place, Sgaeyl retorts.

That's true. He's not going to deny that. Instead he stays quiet.

He hears you shuffle back in, your footsteps hesitant and padded, like you've changed out of your work shoes for something comfier. Maybe slippers. He wonders briefly if your sleepwear is mismatched, whether you wear a nightgown or opt for large t-shirts and shorts. Riders usually sleep with their riding tunic, sometimes with their armour in an attempt of protection. He remembers all too well the nights Violet would roll around in her own dragon vest and something akin to guilt curls up inside his stomach.

Violet. He wonders how she'd feel about him sleeping on a stranger's floor.

Tensing upon hearing your footsteps approach, he closes his eyes and tries to lay still, a semblance of sleep, just to see what you do.

There's silence. You're probably watching him, probably gaging his every move, his alliance. What his actions mean to you.

And then, something heavy and warm settles across his body.

It's warm. And comfortable. It makes him want to bury his nose into it because goddamnit it's so soft he wants to let out a sigh of bliss.

But he holds completely still, waiting. Wondering what the hell you're doing.

Your fingers are icy when they reach for the edge of the covers you've settled across Xaden's body, and you make sure not to brush them against him as you tuck the blanket a little more firmly against the rider's sides.

A moment later, he hears you retreat. A weight settles upon the bed and a few beats later, the lights go out.

Xaden has grown to be a weapon. To be used for killing, violence, for everything that is dark and cold and lonely. Growing up had been harsh, the scars lining his back is good enough evidence of that, and the responsibility of the marked ones' safety pushes down on his shoulders every single day he wakes. He doesn't do kindness, doesn't want to have anything to do with it. He's made of steel and violence, of destruction and efficiency, a cold river that never shows its true facade.

And yet, the cold-blooded shadow-wielder can't help but feel his heart soften, at your small act of kindness.

Because to him, it speaks volumes.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

It doesn't surprise you the next day when you go back to being practical strangers. Xaden barely acknowledges you, and it's probably for the best, considering that relationships between each district quadrant are highly discouraged for the mere sake that each quadrant believed it to be better than its counterparts.

But you still remember waking up the morning after, groggy and eyelids heavy with sleep, before realising that the blanket you'd thrown around his figure last night was now curled around you in a cozy cocoon. You still remember blushing furiously at the idea of Xaden Riorson tucking you in like you're something worth keeping safe before stepping out to resume his deadly rider duties, a stark contrast to the boy who slept inside your room.

Nevertheless, you realise soon that for him, that night had been a small blip. A tiny bump in his otherwise successful dark rider reputation. God knows he wouldn't want to destroy that when every rider, infantry or healer alike skitters away from him wherever he moves, like a shark through water. And you're content on keeping it that way, a mere escapade that if you pinch yourself hard enough you'd think it had to be a dream. Or a nightmare.

The next time you see him is during one particular sparring battle that had been organised a weekend after the incident. The riders somehow enjoy tearing each other apart like it's an itch they can't quite scratch unless they see blood and missing teeth flying over the arena. You were assigned in case of any medical emergencies that were to happen, and that's when you truly got to see how riders fight.

Because they don't fight like any normal humans. They don't fight to defend, to be safe, to win.

They fight like they want to kill.

You stop watching after the third--or is it the fourth?-- opponent is kicked back into the steel fence that lines the sparring area, flinching back on instinct as your hands curl into fists, hidden in your lap.

One of your healer mates -- you believe her name is Peyton-- notices, leans over to whisper, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you say through gritted teeth.

"It's always a bit gruesome to watch," Peyton says. Her eyes, golden amber flecked with emerald, sparkle with what you want to say is not excitement, but is, "but I find it quite fascinating. It's definitely not for the weak hearted."

"You can say that," you're about to throw up your breakfast. How does she look so normal?

"Don't worry. You get used to it," she replies just as one of the men slumps in defeat, his wrist tapping the mat hard.

"Look," she prods your shoulder once more and points towards the sidelines, "I think Riorson is up next."

Sure enough, she's right. There he stands, chest bare in all its glory, tattoo marks winding up his neck and down his back as his arms clench and unclench as though he's mentally preparing himself for what's to come. He is built like a god and you knew that, having patched him up more times than you could count in your healer career. But with the dim lights of the arena shining on ever sinuous curve and toned muscle of his body, it's hard not to stare. You swear you're drooling.

His eyes catch yours.

You look down, a burst of heat coiling through your chest as butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Gods. You hope he hasn't noticed that you've been staring.

Next to you, Peyton lets out a loud, dramatic sigh, "Oh my gods," her eyes glimmer with longing as she allows her chin to rest atop her palm, "he looks absolutely delicious."

Absolutely delicious is right.

Absolutely terrifying is --also-- right.

Because the way he moves, the way his eyes track his opponent like a well-trained wolf about to go for the kill, the speed at which his body contorts and skids and avoids blows like he's actually made out of water, is like a shadow that you cannot catch no matter how fast you try to be. That, but the grace with which he dances along his opponent has you gasping and holding your breath. Wanting more. Like a performance that you don't want to end.

He's beautiful and so, so terrible at the same time. Like a beautiful nightmare come to life.

He wins easily, and just as he exits the arena, you swear you spot him glancing back at you, the beginning of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A few days go by, and you bump into him one early morning. The entire outpost is still asleep and, unable to keep dozing off due to the horrible nightmare about your recent abuser that had pinned you in the corridor, you decide to head out early to catch the tiniest glimmer of the sunrise.

You are more than careful as you find one of the staircases leading up the tower, fallen snow and ice crunching under your boots as you make your way up the turret and slide through the opening. You balance yourself quite steadily, holding on to the edge of the wall as you find a nice spot on which to sit.

You plop down with a loud sigh, tilting your head up to watch the sky painted in hues of midnight purple to pink.

"You're not supposed to be up here, cadet."

Your head snaps up.

You see him, a mere shadow in the darkness, standing a few meters away.

"Are you insane?!" is what falls out of your mouth first as you take in the closeness of his feet to the edge, "what are you doing?! Get off there!"

Xaden lets out a huff that sounds more like a chuckle but does as he's told, jumping off the ledge and joining you on the wall, "you didn't answer my question."

"What? Oh--" you stumble over your words, unsure what you can say, "I was...taking some air."

"At five in the morning?"

"Yes. Why not?" you scowl at him, "and--you're here, aren't you? Doing the same thing?"

"Fair point," he sits more comfortable and dangles his legs over the tower, "but I'm here to check up on Sgaeyl. Unless you have a dragon that you need tending to."

"Pardon? I--" The word dragon registers in your mind a little too late, because no sooner does panic slam into you and you yelp in terror, "e--excuse me?!"

You spot a humongous shape moving in the dark, scales glinting like moonlight, and you can't help but scream, feet slipping as your first instinct is to get the hell away from it as possible--

But you lose your footing and practically teeter, gasping out a, "No!" as you feel your body rocking back with gravity towards the ground--

A hand shoots out and snatches you right back--

You crash into Xaden's chest headfirst, his other arm locking you around the middle as you all but tumble into a breathless heap against the wall edge.

"You--" Xaden breathes out raggedly, "--have the worst--" he takes a choked breath, "-- instincts."

But you're not focused on him. Not on the warmth of his chest against your cheek. Not on his body practically glued to yours.

No.

You're focused on the giant, golden serpent eyes that watch you.

Prey.

You're like prey.

The dragon's head is huge. Massive in comparison to your height, practically half the size of the turret. You can't even imagine how tall or long its body is, though it being shrouded in darkness does not help.

The dragon chuffs and hot, steaming air blows against your face.

Jesus. It can practically incinerate you.

But it won't, right?

Not when you're practically hanging onto Xaden for dear life.

"It's--It's not going to eat me, is it?" you can't help but whisper, words stuttering on your lips and your heart beating like it has wings.

You feel Xaden's warm breath against your temple, "no," amusement lines his tone, "Sgaeyl isn't particularly fond of human flesh. She does, however, torch them."

"T--To--Torch them?" bile rises at the back of your throat.

The said dragon lets out another huff of steam and water sprinkles along your face. You squirm and plaster yourself against the taller rider like your life depends on it. Because it does.

"Play nice," he tells Sgaeyl, "it's probably the second time she's seen a dragon this close."

Sgaeyl's chest rumbles and you flinch back, not caring that you’re practically cuddled into Xaden as you eye the dragon’s set of glimmering scales. Up close, it ressembles more of a shimmering ocean and dare you say, it is absolutely mesmerizing.

As though sensing your gaze, Sgaeyl’s golden eyes settles on your own. It’s almost like a challenge, the way she stares you down unflinchingly as though you might be the unwanted distraction that needs to be taken away from her rider.

And then, just like that, the dragon’s features soften. She turns away, her long neck almost brushing against you as she settles against the edge of the wall.

If you extend your arm, you can almost touch her.

“What—What is she doing?” You croak out to Xaden, your words barely above a whisper.

“Nothing that concerns you, it seems,” it is then — when Xaden’s arm slowly loosens around your frame — that you take note of the way you’ve been pressed up against him all this time. You’re quick to scurry out of his arms and you’re glad that the cold is enough to cool the heat flushing your cheeks bright red.

“I—probably need to get back,” your hand scrambles for something to hold and you decide to grip the wall edge despite the rock digging into your palm, “thank you. You know— for not— well, I guess burning me to ashes. Or feeding me to your dragon.”

You’re off before he can say anything and Xaden merely gazes after you with a grin threatening to tug at the corners of his lips. That is until Sgaeyl’s giant form turns to face him with what looks to be disapproval.

I guess I should’ve seen it coming, her words echo through the bond link, she looks like she could be eaten in one bite.

“Don’t even think of it,” Xaden mutters. Behind his dragon, the smallest glimmers of gold pierces through the landscape to welcome the dawn.

What exactly do you find so fascinating about her? And why in God’s name do you trust her now when she hasn’t done anything to earn it?

Disapproval rolls of every tense line of her body in waves but the shadow-wielder merely leans back against the edge and lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

She’s too fucking gullible to be considered a threat, he says simply,

Oh really? That’s not what you said a few months ago.

You seem to hate her.

Shadow-wielder, I have lived for centuries. When you live for that long, you learn to trust when it’s clear to you that betrayal is not a possibility. Not when nothing was proven.

Do you trust me? Xaden’s jaw ticks.

Sgaeyl hesitates, yes. I do. Unfortunately.

Well, I trust her, Xaden says, so you will too.

He just hopes that he isn’t wrong on this account.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The next time you find the said shadow-wielder, he's sitting atop the roof before you, legs swinging into nothingness and face etched with a faraway look in his eyes. The sight is devastatingly beautiful, like he's a god carved out of marble, and your fingers twitch with the desire to run your hands through those dark strands that fall across his face, until he senses your approach and cocks his head towards you.

You jump, startled, "hi." you say lamely.

"Are you spying on me?"

"No," you say through flushed cheeks, glad that it's still dark out so that he can't see and --

And what? Make fun of you for it?

No. Xaden would use it as bait. Or as a way to get something out of the situation.

You tiptoe the rest of the way in silence so as not to disturb in peace, plopping down just a few meters away as the wind picks up and swirls through your hair, catching at your cheek as it does.

It is always so much more pleasant to watch the sunrise without the constant pressure of having people depend on you. These were the rare times of solitude that you had for yourself, and you weren't about to give that up. Not even for the grumpy Riorson.

"Can't sleep?" Xaden murmurs.

Your eyes narrow to his in surprise, "no actually. I usually wake up at this time."

"How so?"

He's being chatty today. You decide to entertain him, “I guess I’m not used to this place yet. And it’s colder than Basgiath.”

He gazes down at you with a look you cannot quite read, which prompts you to ask a, “what?”

He looks away, “where do you come from?”

His question perplexes you for a minute, “I’m from a small village next to Callydyr. Pretty isolated, we don’t get much company.”

When Xaden stays silent, you ask, “why?”

He avoids your question and asks another, “why become a Healer?”

“Why not?”

His dark eyes are steely. As if demanding a better answer than a rhetorical question.

You sigh, “my mother was a healer. Showed me pretty much everything I know about it. I guess I just wanted to be like her,” you let out a small laugh, “it’s a stupid reason, and not an honorable one. Not like you riders—“

“I wasn’t given a choice.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “right.” You croak, “sorry.“

“Not your fault,” Xaden leans back and you catch a glimpse of muscles lining up his forearm. You swallow thickly, heat permeating your skin as you look away.

“Anyway,” you try to change the subject, “how was it? Where you grew up?”

You think that maybe you’ve struck a chord too close to home. But Xaden surprises you by answering, “most Marked kids were put in foster homes. Wasn’t great, but it was manageable. As long as we recited what they wanted to hear, they left us alone.”

“Was it hard? Living without your parents?” You murmur hesitantly, tilting your head towards him.

He dips his head in a singular nod but does not say anything more.

There are parameters with him, you soon learn. Depending on his mood, he is either open to light discussion until it falls into territory he’d rather ignore, and that’s when he closes off like a brick wall. Or he’s straight up in a foul mood and refuses to speak even a word. You’d tried numerous times when you spot him in a permanent dark cloud, once even losing your temper when he’d snapped at you for something completely irrelevant.

“Gods Riorson, you are incorrigible when you’re like this,” you finally snap in growing irritation because goddamnit you’re not his babysitter. In fact, you might just have called yourself his friend, if not for the defensive way he keeps his walls up with you.

“You want a two-way honest conversation? Then stop acting like a baby every time I bring up something you don’t wanna talk about,” you continue on in a flow of anger, “and if you don’t wanna know, then stop asking me questions about myself then expect me not to ask you the same.”

Since then, he’s been a little more responsive to your advances. Though it’s clear that sometimes his grumpy ass cannot be fucked. But the fact that he is even trying for your sake is somewhat of a miracle, so you don’t complain.

“I wouldn’t get too close to him,” Peyton once tells you during your shift. You’re currently wiping down the medical counters as she puts away the medication, “he had a girlfriend, you know. Like, a serious relationship.”

“Wait—really?” You frown. It’s somehow surprising to think of Xaden as a serious relationship type of guy.

“Yeah. Apparently their dragons were mates. The relationship was strong, almost like they were mates in a way. But then…”

“Then what?”

“She got killed during battle in Resson,” Peyton shakes her head, “a pretty bad kill, apparently. He never got over it."

Oh.

It feels like a slap to your face.

For some reason, the notion of Xaden being so intensely attached to another woman has your stomach churning like you've eaten something bad for breakfast. No wonder he's so cold, so ruthless, so uncaring towards every single person he interacts with. His heart got broken once. He's definitely not going to try that again.

It makes it hard to look at him in the face after that. You can't seem to hold his eyes for more than a heartbeat and though you sense that he knows something must be off, he doesn't comment on it. Because he doesn't have to care. You're just someone he comes to when he needs patching up. Nothing more, nothing less.

So you do the only thing you can; busy yourself within the Healer’s room. Thank god for the piling number of injured people, for that keeps your distracted thoughts at bay as you focus on doing your job right instead.

Peyton chatters by your side as the days go by. She teaches you everything about the Outpost; the secret passageways, the extra food that would be stored in the kitchens once lights go out, the flowers at the back in a small alleyway right beside the Outpost wall— the one that faces the mountains and is actually off limits to you.

But peace never lasts long in a place like Samara. You’re jostled awake a few nights after by one of the Healers stating that enemies have breached your territory. You don’t hesitate, flinging yourself out of your bed and scurrying out— shoeless feet and all — towards the closest exit you know of.

You hear snarls and growls and clanging metal that suggests people are fighting but you don’t dare look, not when your heart feels like it might fall out of your chest, not even when a scream pierces through the turret and makes your own heart plummet like stone.

“Come on Tala! Quicker!” You can hear and make out Peyton’s figure by the doorway, a dark silhouette in contrast to the blinding light of the moon overhead.

But no sooner have you reached that a sharp talon strikes her from behind. She falls, her eyes still wide with terror as a scream tears past your throat, “Peyton!”

You throw yourself onto the open doorway, the wind and rain battering at your face as you gaze down in horror at Peyton’s lifeless body a few meters down.

“No,” you whimper out, lips trembling and backing away from the edge, “no…no, no, no.”

And that’s when you hear it, the softest hiss. A menace that causes a terrifying shiver down your spine. The man steps out from the swaths of darkness, eyes tinged with red and skin ashen grey, gnarly fingers curled in on themselves.

He’s filled with magic. The kind of magic that you can feel — from the bottom of your gut — is not of the good kind.

You back away, step by step, a silent prayer echoing through your head, “st—stay away from me,” you croak pathetically.

The man just laughs and keeps striding towards you like he doesn’t care. You keep moving back until you’re left with nothing but the stone wall at your back. You’re trapped with nowhere else to go, and he knows it.

“Please,” you can’t help but let out a broken whimper, “please don’t—“

Your words break off as the man’s arm shoots out to grab at your throat. You shriek and try to bat him away, but his hold is made of iron as you shamelessly squirm in growing panic that this is it.

You might die here.

No.

You will die here.

“Look at you, so weak. So pathetic,” the man hisses.

Everything stops for a second when his hand crushes your throat.

You gasp, eyes blinking as black starts to swarm—

And then, his hand’s gone.

You fall to your knees and gasp like your life depends on it, practically heaving your insides out as a figure steps out of the shadows and doesn’t hesitate to slice the man’s throat with one, smooth arc of his arm.

It’s Xaden.

Of course it’s him.

You’re still trying to reign in some oxygen when he strides over to your crouched form and bends down to face you.

His eyes are branded with a mixture of panic and anger, totally at odds with the gentle way he asks, “are you hurt?”

You shake your head no, not trusting your voice when your lips are practically trembling.

“Come on,” he tugs you up, grabbing onto your elbow before making his way out of the tower, the shadows blending the two of you into the wall as more cries and dragon howls slice through the night that reverberates through your ears, a terrible nightmare come to life.

You don’t even recall half of the journey out of the tower, only that Xaden manages to get you out onto the field before he practically throws you up onto Sgaeyl’s back and joins on a moment later. And then, you’re airborne, flying through the thick cloudy sky and leaving the mess of fire and ash behind as what’s left of Samara is destroyed by the remaining creatures you can’t even start to name.

All you know is that whatever you’ve seen that night is not human.

At some point you feel your lids press together, feel your head roll forward as sleep threatens to overtake you only to be nudged awake by the shadow-wielder.

“Eyes open,” he says, though his tone is tinged with barely concealed amusement, “we’re almost there.”

“Where are you bringing me?” You try to turn your head to look up at him, but can only see part of his chiseled jawline, “what happened? What are they? These—creatures?”

You notice the tension in his jaw, “Wyvern.”

“What’s a—wyvern?” The word sounds oddly familiar on your tongue. You’ve heard of that name before—

Wyvern.

“Wait,” realisation is an ice-bucket piercing straight into your skin, “you mean— the creatures from the fables?”

Xaden spares you a glance, “you catch on quick.”

Is that surprise and a little bit of pride you hear in his tone?

“Wyvern don’t exist,” you gape at him, “they’re—they’re like fairytales. Only meant to scare children—“

Xaden cuts you off, “they’re real.”

“But—“

“But nothing,” he snaps, “you’re not supposed to know this. Gods know what they’d do to you if they knew you were involved,” he tips his head forward, “we’re almost there,” he says, “I’ll tell you everything— when we land.”

You don’t argue. You find it’s easier when it concerns Xaden.

A few hours later and you've set foot into another house that looks by far like the grandest manor you've ever stepped foot into. It's dark marble floors are spotlessly clean and the victorian columns lining the centre rotunda reach for the skyline, an impressive architectural feat that you can't help but admire as you all but stumble after Xaden down one of the long-winded corridors.

He reaches a door ornate with a gold bangle and twists the knob open without hesitation. Inside, the room is simple enough; grand, without seeming too pretentious. With a grand bed and grey covers and too many pillows to count.

"You can stay here for the night," Xaden says without sparing you a glance, "lock your door. Don't let anyone in."

"Wait--" you reach for his arm, hand dropping to your side when he turns to you with that cold, impassive face that would've made you shut your mouth and run away if it were any other time.

But this is not like any other time. And Xaden has proved time and time again that despite what he wants people to believe -- that he's a soulless, merciless weapon used for the kill -- he is nothing but a man with a good heart that seems to have been disappointed too many times to count.

So you don't look away when those onyx storms lock on yours, glistening with golden flecks of emotions that causes something to stir in your lower belly.

"Where--" the words catch in your throat, "where are you going?"

He turns his body halfway towards you, swallowing up the whole doorway with his figure, "to my room?" he cocks his head like its a question.

"I--" you bite down so hard on your lip you can taste the metallic tang of blood, "well, I don't--can I--"

Xaden merely waits. Expression like stone. His gaze intense.

Your heart shudders as you force the words out before you can chicken out, "can you--stayhereplease?"

He stills.

You search his eyes. And then blink down.

What are you even thinking?

He's a rider. A merciless one at that, he doesn't do weaknesses, probably hates them with his entire gut. The woman he fell in love with, she was the one he'd bear his soul to, she was strong and bold and fierce and just as ruthless as he was. Not like you.

Never like you.

Why would he throw away his comfort just for the sake of making you feel safe?

"You want me--" he repeats low in his throat, keeping his eyes glued on your face as though to search for any kind of misunderstanding, "to stay with you?"

"Yes," you reply quickly, and then add, "please."

There's a beat of silence.

You don't dare look at him, don't even dare breathe as you wait for him to turn you down and walk away because he doesn't owe you anything. Not after just saving your life.

Warm hands reach for your shoulders.

Xaden moves you out of the way. He brushes past your figure into the room. For the second time, you watch in a mixture of surprise and a rush of gratefulness as he rummages through the drawers of the closet in the far corner. He pulls out a spare blanket and a pillow that he throws onto the battered couch resting on the opposite side, right beside the bed and wordlessly starts unbuttoning his flight jacket.

Your cheeks can't help but burn at the notion that this man has done more for you than anyone has ever done in your lifetime.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Your eyes snap away from him as his words cut through you like ice.

You stammer out a soft, "thank you" before scurrying towards the washroom, glad that you have the distraction of running water to ease the anxious knots now forming in your stomach.

Xaden merely watches, brow cocked and head tilted, a smile curving along his lips as your figure disappears through the door. It's not like he wants to find anything amusing. On the contrary, whatever has happened at the outpost has shaken him to his very core and now that you're here, there's a lot of questions he has to answer; about him, about this place, about how his secrets will either make or break your trust.

Why don't you take a picture? Sgaeyl huffs, if you keep staring at her like that, you might scorch her to death.

Her voice is a reminder to keep moving. He fluffs the pillows and settles on the ground. In the distance, he hears the softest squeak of the bath running. She's scared. It's a normal reaction. She is not a warrior.

You baby her too much, Sgaeyl snarls in a clear display of anger, she needs to know how to stand on her own two feet without you coddling her.

I'm not coddling her, he scowls at the opposite wall.

Keep telling yourself that, Shadow-wielder. But I see past your mask. You can lie to anyone but me.

And then, the bond goes silent. As though Sgaeyl has shut the doors in his face.

Xaden lets out a breath and runs a hand along his face. His muscles are aching from the flight and the remnants of battle, and still he can only think about the moment you might've died in front of his eyes if he hadn't been there on time.

Because he knows, deep down in his heart where there's a small cage of unspoken feelings that rattle through his chest like an echo of a reminder, that Sgaeyl is right. He is soft on you. Too soft, despite the fact that he can't even read your mind, read your intentions.

But the genuine fear in your eyes. The rush of gratefulness that swam through your face the moment you spotted him, like he was your saviour, your superhero. He cannot just ignore it.

People lie all the time. He's a master at it, deception and feigning nonchalance are his strong suit. But not you. You wear your heart on your sleeve, your face displayed like an open book, and that somehow makes Xaden want to protect you, to ensure that nothing-- no one -- can touch you.

And that thought is the single reason as to why he should stay the hell away from you.

Not just for his sake. But yours.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

a/n: thanks for reading! next part will be up soon! <3

[strange-and-unsual4]

LITTLE WITCH, FIC — xaden riorson x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you wake— a captive girl with untamed power and no recollection of its origins. before you is a scarred, shadowy figure, whose taunts ignite your abilities—binding your fates in a dangerous encounter. NOTES - fourth wing fic !! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

two;

“What are you doing?” Your voice trembled, unsteady—a ballerina with mangled feet, poised yet painfully unnatural.

Xaden’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk, as his fingers grazed the mahogany brush in his grasp. He didn’t answer, his dark eyes narrowing as he closed the distance between you. He seemed amused by all of this, or perhaps prideful.

You sat there, unchained but weak-hearted—though he had kept his promise. You were unchained.

Unchained and seated on an unfamiliar bed with grand, imposing posts and onyx-silk sheets. After an excruciatingly tense dinner, where every set of eyes at the table had cut into you like blades, Xaden had led you here. The silver-haired girl, in particular, had clutched her dagger tighter each time his gaze drifted toward your slouched figure.

Their whispers had danced around you like a ghostly waltz—sharp, feverish murmurs about your bruised wrists and hollow eyes. But you’d been too exhausted, too hollow yourself, to care. The soup in front of you had demanded all your focus.

You didn’t trust them. You didn’t trust him either—this man of shadows. Yet, inexplicably, he had fed you, given you a bed. And now he was… brushing your hair?

It was matted, straw-like, and stained with memories you couldn’t quite pluck free. The brush snagged against a knot, yanking sharply, and you winced. Xaden tensed, his patience fraying at the edges.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” he decided after a moment.

You didn’t protest.

He left, disappearing into the adjoining room, and when he returned, his outstretched hand was waiting for yours. Calloused, steady, and strangely anchoring. Against your better judgment, you placed your trembling palm in his.

“Come, little witch. If I wanted to bite you, you’d be bitten already.”

But as you rose unsteadily to your feet, his words stirred unease. He intended to join you.

The thought snagged on a sharp edge in your mind, but you were too weary to resist.

“Choose, Y/N,” a voice whispered from the corners of your memory, harsh and grating. “Kill him, and your power will be imminent.”

The agony hit like a tide, crashing over you until you clung to the onyx countertop for support. Xaden’s hands twitched at his sides, but he made no move to steady you.

When you raised your head, the mirror greeted you with a face that was hauntingly familiar: your own, but hollow, bruised, and unrecognizable.

“Y/N.” The name fell from your lips like a prayer, fragile and disbelieving. “My name is Y/N.”

Xaden nodded once, his towering presence unmoving.

“Yes, it is,” he said simply.

A flood of questions threatened to spill from your tongue, but you turned to him instead, accusation lacing your voice. “You know me.”

His expression didn’t falter as he began rolling up the cuffs of his midnight-black shirt, exposing veined forearms.

“No,” he said, his voice like gravel, “not personally.”

The irony wasn’t lost on you, given that he was about to bathe you. He looked at you expectantly, yet you made no effort to move. He needed to answer your question. You needed to know why.

“Strip,” he ordered, his tone firm but not unkind.

You remained still. His jaw twitched.

“If you’re going to sit there rotting in gods-know-how-long a time worth of grime, it’s going to be a great inconvenience for me. So you need to wash yourself— with or without my help. Your choice.”

Heat flushed your face, and the protest died in your throat. “Not. Personally,” you muttered under your breath, mimicking his earlier words. Were you to just sit wide eyed while he ran those awfully mangled hands down your skin? Your breasts, your— well.

For the first time, the corners of his lips lifted in genuine amusement. Slowly, he stepped forward, tucking a stray strand of your tangled hair behind your ear.

“Trust me, little witch. To me, you’re nothing more than a finely honed blade— sharp, useful, and exactly what we need to—” he stopped himself, and though you did not recognize much— you knew it was apprehension flashing in his eyes. “My desire belongs to the silver-haired girl downstairs.”

And your love, your mind supplied.

If that were true, why had they treated each other with such loathing at dinner?

Though Xaden’s words were an attempt at easing your hesitance— you still remained unmoving. Yet your prolonged silence seemed to unnerve him. He shifted on his feet before offering a compromise. “I’ll turn around.”

True to his word, he faced the wall, giving you the privacy to peel away the tattered cloth clinging to your starved body.

“Don’t turn around,” you whispered, tension straining your voice.

“I won’t,” he said softly, his shoulders rigid. “In the tub.”

The water enveloped you like an old lover, soothing every ache and gnawing pain. You curled into yourself, knees to chest, but when he turned back, the shadows didn’t entirely conceal you.

Xaden knelt by the tub, cupping water in his hands and letting it cascade over your hair. His touch was careful, deliberate, as he massaged circles into your temples. The silence between you was fragile but strangely comforting.

“You know of me,” you said at last, rephrasing your earlier accusation.

He hummed in acknowledgment, his hands moving with practiced precision.

“What am I?” The question hung between you, heavier than the steam rising from the bath.

Not who. What.

He paused, his fingers lingering on the sharp angles of your collarbone before he answered. “You’re very special.”

The words were maddeningly vague, but you didn’t have the strength to push. Instead, you murmured, “How did you find me?”

His hands resumed their work, scrubbing soap through your matted locks. This time, he didn’t pause.

“It took a very, very long fucking time.” He sounded exhausted at the idea of it.

“But you found me,” you pressed, desperate now. “Why?”

And then, the madness prickled at your very mind once more. Phantom voices humming… his voice— and his still lips. All within your head.

She doesn’t know her worth yet.

You think you do? This voice belonged to a woman.

She’ll learn soon enough.

Better hope she survives the lesson…

Before you had even a moment to ponder those ominous words, he tipped your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I told you, you’re special, little witch. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you know what that means yet.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. But before you could respond, he draped a washcloth over your trembling hand.

“Wash yourself,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Your cheeks burned as you obeyed, turning your body away from him to complete the task. When you finished, exhaustion pressed heavily against your fragile frame.

You knew your name, but not your home. Your love, your family or friends. Did you have any? This cage with its high stone walls and scrutinizing creatures, it frightened you.

“Please,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “Help me understand. I—I’m afraid.”

His eyes raked over your expression for a long moment— a mixture of admiration and pity flaring within them. He cupped your face in one damp hand, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped free.

“Stop crying. I’ll help you understand,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “And you’ll hate me for it. But make no mistake, little witch: what my rebellion does to you won’t be wasted. You’re a weapon, dormant for too long. It’s time to wake you up. It’s time to win the war.”

🏷️’s: @emryb

[strange-and-unsual4]

Can We Keep Her?

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson & sister!reader, Xaden Riorson & Bodhi Durran & Garrick Tavis

Summary: How a ten year old Xaden found a little girl abandoned in the woods and brought her home to be his sister.

Warnings: References to past child abuse/neglect, child abandonment, reader has selective mutism

Written for @empyreanevents's Tyrrendor Week Day 6: Family. (Posted a few days late because this ended up being more than twice as long as planned)

AO3

The forest where they found you was more than an hour on horseback from Aretia, which was why it wasn't very often that they went there to play, despite how much Xaden loved it. In hindsight, he thinks it must have been fate that he, Garrick, and Bodhi were there that day, in the right place at the right time to happen upon you.

The first time they saw you, they only caught a glimpse of you; a small figure curled up on a soft patch of moss one second, darting off into the trees the next. They simply shrugged it off, too focused on their game of catch to dwell on it. If he had thought about it, Xaden simply would have assumed you had come to the forest with your family for a picnic or to pick berries, wandered a little ways off to take a nap in the sun, and ran back to your parents when the boys' loud playing woke you. By the time they returned home, Xaden had as good as forgotten about it.

But a few days later, they saw you again, and this time, you didn't run. They quickly realized why — you'd gotten so tangled up in a raspberry bush that you probably weren't able to get free without help.

You squirmed as they tied their horses to a nearby tree and approached you, eyes wide with fear and following their every move. In your effort to get away, you only ensnared yourself further in the brambles, thorns tearing at your clothes and bare arms.

"Easy, kid," Garrick said as the three of them stopped a few feet away from you, speaking in the same tone one might use to calm a skittish horse. "We just want to help you."

You stopped struggling at the words, gaze fixed on Garrick. Still, that fear remained on your face, making Xaden wonder just how you had ended up in this position. Had someone been chasing you? A wild animal frightened you?

He could ask while they freed you, he decided, taking a step closer with his hands held up to show you his empty palms. Eyes meeting yours, he put all the friendliness he could in his gaze, tried to appear as non-threatening as possible.

Bodhi and Garrick followed, moving just as slowly.

Close enough to start disentangling you, Xaden thought he heard a faint whimper and froze, his hand inches away from the brambles around your arm. Glancing at your face, you were breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut as if bracing for something painful. Another whimper followed, just as quiet, but this time Xaden was sure he heard it.

Softly, he said, "We're not going to hurt you. If you hold still, I think we can get you free without the thorns scratching you much, okay?"

You showed no reaction, but at least you kept still.

Xaden figured that was close enough to permission to help you; after all, they couldn't just leave you like this. They hadn't seen anyone else around, either, no adult you might belong with, who might do a better job of calming you. The fact struck Xaden as strange, since you seemed awfully little to be roaming the woods all by yourself, but he ignored that for now, focusing instead on getting you out of that bush.

With the three of them working together, it didn't take as long as Xaden had feared. Soon he could pick you up under the arms, Bodhi and Garrick pulling away the last of the brambles wrapped around your ankle.

Though you were heavier than you looked, Xaden could feel every single rib beneath his hands. He didn't know much about younger kids — his friends and closer acquaintances were all around his own age, a year or two younger at most — but he doubted your bones were supposed to be protruding like that. No more than five or six years old at the very most by Xaden's unskilled estimate, you should have still had some of that baby fat that made every toddler he had ever seen appear soft and chubby.

Underfed; that was what you were.

Taking a couple steps backward to make sure you were a safe distance from the tangle of raspberries, Xaden carefully set you back on your feet.

You still hadn't spoken a single word, had shown no indication you'd even heard the stream of questions and chatter the boys had tried to distract you with while they freed you. At least you had opened your eyes again.

"What were you even doing out here all alone?" Xaden asked again.

Just like before, you didn't answer, only continued to watch them.

With those too-skinny legs and wide, fearful eyes, you reminded Xaden of a fawn ready to bolt any moment.

"Where are your parents? Should we help you look for them?" Garrick tried.

When the result remained the same, he frowned, stepping closer to Xaden to whisper, "Do you think she's deaf, maybe?"

Xaden shrugged. You looked like you were listening when they spoke, eyes darting between them. Still, he repeated his earlier question to you in sign language, just in case.

No reaction.

Garrick crossed his arms, his frown deepening. "Great, so she doesn't understand us. What are we supposed to do with her now?"

"You don't know if she understands us or not," Xaden argued. "Maybe she just can't answer. Or doesn't want to."

He thought you might simply be too scared to talk to them, but didn't see any point in saying so. It didn't matter why you weren't speaking. Even if you were capable of words, it was your own decision whether or not to use them.

"Anyway it's mean to talk about her like she's not there," Bodhi interrupted. Before they could react, he leaned down to your height and asked, "Do you understand us?"

You nodded, the movement so small Xaden almost missed it.

It didn't surprise him at all that his cousin was the one to finally elicit a reaction from you. He was quieter than Xaden and Garrick, and preferred to trail after the older boys rather than make friends of his own, but he got along with just about everyone, was liked by everyone.

Even as he threw a I told you so-glare at them over his shoulder, he still looked friendly.

"Okay, Mr. Child-Whisperer," Garrick said, rolling his eyes, "but that doesn't help us figure out what to do now."

Garrick was right about that. They still didn't know how you'd ended up stuck in those brambles, why you were alone in the woods, where your family was and whether you needed help to find your way back to them. Without getting answers out of you, they couldn't decide what to do, and it was late afternoon already, so they would have to head home soon.

Xaden sat down in a crouch before you. If he made himself smaller than you, maybe you would be less intimidated. With yes or no questions, they should be able to figure out what they could do for you.

And yes — though still hesitant, you answered at least some of the questions they asked with nods or shakes of your head. Yes, you were alone. No, you hadn't been running from anyone or anything when you got tangled in the raspberries. No, you did not want them to look for your parents. No, nobody was coming to pick you up.

When Bodhi asked if you wanted them to take you to the nearby village where they assumed you must have come from, you shook your head again, but didn't let on whether that guess was correct or not.

Xaden suggested one of them should ride there to ask if anyone was missing a little girl while the other two remained with you, but you shook your head, more frantically this time.

Once again, Xaden wondered what you were so frightened of. Someone from the village, maybe?

"Okay, okay," Xaden placated. "No going to the village. Got it."

Indeed, you calmed at that.

"But we'll have to go home soon, you see. We could take you home first, but we'd have to know where it is to do that."

No reply to that, not even a shrug.

Out of ideas, the boys shared a helpless look.

You weren't acting like you were lost — or at least not how Xaden thought a small child who was lost would act. Though you still seemed on guard, you had relaxed a little, as if getting used to their presence. As strange as the situation was, nothing about your behavior suggested you needed help. What Xaden had interpreted as fear might have well been simple shyness, and if you needed help, surely you would have given them a sign of it. Even if you were unable or unwilling to communicate what exactly was wrong, you would have surely shown signs of distress at their mention of having to leave — would have started crying, or grabbed for them.

Maybe there was a perfectly harmless explanation — maybe one or both of your parents were woodsmen, maybe they had a cottage nearby that the boys didn't know of, and the reason you hadn't wanted Xaden to go into the village was simply that it would have been unnecessary since you didn't belong there. If you were used to the woods, it might not be so strange for you to be left unsupervised here for so long; how would he know?

Xaden tried to make himself believe that story, but only half succeeded. You looked dirty and tired — much more so than being stuck in those raspberries could explain. Like you'd been wandering though the forest for days.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked. "If we leave you here?"

You nodded — not very convincingly, Xaden thought, but calling you a liar wouldn't change anything, so he kept his mouth shut. They had no choice but to go home and hope you really would be okay.

As they rode back to Aretia, Xaden's thoughts kept drifting back to you. He felt bad leaving you behind like they had, but what else could they have done? Kidnapped you? Stayed out until nightfall, making their own parents worry? They had lingered as long as they could. If they were late for supper, his dad or aunt might decide not to let them ride this far again anytime soon, and Xaden was determined to return the next day, to see if you would be there again and make sure you were alright. Fortunately it was the weekend, and Garrick was staying over at their place.

"Do you think the girl made it home?" Bodhi broke the heavy silence as they neared Riorson House.

"Hopefully," Xaden replied, glad he wasn't the only one who couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Do you think we should tell Mom or your dad? They could send someone to make sure she's okay. An adult, I mean."

Xaden considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "There's no point when we don't know if anything is actually wrong. We'll go back to check on the girl ourselves tomorrow."

Maybe it was selfish of him, but they were the ones who'd found you and earned a fraction your trust. If his father sent guards to look for you, they would only scare you. Likely as not, you would run and hide from them, as you had ran when the boys first saw you a few days ago. And if you really did live in the forest with your family, all the fuss would be for nothing.

"She's probably fine," Garrick said. "She didn't look like she minded when we left."

Xaden nodded. You had seemed content to remain in the woods.

He still didn't like it.

"I wish we knew her name," he changed the topic. "Then we could ask around if anyone knows her. And it's stupid having to call her the girl."

"Yeah, well, she wasn't exactly talkative."

"What if we call her Raspberry?" Bodhi suggested.

"We are not calling her raspberry."

"We have to call her something, though," his cousin insisted. "You just said it's stupid having to call her the girl."

"That doesn't mean we have to give her some ridiculous nickname. If we see her again tomorrow, we'll try if we can get her to tell us her actual name."

"If she can," Garrick added. "What do you think, is she mute?"

"I dunno. When we first got close to her, I'm pretty sure she whimpered."

Bodhi nodded. "And once or twice it looked like she wanted to say something, but then got too scared."

"Maybe she's got that thing you have, Bodhi." Xaden couldn't remember what it was called. "You know, where the words just won't come out sometimes."

It was something his cousin had struggled with a lot when he first started school, but thanks to therapy, it didn't seem to be as much of a problem anymore.

"Yeah, maybe."

The next day, they ate a rushed breakfast, saddled their horses and rode out to look for you, leaving the house even before their parents.

When they reached the tangle of raspberry bushes, you weren't there. Nor did they find you in the clearing where they'd first glimpsed you. Xaden didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. If you were safe at home it would be good, but what if you were still wandering around somewhere? The forest was big, and you could have been anywhere inside it.

Even when Garrick and Bodhi started to grumble, saying you clearly weren't there anymore, he insisted they keep looking. After an hour and a half, doubt crept in. Maybe his friends were right, and he was chasing them through the woods for nothing. Even if you had been lost, your family would have found you by now and you were probably at home, telling your friends about your adventure.

Xaden didn't want to admit he was wrong, though. Stubbornly ignoring the increasingly exasperated glances passing between Bodhi and Garrick, he led his horse deeper into the forest.

His persistence payed off.

There you were, sitting by a small stream that trickled through the trees. You still wore the clothes from the day before, dirty and ripped from the thorns in places. Your face was still dirty too, Xaden noted as you turned to face them. Surprise shone in your eyes to see them, but you remained where you sat, didn't tense in fear. They really had earned some of your trust, then.

"Hi Raspberry," Bodhi greeted you.

Xaden elbowed his cousin, but you only blinked at the nickname, lifting a hand. It wasn't quite a wave, but close enough.

You seemed livelier than the day before, more open.

Xaden hoped that meant they'd be able to get some answers from you today somehow. He didn't think you were old enough to know how to write, but had brought a notepad and pencil all the same. Maybe you could draw them an explanation, if you weren't comfortable communicating any other way.

The boys sat down in the grass near you so the four of you formed a loose circle. Close to you, but not close enough to invade your space or make you feel cornered.

"What's your name?" Xaden asked after telling you his own and those of his companions, which he'd realized this morning they'd completely forgotten to do yesterday.

He was prepared for more of that silence, but to his surprise, you actually answered — so softly he almost didn't catch it, but you did answer.

"So she can speak!" Garrick shouted excitedly.

You flinched at the volume, and Xaden glared at his best friend, hissing at him not to be an ass.

Garrick had the decency to wince. "Sorry."

"What were you doing?" Bodhi wanted to know from you, but only received a shrug in answer.

Nothing, then.

"Did you go home last night?" Xaden asked.

You blinked, head cocked to the side, almost as if to say you didn't have such a thing.

Xaden tried again, rewording the question. "Did you sleep out here?"

When you nodded, he swallowed hard. They shouldn't have left you, should have tried harder to figure out how to help you. Should have told their parents about you like Bodhi had suggested.

"Why?" Garrick asked. "Are you lost?"

Inexplicably, you shook your head.

Xaden, Bodhi, and Garrick shared a confused look. If you weren't lost, then why in Amari's name would you be sleeping in the woods?

When Garrick asked as much, you only shrugged.

"Did you run away from home?"

You shook your head.

It didn't make sense. In fairy-tales like the ones Xaden's mother had read him when he'd been younger, children might live alone in the woods, raised by wolves or watched over by tree ghosts, but in real life, things like that weren't possible. In real life, the woods would be creepy and lonely at night. In real life, there were no friendly ghosts to keep an abandoned child from starving. In real life, there was no motherly love that might drive a wolf or bear to adopt a tiny human that somehow wandered into their territory. In real life, mothers left without explaining why they didn't love you anymore.

Xaden stilled, thoughts scratching to a stop.

Abandoned children, mothers that left... Could that be what had happened? A child being cast into the woods by their parents was another thing he would have assumed only happened in stories, but maybe he was wrong about that. It would explain why you were alone out here, why you hadn't wanted them to help you look for your parents.

"But you slept out here all alone, right?" Bodhi's voice interrupted his thoughts.

This time, you nodded, and his cousin asked, "Weren't you scared?"

Only another shrug at that. It seemed you really didn't like to speak; since telling them your name, you hadn't said a single word.

"How long have you been out here?" Xaden asked, dreading the answer.

You lifted your hand, hesitated, then held up four fingers — like you weren't entirely sure of the answer.

"Four days?"

A verbal answer this time, barely above a whisper. "Think so."

Xaden let out a curse his father would have probably grounded him for if he heard him say it. Four days alone in this forest. Maybe more, since you weren't certain of your count. Now he understood why you looked so dirty and exhausted.

Bodhi and Garrick also seemed alarmed, and Xaden knew they were all thinking the same thing: They were not leaving this forest without you today. Somehow, they would help you.

"Isn't there anyone who misses you?" Xaden pushed. "Someone who might be searching for you?"

"Nuh-uh."

"You don't have anywhere to go back to?"

Yet another shake of your head.

They would have to take you to Aretia with them, then. His father would know what to do, what authorities to invoke. In the meantime, you could stay with them at Riorson House. Maybe— Xaden started at the idea. Maybe you could even stay with them forever. If he could convince his father to adopt you...

Gods, how amazing that would be! A little sibling, just like he always wanted!

But he could think about it later. For now, they should try to get some more answers from you. The more they knew, the better they would be able to explain everything to the adults — and it would be them who would have to explain it, Xaden was sure. You would probably go all silent again when they brought you into a new situation, with new people you didn't know.

Piece by piece, they managed to get the story out of you, using yes or no questions as much as they could and giving you as much time as you needed when something required a spoken explanation. When you finished, Xaden was shaking with quiet rage, his mood matching the dark clouds that had rolled in to hide the sun.

Earlier this week, your mother had led you from the house at sunset, offering no explanation as to why — not until you'd been deep in the woods, where she'd declared she was leaving you there since she was tired of your behavior. When Xaden asked what exactly she had meant by that, you only shrugged. Difficult children deserved to be taken into the woods to be devoured by monsters; that's what your mother had apparently told you time and time again, and four days ago, she made true on that threat. She just left you there — left you to die, Xaden realized, even if you didn't. Summer was drawing to an end, the nights slowly getting colder. Even if by some miracle you managed to find enough berries to sustain you, you wouldn't have lasted more than a couple more weeks at most. Soon, the cold autumn winds would start blowing, followed by frost in the nights. If you were still out here by then, you would be dead. And if Xaden was old enough to realize that, then surely your mother had known it, too.

Xaden had never loathed anyone as much as he loathed your mother upon hearing that story. How a parent could do such a thing, he didn't know. His own mother might have left him, too, but there was no comparing that to what yours had done. Xaden, at least, still had his dad, had a home. You had no one and nothing. But you would, Xaden vowed. From now on, you would have him. Despite the differences of your situations, he knew all too well what it was like to be abandoned, what it must have felt like to have your mother turn her back on you without any explanation of what you had done to deserve it. The both of you could heal from those emotional wounds together.

"Okay, so your mom sucks," Garrick summed up. Xaden barely refrained from snapping what an understatement that was. "What about your dad?"

You cocked your head to the side, looking confused.

"Don't have one?" Bodhi guessed.

You nodded.

"That sucks," Garrick said again.

Bodhi gave you a comforting smile. "Don't worry, we'll find you a new home. And a new family. A better one."

"We can be your family," Xaden offered.

You turned your gaze upon him, a tentative smile forming on your lips — the first one they'd seen from you.

Still, when they prepared to ride home, you hesitated.

Xaden understood. After everything you'd been through — he was certain your mother hadn't treated you well even before casting you out — it made sense that you wouldn't trust any adults, and you knew that in the end, what happened to you wouldn't be up to Xaden and his friends, but to their parents.

Xaden was sure they would gladly help you, certainly weren't going to send you back to a mother who clearly didn't care for you. If they tried, Xaden wouldn't let them. As far as he was concerned, she had stopped being your mother the moment she walked away from you. Having done so once, there was no reason she wouldn't do it again if you were returned to her.

You deserved better than that.

Again, he thought that the best solution would be for his own father to adopt you. There were plenty of vacant rooms in the family wing of Riorson House, so space certainly wouldn't be an issue. And he didn't think his dad or aunt would mind having another child in the house. His aunt, especially, would probably be happy to dote on you. Maybe she should be the one to adopt you... But Xaden wanted a sister, not another cousin. When he'd been younger, he'd frequently asked his parents — begged them, really — for a little sibling, but they had only shaken their heads and reminded him he had Bodhi. And sure, the both of them were close, but a little cousin that lived with him just wasn't the same as a little sister of his own, especially since Bodhi was barely a year younger.

He shook his head. First of all, he had to bring you home. Anything else would come afterwards.

Xaden didn't know what it was that finally convinced you — the onset of rain, the prospect of a soft bed and warm meal, his assurance that their parents would not mind your presence, that they were kind, or maybe his promise that he would keep you safe, would make sure you never had to see your mother again. It didn't matter why you finally agreed to come home with them, only that you did.

Getting you onto his horse was comparatively easy. Even though you eyed the animal with the wariness of someone who'd never sat a horse before, you remained calm as Xaden hefted you into the saddle and swung himself up after you.

All the way home, he prayed that his father would agree to take you in. After almost half a year since Xaden's mom had left, his dad and aunt had stopped treading on eggshells around him, but they still tried to make up for her absence in whatever ways they could. He wasn't above taking advantage of that, if he had to. Whatever it took to convince his father to adopt you, Xaden would do it. He had promised to look after you, and he intended to keep that promise.

Xaden's dad was still working when they arrived, but luckily not in the middle of any important meetings. They found him in his office, going through some paperwork with Bodhi's mom. Good — if they were both there, the boys wouldn't have to explain the situation twice.

You kept close to Xaden as he peered into the room after knocking, hiding behind him.

"Dad, do you have a moment? It's important."

When his father nodded, Xaden entered the room, Bodhi and Garrick following. Caught in the middle of the group, you had no choice but to do the same.

Putting a hand on your shoulder, Xaden stepped aside so his father and aunt could see you.

"We found her in the woods," he explained. "Her mother left her there because she didn't want her anymore."

For a moment, they just stared.

All four of you were soaked from the rain, which had only gotten heavier once you'd left the shelter of the trees. With your wet hair plastered to your head, your wide eyes appeared even bigger, bones jutting through the clothes sticking to your skin. At least the rain had washed away most of the dirt.

"Let's get you dried off, then you can tell us everything," his aunt said, leaving the room to return with a stack of towels.

When all of you were wrapped in warm towels and had sat down, Xaden's dad turned to you. "So, my boy says you were left in the forest?"

"I don't think she can speak right now, dad," Xaden said after a quick glance at you. "It took forever for her to feel comfortable enough with us to tell us, and I think adults scare her even more."

"I see." Xaden's dad nodded and motioned for him to go on.

"She's not sure how long she's been out there, but probably about four days. Her mom told her she deserved to be left there because she was 'being difficult'. When we found her she was stuck in a raspberry bush and really scared of us at first."

Bodhi added, "And, well, obviously she can't go back to her mom so we took her with us."

"That was the right thing to do," Bodhi's mom praised, running a hand over his wet curls.

Just then, your stomach growled. Shrinking in on yourself even more, you threw a frightened glance between Xaden's dad and aunt, like you were expecting to be scolded for the sound.

They noticed it too.

"Let's get you something to eat before we do anything else," his dad said to you with a reassuring smile.

Xaden's aunt added, "And all four of you need a warm shower and dry clothes."

While Bodhi, his mom, and Garrick led you away, Xaden lingered in his father's office.

"Can we keep her?" he asked, earning himself a disapproving look from his father.

"She's not a stray dog, Xaden," he reprimanded.

"I know, dad. I didn't mean it like that. But can she stay with us? It's not like she has anywhere else to go. Please!"

Xaden knew it had been stupid of him to get attached to the idea of you becoming his sister before his dad even knew you existed, but the moment the thought had popped into his head, it had sunk its teeth into him and refused to let go. It would be good for both of you. Just like him, you had been abandoned by your mother; that alone already meant you could understand each other in a way no one else did. And Xaden thought he would make a great older brother. He had plenty of practice from being Bodhi's big cousin, which wasn't quite the same, but similar enough. And you'd come to trust him a lot already — Bodhi and Garrick, too, sure, but you were the most comfortable with Xaden. He could be your protector, make sure you would never have to be scared of anything again.

"For tonight, yes. She will stay with us until we find her a permanent home. But whether we can be that permanent home..." Dad thoughtfully shook his head. "I don't know, Xaden. I'll have to think on it."

When he started to argue, his father cut him off.

"I know you would like to have a sister, and I understand that you feel responsible for her since you're the ones who found her, but you have to think about what she needs, too, not just what you want. She needs parents who have a lot time for her, who can help her heal from what she's been through."

"But—"

"I said I would think about it, Xaden. And I promise that if she can't stay with us—" He raised a hand to stop Xaden as he opened his mouth to argue again. "If, Xaden. I'm not saying no yet. But if I decide she can't live with us, I'll try to find a family here in Aretia for her, so you can visit her."

"New people scare her," Xaden muttered — the only argument he could think of.

"I'll take that into consideration. Now go put on some dry clothes."

Xaden understood a dismissal when he heard one, so he turned to go to his room.

Though he wasn't foolish enough to say it, he thought his father's reasoning was stupid. It was true that being the duke of Aretia meant he was often very busy, but he always managed to make a little time for Xaden. Whether that time was spend with him alone or shared with you would hardly make any difference. Even if it did, that didn't mean that parents who didn't work and had more time for you would automatically be better parents.

Xaden didn't bother with a shower, just dried off and put on fresh clothes. When he was done, he went to see where you had gone.

He found you in his cousin's room, where he was trying to find something you could wear, while his mom was getting you something to eat. Luckily, there were a few items that had recently gotten too small for Bodhi, which his mom hadn't yet gotten rid of. They would still be too big on you, but better than anything of Xaden's. Until your own clothes were washed, it would do.

Taking the clothes from Bodhi, Xaden led you back to his own room and into the bathing chamber, let water into the tub and laid out a fresh towel and the clothes for you.

"You, uh— You're old enough to bathe on your own, right?"

He scratched his head, glancing between you and the tub. He'd never really thought about its size, but next to your tiny form, it suddenly seemed awfully big. Big enough to make him fear you might disappear in its depths, if he let it run full.

Your shrug wasn't exactly reassuring.

"Didn't you have a bathtub with your mom?"

"Nh-nh. Just a shower."

No, not reassuring at all.

"Do you know how to swim?"

A futile question, since the bathtub wasn't big enough to swim in, even for you, but if you could swim, it would mean you were at least familiar with water and its dangers.

You shook your head.

"I'll only fill it halfway, then," Xaden decided. After all, he hadn't brought you home just for you to drown in his bathtub. Glancing at it again, he realized it was already a little more than halfway full, and quickly stopped the water. "And I'll leave the door open. If you need anything, just—"

Just yell for me, he'd meant to say, but of course, you might not be able to. Crap.

Looking around, he spotted a fleck of color on top of the bathroom cabinet. He stepped onto the lid of the toilet and reached for the dust-coated rubber duck. It had been years since he even thought of the thing, but if he remembered correctly— Squeak.

Perfect.

Hopping down, he blew the dust from the duck and offered it to you. "If you need me, just squeeze it, okay?"

You nodded, and Xaden nodded back, rather pleased with his own resourcefulness.

"Alright. Go ahead then, before the water gets cold. I'll be right outside."

While you bathed and Xaden sat on his bed listening for sounds of drowning, Bodhi and his mom came in with a bowl of soup for you. Outside, the rain had stopped for the moment, so Garrick had gone home before it could start pouring again.

"I'm going to prepare one of the rooms down the hall for her," Xaden's aunt said. "You'll make sure she eats when she's done in the bath, yes, Xaden?"

Xaden nodded. Of course he would.

Bodhi, who had just sat down beside him, jumped back to his feet to follow his mother. "I'll help you."

She nodded. "Thank you, dear."

A few minutes later, you emerged from the bathing chamber, water still dripping from your hair. As expected, the old shirt you'd gotten from Bodhi was too big on you, but Xaden thought it made a pretty good nightgown. And you did look ready to crawl into bed, even though it wasn't even dinner time yet. You must have not gotten much sleep these past days in the woods.

As you ate, Xaden asked, "Do you know sign language?"

When you only looked at him confused, Xaden explained, "There's different movements you make with your hands that mean the same things as words. See, like this." He repeated what he'd said in sign language — or tried, at least. He wasn't very good at it himself just yet, but determined to get better in case it would help you. "I could teach you. Maybe it'll be easier than talking with your mouth."

You nodded, eyes shining with excitement.

Xaden wondered if your mother had ever bothered to offer you alternative ways of communication. Considering what he knew about her so far, he doubted it. The thought angered him. Even Xaden's dad, who didn't even know you, made more of an effort to make you feel safe and understood than your own mother ever had.

Soon the soup was gone, and your eyelids started to droop.

"Do you want to take a nap?" Xaden asked.

You shrugged, but obediently lay down in Xaden's bed and let him tuck you in when he tried.

"Sleep," he said, getting comfortable beside you. "I'll watch over you."

"You won't leave me alone?"

The question came out tentatively, but Xaden's heart still surged with pride that you felt safe enough with him to ask it at all.

"Never," he promised. "I'll always take care of you, no matter what."

"Even when I'm being difficult?"

"Especially then," Xaden assured you.

He figured that the moments when you behaved in a way your mother had deemed difficult were the ones where you needed caring for the most. That's how it was for him, at least. In the weeks and months after his mom had left, he'd acted plenty difficult — sulking around and snapping at everyone who came near, even as he desperately craved their comforting words and hugs, wanted to be reassured they wouldn't abandon him too.

With a relieved smile, you closed your eyes and soon drifted off.

Outside Xaden's room, his dad and aunt had overhead the conversation, which swayed them toward a decision.

"It would be cruel to send her away when she feels so safe here already," Bodhi's mom was saying.

Xaden's dad nodded. "I'm just worried she'll need more time and affection than I can give."

"Who says you have to raise her alone? We'll take care of her together, just like of our boys. It might be good for them, too — having a girl around."

He looked through the half-open door again, shaking his head. "We're just kidding ourselves if we pretend it hasn't already been decided, aren't we?"

"Indeed."

A quiet tapping sound made Xaden look to the open door. His father stood in the doorway, smiling slightly, and gestured for Xaden to come to him. He climbed out of bed, careful not to wake you.

Once he had joined his father in the hall, door closed behind him, Dad said, "I've decided."

Xaden blinked in surprise. It had only been a few hours. Not sure if the fact that his father had made his decision much faster than expected, Xaden held his breath.

"It will take some time to get all the necessary papers, but once that's taken care of, you'll officially have a little sister."

Xaden threw himself at his father in a hug. "Thank you!"

"Not so loud," his dad chuckled, patting his back. "You'll wake her up."

The next morning, Xaden was awake earlier than you. 

You looked even more fragile in your sleep than you did awake, your little fingers curled around the edge of the pillowcase, face truly relaxed for the first time since Xaden had met you. He would do his best to ensure you would always feel this safe in the future. As your big brother, that would be his job, to keep you safe, and never ever let anybody hurt you, like your mother had, and Xaden was determined to take that responsibility very seriously.

Impatiently waiting to tell you the good news, he lay awake and watched your slumbering form. He knew better than to wake you up. The days alone in the woods had exhausted you, and you needed every minute of sleep you could get to recover. They'd even let you sleep through dinner last night, and when Xaden had climbed into bed beside you, you hadn't so much as stirred. At least you hadn't seemed to have any nightmares. Maybe that would come later — the following night, you would have to sleep in your own room, alone. Dad had allowed you to remain in Xaden's room the past night because he hadn't wanted to risk waking you, but he would not let this become a habit, Xaden knew.

Finally, you stirred. Xaden threw aside the illustrated book about weapons he'd grabbed from his bedside table after getting bored, and sat up.

"Guess what," he said by way of good morning.

"Huh?"

"My dad is adopting you!" He paused, suddenly realizing he hadn't really asked your opinion on the matter. "If you'd like that, I mean."

You slowly blinked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep. "I— I can stay? Here?"

Xaden nodded, cheeks straining with how wide he was smiling. Gods, he hadn't smiled like this since before his mother had left. "This can be your home, if you want. And I'll be your brother."

Slowly, a smile lit up your face.

"Would you like that?" Xaden asked. He saw the answer on your face, but wanted confirmation.

You nodded, putting your little hand into his. "Brother."

The whispered word was the most beautiful sound Xaden had ever heard.

"Sister," he replied, closing his fingers around your own to give a gentle squeeze.

[strange-and-unsual4]

LITTLE WITCH, FIC — xaden riorson x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you wake— a captive girl with untamed power and no recollection of its origins. before you is a scarred, shadowy figure, whose taunts ignite your abilities—binding your fates in a dangerous encounter. NOTES - fourth wing fic !! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

two;

“What are you doing?” Your voice trembled, unsteady—a ballerina with mangled feet, poised yet painfully unnatural.

Xaden’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk, as his fingers grazed the mahogany brush in his grasp. He didn’t answer, his dark eyes narrowing as he closed the distance between you. He seemed amused by all of this, or perhaps prideful.

You sat there, unchained but weak-hearted—though he had kept his promise. You were unchained.

Unchained and seated on an unfamiliar bed with grand, imposing posts and onyx-silk sheets. After an excruciatingly tense dinner, where every set of eyes at the table had cut into you like blades, Xaden had led you here. The silver-haired girl, in particular, had clutched her dagger tighter each time his gaze drifted toward your slouched figure.

Their whispers had danced around you like a ghostly waltz—sharp, feverish murmurs about your bruised wrists and hollow eyes. But you’d been too exhausted, too hollow yourself, to care. The soup in front of you had demanded all your focus.

You didn’t trust them. You didn’t trust him either—this man of shadows. Yet, inexplicably, he had fed you, given you a bed. And now he was… brushing your hair?

It was matted, straw-like, and stained with memories you couldn’t quite pluck free. The brush snagged against a knot, yanking sharply, and you winced. Xaden tensed, his patience fraying at the edges.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” he decided after a moment.

You didn’t protest.

He left, disappearing into the adjoining room, and when he returned, his outstretched hand was waiting for yours. Calloused, steady, and strangely anchoring. Against your better judgment, you placed your trembling palm in his.

“Come, little witch. If I wanted to bite you, you’d be bitten already.”

But as you rose unsteadily to your feet, his words stirred unease. He intended to join you.

The thought snagged on a sharp edge in your mind, but you were too weary to resist.

“Choose, Y/N,” a voice whispered from the corners of your memory, harsh and grating. “Kill him, and your power will be imminent.”

The agony hit like a tide, crashing over you until you clung to the onyx countertop for support. Xaden’s hands twitched at his sides, but he made no move to steady you.

When you raised your head, the mirror greeted you with a face that was hauntingly familiar: your own, but hollow, bruised, and unrecognizable.

“Y/N.” The name fell from your lips like a prayer, fragile and disbelieving. “My name is Y/N.”

Xaden nodded once, his towering presence unmoving.

“Yes, it is,” he said simply.

A flood of questions threatened to spill from your tongue, but you turned to him instead, accusation lacing your voice. “You know me.”

His expression didn’t falter as he began rolling up the cuffs of his midnight-black shirt, exposing veined forearms.

“No,” he said, his voice like gravel, “not personally.”

The irony wasn’t lost on you, given that he was about to bathe you. He looked at you expectantly, yet you made no effort to move. He needed to answer your question. You needed to know why.

“Strip,” he ordered, his tone firm but not unkind.

You remained still. His jaw twitched.

“If you’re going to sit there rotting in gods-know-how-long a time worth of grime, it’s going to be a great inconvenience for me. So you need to wash yourself— with or without my help. Your choice.”

Heat flushed your face, and the protest died in your throat. “Not. Personally,” you muttered under your breath, mimicking his earlier words. Were you to just sit wide eyed while he ran those awfully mangled hands down your skin? Your breasts, your— well.

For the first time, the corners of his lips lifted in genuine amusement. Slowly, he stepped forward, tucking a stray strand of your tangled hair behind your ear.

“Trust me, little witch. To me, you’re nothing more than a finely honed blade— sharp, useful, and exactly what we need to—” he stopped himself, and though you did not recognize much— you knew it was apprehension flashing in his eyes. “My desire belongs to the silver-haired girl downstairs.”

And your love, your mind supplied.

If that were true, why had they treated each other with such loathing at dinner?

Though Xaden’s words were an attempt at easing your hesitance— you still remained unmoving. Yet your prolonged silence seemed to unnerve him. He shifted on his feet before offering a compromise. “I’ll turn around.”

True to his word, he faced the wall, giving you the privacy to peel away the tattered cloth clinging to your starved body.

“Don’t turn around,” you whispered, tension straining your voice.

“I won’t,” he said softly, his shoulders rigid. “In the tub.”

The water enveloped you like an old lover, soothing every ache and gnawing pain. You curled into yourself, knees to chest, but when he turned back, the shadows didn’t entirely conceal you.

Xaden knelt by the tub, cupping water in his hands and letting it cascade over your hair. His touch was careful, deliberate, as he massaged circles into your temples. The silence between you was fragile but strangely comforting.

“You know of me,” you said at last, rephrasing your earlier accusation.

He hummed in acknowledgment, his hands moving with practiced precision.

“What am I?” The question hung between you, heavier than the steam rising from the bath.

Not who. What.

He paused, his fingers lingering on the sharp angles of your collarbone before he answered. “You’re very special.”

The words were maddeningly vague, but you didn’t have the strength to push. Instead, you murmured, “How did you find me?”

His hands resumed their work, scrubbing soap through your matted locks. This time, he didn’t pause.

“It took a very, very long fucking time.” He sounded exhausted at the idea of it.

“But you found me,” you pressed, desperate now. “Why?”

And then, the madness prickled at your very mind once more. Phantom voices humming… his voice— and his still lips. All within your head.

She doesn’t know her worth yet.

You think you do? This voice belonged to a woman.

She’ll learn soon enough.

Better hope she survives the lesson…

Before you had even a moment to ponder those ominous words, he tipped your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I told you, you’re special, little witch. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you know what that means yet.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. But before you could respond, he draped a washcloth over your trembling hand.

“Wash yourself,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Your cheeks burned as you obeyed, turning your body away from him to complete the task. When you finished, exhaustion pressed heavily against your fragile frame.

You knew your name, but not your home. Your love, your family or friends. Did you have any? This cage with its high stone walls and scrutinizing creatures, it frightened you.

“Please,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “Help me understand. I—I’m afraid.”

His eyes raked over your expression for a long moment— a mixture of admiration and pity flaring within them. He cupped your face in one damp hand, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped free.

“Stop crying. I’ll help you understand,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “And you’ll hate me for it. But make no mistake, little witch: what my rebellion does to you won’t be wasted. You’re a weapon, dormant for too long. It’s time to wake you up. It’s time to win the war.”

🏷️’s: @emryb

[strange-and-unsual4]

LITTLE WITCH, FIC — xaden riorson x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you wake— a captive girl with untamed power and no recollection of its origins. before you is a scarred, shadowy figure, whose taunts ignite your abilities—binding your fates in a dangerous encounter. NOTES - fourth wing fic!! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

“Wake her up.”

Water. Cold as ice, constricting your rigid bones like snakes coiling tighter with every stolen shiver.

A gasp tore from your throat, water spewing from your lungs as your body heaved against the jagged floor. Your eyes fluttered open, disjointed memories playing like a fragmented reel in your mind.

“Her power exceeds that of every living vernin on this planet!”

“Promise me you’ll fix this, darling.”

Promise me. Promise me. Promise me.

You blinked hard, but the image didn’t fade.

You were tied.

The rough ropes bit into your bony wrists, leaving searing, ring-like burns. Every labored movement set your nerves aflame. Your gaze darted upward, breath hitching as the world slowly came into focus.

A girl stood above you, silver-dipped hair framing a weary, glaring face. Beside her, a man with raven-black hair and a severe jaw hovered like a dark sentinel, his pale skin nearly glowing in the dim light.

And then there was him.

A scar slashed across one onyx eye, his expression cold and unreadable. Caramel skin adorned with swirling ink that climbed every visible inch of him. His presence suffocated the room, shadows pooling at his feet as if he commanded them.

You inhaled sharply.

“Do you think she speaks English?” the girl asked, her voice wary.

Your wide eyes locked onto her as you pulled against your restraints, panic rising. The three of them stepped back in weary unison.

“Be calm.” His voice—low, smooth, commanding—cooed like a bird singing a song only you could dance to. It scraped against the fragile walls of your resolve, but you clung to the shreds of your sanity.

Your eyes darted around, desperate to piece together this fractured reality. You tried to speak, tried to form an identity, but your name—your very sense of self—slipped through your fingers like quicksand.

“You have me tied,” you rasped, the words tasting foreign in your mouth.

Another synchronized step back.

“Xaden…” the silver-haired girl’s voice was cautious, her eyes glassy with an emotion you couldn’t yet name. But it was fervent, pulsing. You could sense it.

Lust. Love. Betrayal.

The man— Xaden’s jaw ticked, his gaze piercing as it lingered on you.

“We’ve already discussed this,” he said, his voice devoid of hostility but heavy with finality. “Take her, Garrick. I’ll handle the girl.”

She only bristled at his words, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “You lost the right to give me orders when you—”

“I’m well aware, Violence.” His voice cracked with strain, the facade of calm splintering for just a moment.

The girl—Violence—swayed slightly, but her resistance faltered. With a deep, resigned exhale, Garrick gently guided her out of the room.

And then it was just you.

As the door slammed shut, Xaden’s features transformed. The fleeting agony that had marred his face dissolved into a cold mask, his expression as unreadable as the void of shadows around him.

His gaze roamed over you, scrutinizing every inch with an intensity that made your skin crawl. When he was satisfied, he dropped to one knee before you, the motion deliberate and predatory.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low, as if any louder would break you. As if you were a precious thing, needing to be preserved. And though he asked you for it, you had a fleeting sense that he already knew.

He was testing you.

Your trembling hands tugged at the ropes, panic stabbing through your mind. A flash of white burned behind your eyes—a memory.

A woman with electric blonde hair and a gaze colder than ice stared down at you. You were tied, gagged, and helpless.

“Shall I strike her again, General Sorrengail?”

The memory vanished as pain lanced through your wrists, the ropes burning like scorched iron. Your teary gaze met his, desperation clawing at your chest.

“Please untie me,” you begged, voice raw and jagged.

His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t so much as twitch. “I can’t do that.”

Your breath quickened, chest heaving as your head fell back against the pole that anchored you. The room blurred, warmth suddenly flooding your cheeks.

When your eyes snapped open, he was closer. His thumb brushed away the tears streaking your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. Shadows coiled tighter around you, suffocating yet oddly soothing.

“What’s your name?” he repeated, his thumb grazing your trembling lips as if trying to still them.

“I… I don’t remember,” you whispered.

His brows knit together, his silence heavier than words. For a moment, his gaze softened, as if he saw something tethered within you he’d searched to find for a millenia.

You’re coddling her.

A voice, unfamiliar and swelled with a power you found yourself connected to— it sounded throughout the confines of your mind. And then another voice. His voice.

Trust me, Sgaeyl.

And yet his lips did not move, set in a hard line. Perhaps you had a name, and the world had simply forgotten. Who gave any attention to the sick and mad? To those who had phantom voices roaming within the confines of their skull? Suddenly, like a curtain falling, his expression hardened again. He rose to his full, imposing height, towering over you like a specter.

“Get up,” he commanded, voice sharp enough to slice you in two.

“I’m tied,” you protested, voice trembling.

His eyes narrowed. “Get up and face me, and I’ll free you from all your binds.”

Hope fluttered in your chest, fragile and fleeting. You braced yourself, using the pole for support, and pushed. Your legs buckled instantly, sending you crashing back down.

Again.

And again.

By the eighth attempt, your knees were raw, your wrists throbbing, and your patience gone.

“You’re trying to humiliate me,” you hissed, glaring up at him.

“It seems to be working,” he said with a ghost of a smirk that made your blood boil.

Something stirred deep within you, a dormant fire roaring to life. His words, his condescension—they fed it like kindling to a flame.

“Aiming to embarrass ourselves today, are we?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

The fire ignited.

“Let me go.”

Your voice was guttural, commanding, a force that reverberated through the room like a shockwave.

And time stopped. Only for a moment, but even so. Still, not a life in sight daring to breathe. Sudden, suffocating, swelling.

Then over.

Xaden dropped to one knee, his hands moving to untie your restraints as if compelled by an unseen force. His breath hitched as the ropes fell away, but the closeness of him—the warmth of his hands against your bloodied wrists—froze you in place.

He leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours, his breath mingling with your own in a dangerous dance.

“Look at that… we’ve finally found you, little witch…” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

And somehow, you knew him then. Even free from all memory, you knew well that whoever he was— he was just beginning to unravel you.

[strange-and-unsual4]

bloodline ;

garrick tavis x reader

after a particularly rough day of being looked down upon for being a marked one and endless bullying from alic tauri’s cronies, garrick comes to you looking for words of encouragement.  ✧ : lots of angst oops! shamelessly includes lyrics from the song bloodline by alex warren. this has been in the drafts for a long while, glad to finally have a reason to push myself to get this done. if i got my days right this is for day 5 of @empyreanevents tyrrendor week: marked!

With a major physics test tomorrow, your nose is stuck in your books as you sit at your desk, poring over your notes. When a soft knock sounds at your door distracting you from your focus, your face scrunches in annoyance. You choose to ignore it and resume studying, figuring it’s your boyfriend Garrick coming to distract you, the grin you love so much tempting you away from your work. However, you’ve always struggled with physics and you need to ace this test to save your grade, so you hope he’ll assume you’re not in and go bother Xaden instead. You flip the page of your book, continuing to read. 

Contrary to your expectations, another knock sounds and you sigh, knowing that the boy will not leave you alone until you at least briefly talk to him. 

“Garrick, I’m busy studying right now-” you start as you open the door, but your words are cut short as you see your boyfriend standing before you, no grin plastered across his face. Instead, his shoulders are slumped forward as if he wishes he could shrink in on himself, and his eyes are looking at you full of sorrow as tears begin to brim at their edges. 

“Gare? What’s going on?” your voice immediately softens as you usher the boy inside. He sits on your bed, and you quickly join him, gently tucking his head into your shoulder as he begins to softly cry. His body is trembling, and you stroke his hair to comfort him. “You’re okay, talk to me love. What happened?” 

Despite him being significantly larger than you, you can tell that he feels impossibly small right now. He sniffles into your shoulder before mumbling a response you can just barely make out. 

“Am I so bad of a person that there’s nothing they can find to like about me?” 

Your heart instantly shatters hearing the words that exit your boyfriend’s mouth. He doesn’t have to say it explicitly, but you know exactly what’s happened. There has always been a prejudice against the marked ones, but the antagonizing has only escalated since Xaden killed Alic Tauri weeks ago at Threshing. The boys that once followed Alic around like lost puppies now take their anger out on Xaden and Garrick daily, making everyone know that the two boys are the reason the prince of Navarre is dead. Usually, they take it with their heads held high, but you’re not sure how bad it got today to send Garrick into this state. 

“There is absolutely nothing bad about you,” you whisper, placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head in an attempt to reassure him, “Those guys are simple minded pricks. They’re too focused on the ink on your skin to take a moment and see that you’ve got a heart of pure gold under it all.” 

Garrick pulls away from your shoulder, his eyes red as he continues to sniffle, an uncertain look now present on his face. “But what if they’re not wrong?” 

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, unsure why he would even bother asking that question. “Gare, if I didn’t truly believe you were a kind man with strong morals, you would not be my boyfriend right now.” 

The boy shakes his head slightly, his eyes now trained on the relic that travels up his arm, as he seems to become more lost in his own thoughts. “I mean, what if they’re not wrong to judge us because of these marks? My father was second in command to a rebellion that took many lives. They were conspiring under the nose of our own continent. What if they’re right to be worried that we’ll do the same?” 

You stare at him for a second, not sure how to unpack all of what he’s just said. You have to admit that you thought poorly of the boys when you first met for the same reason, but luckily gave them a chance to see how wonderful they were despite what everyone believes. The only way you can think to respond is by rebutting in the way that convinced you to give them a chance.

“Garrick, you are not your father,” you start, speaking slowly so that you can properly think through your words, knowing how sensitive this topic is. However, before you can continue, the boy cuts you off. 

“I know that, but he’s the one who raised me, I am who I am because of him. I’m a Tavis, and because of this damn mark on my arm, everyone knows it.” His voice cracks as he speaks, and your heart lurches once again. 

“You may be a Tavis, but you don’t have to follow in your bloodline,” you respond, your voice soft as you murmur your next words into the top of his head, “‘From where you came’ isn’t who you are.” 

He pauses for a second as if digesting your words, and then finally speaks, his voice no louder than a whisper. “But they don’t think that.” 

“It doesn’t matter what they think, does it?” you counter, “Isn’t what your friends think of you more important than those random cadets?” 

His eyes now raise from his arm to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed as if conflicted. “Well yes obviously, but every single damn day people look at me like I’m going to stab them in the back. I just want…” he trails off for a moment, a vulnerable look in his eyes as his face slackens, “I don’t want to be demonized because of this mark anymore. I want people to fear me because I’ve trained to become a deadly force in combat, not because I’m a child of the rebellion.” 

All you can do for a moment is stare back at him. He’s never been this vulnerable with you before - he’s always been stoic, braving the criticism that comes his way without wavering. But, in this moment you wish that you could hold him and comfort him for eternity to ease away all of the doubts in his mind. Another part of you wishes you could hurt anyone who has ever made him feel like this. 

“We’re just first years,” you finally get out, trying to figure out what he needs to hear, “I know every day isn’t guaranteed, but if you have tomorrow, then you’ve still got time to break the chain.” 

You angle yourself so that you can bring his arm to your lips, pressing soft kisses along the inked skin. “Even with these scars, you were able to make me fall in love with you pretty quick. You’re among the first set of marked children to enlist. You’ve got two and a half more years here and plenty more time once we graduate to change the narrative. You’ve got time to make them see that the marked ones are a force of good.” 

Garrick sits in stunned silence, gaze cautiously examining your own to make sure that you really believe what you’re saying. You hold firm, eyes never breaking away for a second. When he’s finally sure that you’re confident in what you’re saying, he breaks, switching roles by pulling you into his own lap. 

He places a kiss to the side of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?” 

You shake your head in protest, your own eyebrows now furrowing. “You deserve so much more.” 

He lets out a small half laugh, the first since he walked in your room, and you finally ease up knowing that some of his self doubt has gone. “I don’t think there is much more than you.” Between sentences Garrick continues to press small kisses against your hair. “You really believe everything you said?” 

“Every single word,” you say instantly, leaning into his embrace, “Besides, being a Tavis isn’t just a bad thing is it? From what I hear, you all had very loving parents when they weren’t busy scheming. Your parents fought for those marks to keep you safe, and I’d say anyone who never made their children doubt that they were loved did something good.” 

The kisses stop against your head as the boy realizes what you’ve said, likely never having considered that perspective. “I… I guess you’re right. I did have a good dad.” 

You let out a hum of agreement. “See? There’s more to your name than just being a rebel.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Your boyfriend is silent for a moment, and you can’t see it but his eyes trail back down to you, full of love. “By the time I’ve graduated, no one will bat an eye at the incoming marked ones. I’ll show them what we’re capable of.” 

A smile lights up your face, hearing the confidence return to his voice. “That’s what I like to hear!” 

Your physics book long forgotten, you make yourself comfortable in Garrick’s arms, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a sleep not long after as the two of you continue to lay on your bed. 

When you’ve fallen asleep in his embrace, the boy places one more kiss to the top of your head, his own body beginning to shut down after being drained from his prior cries. 

“I’m going to change the trajectory of the Tavis name for you,” he whispers into the top of your head, knowing that you’re fast asleep and won’t hear a single word he says, “So that when we get married and you take my name, no one will ever treat you with the same disdain.” 

He runs one hand gently through your hair, listening to the sound of your shallow breaths. “You’ll never have to defend yourself for being with me again. I’m going to change their minds so that one day you can be proud of being with a marked one.” 

Garrick’s eyes begin to flutter shut, his own exhaustion creeping in. “I’m going to do it all for you. I promise you that.” 

[strange-and-unsual4]

Thinking about domestic mornings with Xaden 🥲

content tidbits: GN reader, reader is also a rider, possible spoilers for IF/OS but very little, domestic fluff, reader and xaden are engaged :) and bonded, so are their dragons (let's imagine triple bonds were possible in this, so yours two dragons bonded romantically, and they bonded platonically with Tarin because we still love he and violet here), xaden teasing, xaden being so painfully in love, they go for a fly, non sexual intimacy, there's not as much war in this because i'm saving angst for later fics, stereotypical use of 'his onyx eyes' 💀

Word count: 606

A/N i would like to preface im still reading FW, but i've a. heard far too many spoilers and b. am HEAVILY hyperfixated so cut me slack :)

waking up to each other, no threat of battle or war to set the tone for the day, only the comfort of one another. Slowly getting out of bed after staying there for longer than anticipated, then heading to the kitchen (let’s say you have a house of your own at this point in time or for whatever reason, or riorson house if you like), and you start making breakfast. He comes up behind you, chin on your shoulder, warm hands trailing the skin under your shirt; trailing every scar, every stretch mark, every dimple, up to the relic that sat proud on your skin. He stayed like that the whole time, not moving away. Why would he retreat from his home in the first place? He places soft kisses along your neck and head, silently showing his devotion to you. The smell of frying breakfast and coffee exacerbated the warmth.

You ate outside in the garden, damp grass and warm sun settling in the air. You made small talk, but nothing boring. The occasional smart comment from him, and even more witty retort from you. Even after all this time, you kept each other on your toes. You sat outside for a while longer, enjoying the at last calm atmosphere. You didn’t miss the way Xaden looked at you- knees to your chest, head against them as you looked around the large space. Hair lightly whipping your face, sun reflecting your eyes. He was looking at you like you were a child of the gods. To him, you may as well have just been one.

After going back inside, you make the decision to put on your flight leathers, and call your dragons. They arrive shortly after, and you gather your things and take off. Your dragons fly side by side, the clouds trickling their scales. You land on a near cliff, and settle together. They sit intertwined, as do you both. Your back against his chest, and his hands in yours. Begrudging as he is with anyone else, with you, he let you feel every inch of him, like you were a sculpture, he the clay.

You flipped through the pages of your book, and eventually, he sighs, taking it from you wordlessly, dog earring the page, and looking at you.

"What?" You ask.

He doesn't respond, instead placing a soft kiss to your lips.

"What was that for?" "Do I need a reason?" He asks, arching a dark eyebrow, his onyx eyes shining with a mix of amusment and sunlight.

You chuckle, shaking your head, and he pulls you backwards, so you still lay back against his front, but now laid out on the ground together. You roll over, inching so your chin is just near his. You gaze at him, watching the flecks of gold in his iris catch the daylight. You wouldn’t want those eyes any other way.

"So, we still giving Violet and Tarin a visit later today? Think our ones are starting to get a bit moody without him. And you without her."

You snort, but nod. "Shut up, I'm allowed to miss her. But yeah, we are. Though we might be a little late. I'm comfy." You hear your dragon let out an annoyed huff, which makes Xaden laugh.

"Fine with me, but maybe not with them." He grins.

Sgayel rolls her eyes, which you both giggle at.

"I think they'll manage. Barely."

He nods, and pulls you close. You look up at the sky, the clouds dancing above you. But yet again, he only looks at you. You, even in this vast space, next to beasts with such ferocity and majesty, nothing would ever compare to you in his mind. You were bound by more than dragons. You were bound by soul.

[strange-and-unsual4]

Y/N wasn’t sure when she had started waiting for Xaden Riorson.

Maybe it had been back at Basgiath, when she first let him into her bed, knowing full well she’d never have his heart.

Maybe it had been after a battle, when he pulled her into his arms with shaking hands, holding on too tight-like he wasn’t sure if she’d still be there if he let go.

Maybe it had been always. And maybe that was the problem. Because Xaden never chose her. Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

And yet, Y/N had let herself believe, stupidly, hopelessly believe, that one day, he would. That one day, he’d look at her and see more. But she saw the truth now.

Because he was looking at her. At Violet Sorrengail. And Gods help her, Y/N had never seen his eyes that soft before.

Her breath caught, something sharp and vicious tearing through her chest. Because she knew that look. She had dreamed of that look. But it had never been for her.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Because of course it was Violet. Violet, who had fought her way through Basgiath. Violet, who had tamed Xaden’s dragon’s mate, a dragon that should’ve never chosen her. Violet, who had done in months what Y/N had never been able to do.

She had his heart.

And Y/N…

Y/N had never even been close.

Her throat burned. Because this wasn’t just losing him. She had never had him to begin with. And that was the part that hurt the most.

Xaden turned then, his gaze flicking toward her, and for one awful, unbearable second, their eyes met. His expression shifted. Like he knew. Like he understood exactly what she was thinking. Like he felt guilt. But guilt wasn’t love. Guilt wasn’t choosing her.

And Y/N was done waiting for something that was never hers to begin with. So she forced her lips into something that might’ve been a smile-might’ve looked real if it weren’t for the way her heart was cracking, splintering, breaking apart piece by piece.

And then…

She turned and walked away. Because almost didn’t count. Not anymore.

⸻

Xaden noticed immediately.

The first time Y/N wasn’t there, wasn’t where she always was, he ignored it.

The second time, something cold curled in his stomach.

The third time, he knew. She was avoiding him.

And Xaden Riorson did not handle losing well. Especially not when he hadn’t even realized he was playing a game.

He caught glimpses of her, passing shadows, fleeting moments before she turned the corner, before she slipped away.

And he let her. For a while. Because Gods help him, he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know why it felt like his chest was hollowing out every time he realized she wasn’t coming back. Didn’t know why her absence felt sharper than any blade, more suffocating than any battle wound.

Until the fourth time.

Until he saw her with someone else. She wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t even smiling. But she was trying.

And Xaden-stupid, oblivious, undeserving Xaden finally understood. It wasn’t just that she was avoiding him.

She was moving on.

And that, he realized, was unforgivable. Not because she didn’t deserve to. But because he should’ve never let her think she had to. Because Y/N had always been there. In the quiet moments, in the war-torn ones. In his bed, in his arms.

He had never needed to wonder where she would be. Until now. Until he fucked it all up.

And Xaden Riorson didn’t lose things he wasn’t willing to fight for.

So he found her.

Cornered her.

Late at night, when she was least expecting it. When she had finally stopped looking over her shoulder for him. Because she thought he wouldn’t come. Because he had given her every reason to believe that.

But she was wrong.

Xaden pressed a hand against the doorframe, blocking her escape as she turned to find him standing there, his expression raw, desperate, furious.

She froze. Her breath hitched.

And Xaden had to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching for her. Because Gods help him, he had never wanted anything more.

But Y/N…

Y/N only tilted her head, her voice flat when she said, “Move.”

Xaden let out a slow, measured breath. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Xaden-”

“You walked away,” he cut her off, his voice quiet, sharp. “And I let you.”

Her jaw clenched. “So what, now you’re here to fix your conscience?”

No. It had never been about guilt. It had always been about her. But she didn’t see that. Because he had never let her see it. Because he had let her believe she was temporary.

Xaden stepped closer, the air shifting between them.

“You think I didn’t notice?” His voice was low, rough, almost dangerous.

Because it wasn’t just noticing. It was feeling. Feeling her absence in every empty space she had left behind. Feeling the ache in his chest every time he looked for her and found nothing. Feeling like a fucking idiot for never realizing that she had been his before he even knew he had something to lose.

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Don’t do this, Xaden.”

“Do what?” he murmured.

Her throat bobbed. “Make this harder than it has to be.”

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“Hard?” He stepped even closer. “You think this is hard for you?”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t move back. Didn’t run. And that was the only thing that kept him fucking standing. Because she was still here. Still listening. Still his, even if she didn’t want to be.

Xaden swallowed hard, his voice dropping to something honest, something wrecked.

“I can’t lose you.”

She blinked.

Like she hadn’t expected the words. Like she didn’t believe them.

And that? That nearly killed him. Because fuck, she had spent all this time thinking she was something he could just let go.

Like she hadn’t been his every damn day. Like she wasn’t the thing that had kept him breathing, fighting, alive.

“I can’t lose you,” he said again, softer this time.

And Gods help him, it was the truest thing he had ever said.

Her breath shuddered. Her hands fisted at her sides.

And for a long, unbearable moment, she didn’t say a word. Didn’t tell him to leave. Didn’t tell him it was too late.

And Xaden, for the first time in his life, let himself hope.

Because Y/N had walked away.

But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t ready to let him go either.

⸻

Y/N didn’t make it easy for him.

She didn’t fall into his arms. Didn’t sigh in relief and tell him she had been waiting for him all along.

Because that would have been a lie.

She had stopped waiting. Stopped hoping for something he had never been willing to give her.

And if he thought a few pretty words were enough to pull her back into his orbit…

He was wrong.

Xaden must have realized it too. Because the moment she narrowed her eyes, the moment she crossed her arms and tilted her chin up, his expression turned grim. Like he knew exactly what she was about to say. Like he knew she was going to make this hard.

And for once, finally, he didn’t run from it.

Y/N exhaled slowly, carefully.

“Prove it.”

Xaden’s jaw ticked. “I am.”

“No,” she said, voice sharp, cold. “You’re saying it. That’s not the same thing.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Then tell me how.”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh.

“You want me to tell you how to love me?” she murmured, tilting her head. “That’s funny, Xaden. I thought love was supposed to be instinctual.”

His fingers curled into tight, shaking fists.

“Y/N- ”

“No,” she cut him off. “You don’t get to show up and say you can’t lose me after choosing her every single time.”

His lips parted-but he didn’t argue.

Because he couldn’t.

Because it was true.

And Gods help her, the silence was worse than any excuse he could have given her.

Because he knew. He had always known.

She let out a slow breath, forcing herself to stay standing when all she wanted to do was crumple.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t break for him again. But gods, he was making it hard.

“I need to know I’m not just an afterthought,” she said, her voice low, steady.

He lifted his head at that, his eyes flashing with something dark, something wrecked.

“You’ve never been an afterthought,” he said, his voice sharp, furious. “Not to me.”

Y/N’s chest ached. But she shook her head.

“Then prove it.”

And this time, he didn’t hesitate.

⸻

Xaden knew it was coming. Because Gods help him, she was right.

She had never been an afterthought. But the problem was, neither was Violet. Not with their dragons bonded for life. Not with their destinies tangled, whether they wanted it or not. Not with the war, with Basgiath, with everything.

But Y/N wasn’t going to be a second choice. Not anymore. And that meant he had to prove it.

Starting with Sgaeyl.

It wasn’t a secret that his dragon favored Y/N. Sgaeyl had always preferred her, had always sought her out over Violet, despite the bond between their dragons.

Xaden had always thought it was amusing.

But now-

Now, it wasn’t a game. Because Sgaeyl had chosen. And Xaden wasn’t sure what that meant for everything else. Y/N stood in the clearing, arms crossed as she watched him. Not angry. Not hopeful. Just waiting.

Sgaeyl’s head turned toward him. “Fix this,” she said in his mind. “Now.”

Xaden exhaled sharply. “You tell me how,” he muttered.

Sgaeyl let out a deep, considering hum. Then, she said, “I cannot break a bond that is not mine.”

Xaden stilled.

Because that, that was new. Y/N raised a brow. “Well?” Xaden let out a slow, careful breath.

“There’s only one way to prove it,” he admitted.

Her brows lifted. “And that is?”

Xaden swallowed. “Choose you over her.”

Y/N’s lips parted. And Xaden waited.

Because Gods help him, he was finally choosing. And this time, he prayed to every god that ever existed that he wasn’t too late.

⸻

Xaden Riorson had spent his entire life fighting for survival.

Fighting for power. For revenge. For a future that wasn’t dictated by the sins of his father. But he had never fought for love. Never had to.

Because until now, he had never been at risk of losing the one person he couldn’t live without.

And Y/N, Gods help him, was making damn sure he earned every second of her time.

The tension between Xaden and Violet was palpable.

It had been since the moment Sgaeyl had chosen Y/N over her. Not that Violet had ever been oblivious to it. She was smart. Too smart. She had noticed the way Sgaeyl sought Y/N out first. The way Xaden’s gaze always lingered on her. The way Y/N had started to disappear.

And now? Now, Violet wasn’t oblivious at all.

Xaden found her waiting for him outside the barracks, arms crossed, her expression cool, calculating.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” she said simply.

Xaden didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. Instead, he exhaled sharply. “But you did.”

She nodded. “I saw the way she looked at you.”

His stomach tightened.

“More importantly,” Violet continued, tilting her head. “I saw the way you looked at her.”

Xaden didn’t answer. Because there was nothing to deny.

She let out a slow breath. “This is going to make things… complicated.”

It already was. With their dragons bonded, their destinies were already tangled. But that wasn’t the same as love. And Violet knew it.

“Then we make it uncomplicated,” Xaden said, steady, certain.

Her lips parted slightly. Because they both knew what that meant. What that had to mean. They couldn’t be more than what they were. Couldn’t blur the lines. Couldn’t pretend their dragons’ bond was the same as their own. Because Xaden had made his choice. And it wasn’t her.

For a long moment, Violet was silent. Then, finally, she nodded. And Gods help him, Xaden felt it shift.

The last thread of uncertainty snapping.

Because for the first time, truly, fully, undeniably, he was free to fight for the person he should have been fighting for all along.

⸻

It wasn’t enough.

Not to prove himself. Not to undo the damage he had caused. Because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t going to fall at his feet just because he had finally woken up. So she made him work for it.

She didn’t let him touch her. Didn’t let him fall into old habits. Didn’t let him have her until she was sure she had all of him. Because if he wanted her, really wanted her, it had to be all or nothing.

Xaden gritted his teeth when she dodged him for the fourth time in a week. He had done everything. Given her space. Let her set the pace. But fuck if he wasn’t losing his mind.

Because every time he caught a glimpse of her, every time her gaze locked with his across the training yard, every time she turned away before he could say something..

It felt like a slow, torturous death. So when he finally cornered her, again, she didn’t look surprised. Didn’t look apologetic.

Just calm. Waiting. Testing him.

Xaden exhaled slowly, measured.

“What else do you want from me?”

Y/N tilted her head. Unmoved. “I don’t want anything from you, Xaden.”

His chest tightened.

“Then why are you still here?” His voice was quiet, dangerous.

She smirked, but there was no warmth in it.

“I’m not. You’re the one chasing me, remember?”

His lips parted. Because fuck. She wasn’t wrong. He was chasing her. The way she used to chase him. And Gods help him, it was terrifying. Because for the first time, she held all the power. And he, the one who had spent his entire life controlling every possible outcome, was at her mercy.

“I know I fucked up,” he admitted, his voice rough, raw.

Her smirk faded.

“But I also know,” he continued, his eyes dark, intense, unrelenting, “that you’re still standing here. Which means a part of you wants to see if I’ll fight for you.”

She inhaled sharply. But she didn’t deny it. And Xaden knew. Knew she still wanted him. Knew this wasn’t about whether she had feelings for him. It was about whether he deserved them.

And Gods help him, he would spend the rest of his life proving that he did.

⸻

Xaden Riorson had always thought he understood pain.

The bite of a blade, the snap of broken ribs, the searing agony of dragon fire. But this, watching Y/N slip through his fingers, watching her smile at someone who wasn’t him, this was a different kind of torment.

Because she wasn’t his to lose. Not yet. And Gods help him, she was making him suffer for it.

He saw her again.

With him.

The first time, Xaden convinced himself it was nothing.

The second time, he clenched his fists but stayed quiet.

The third time? He barely stopped himself from snapping the bastard’s neck.

Y/N stood close to the other rider, too close. Her head tilted back as she laughed at something he said.

Not forced. Not polite.

Real.

Xaden felt something dark and ugly curl in his stomach. Something he had never had to experience before.

Jealousy.

Not the petty kind. The kind that ate away at his fucking soul. Because that used to be him. That used to be his space beside her. His words making her laugh. His gaze catching hers across the training yard, a secret flickering between them.

But now?

Now, he was nothing more than a spectator. And Gods help him, it was driving him insane.

Sgaeyl’s voice rumbled in his mind. “You could simply go to her.”

His jaw tightened. No. Not yet. Not until she was ready. Not until she was the one choosing him again. But Gods help him, if she didn’t stop smiling at that bastard soon, he was going to…

“You’re scowling.”

Xaden whipped around to find Violet watching him, arms crossed.

He exhaled sharply. “I’m aware.”

Violet smirked. “Not a fan of Y/N’s new friend?”

He shot her a glare.

She laughed. “Oh, relax. They’re not like that.”

Xaden stilled. “What?”

Violet arched a brow. “You really think she’s replaced you that easily?”

His throat felt tight. “I don’t know what to think.”

Violet sighed, shaking her head. “It’s platonic. You’d know that if you stopped sulking in the shadows and actually talked to her.”

Xaden gritted his teeth. “She’s the one avoiding me.”

“Is she?”

That fucking smirk. Violet had always been too perceptive for her own good. And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong.

It happened on a stormy night. When the tension was so thick it felt like it could snap.

Y/N had gone to the training grounds, seeking solitude.

But of course, Xaden followed.

She sensed him before he spoke. Always did. But she didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge him.

Until…

“I know it’s platonic,” he said quietly.

She stiffened. Then slowly turned to face him. “Excuse me?”

Xaden took a step closer, his gaze unreadable.

“I know you’re not with him.”

Y/N tilted her head, something dangerous and mocking in her eyes.

“And?”

Xaden exhaled sharply. “And it doesn’t fucking matter.”

Her lips parted slightly. Because this was different. This wasn’t him asking for another chance. This wasn’t him chasing her, hoping she’d let him in. This was him standing his ground. Him refusing to pretend he wasn’t hers.

“I don’t care if you’re not with him,” he said, voice low, steady.

“I don’t care how long you make me wait. How hard you make this.”

He stepped closer.

Crowding her. Consuming her.

“I don’t care if you never admit that you still love me,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because Gods help her, she had spent weeks waiting for him to crack. To slip back into old habits. To fail. But he hadn’t. He had stayed. Even when she made him suffer. Even when she pushed him away.

Because for the first time, he was fighting for her. And Gods help her, she wanted to believe him. But believing him meant admitting she had never stopped loving him. And that? That was terrifying.

Xaden must have seen it in her eyes. Because his gaze softened, just slightly.

And then, he broke her.

“I was a fool,” he admitted, his voice raw.

“For thinking you’d always be there. For thinking I could have you without giving you everything.”

He swallowed hard.

“But I’m here now.”

A pause. Then, the final blow.

“And I’m not leaving. Not ever.”

Y/N shattered. Because fuck, she wanted to believe him.

And maybe, maybe she finally did.

She let out a shaky breath. And then, finally, she stopped running.

Xaden barely had time to react before she grabbed the front of his shirt and crashed her lips against his. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was desperate, aching, furious. It was everything they had been holding back.

Xaden let out a low, guttural sound, his hands sliding into her hair, gripping her like she might disappear. Like he was never going to let her go. Because he wasn’t. Not this time. Not ever.

And as her fingers tightened around him, as she finally, finally let herself believe him…

Xaden Riorson knew one thing.

The suffering had been worth it. Because in the end, he had won the only war that mattered.

Her.

[strange-and-unsual4]

Tairn and Violet: *Laying on the ground panting and 99% unconscious*

Garrick: Uhhhh... What's wrong with them...?

Imogen: *Opens mouth only to get bowled over by an invisible Andarna*

Xaden: Sgaeyl she's over there!

Sgaeyl: *Almost tramples them*

Xaden: *Jumps over Imogen*

Bodhi: Andarna found out energy drinks exist... And also found barrels of alcohol.

Andarna: *Sudden crash from drunk sugar high, reappearing and making a small trench*

[strange-and-unsual4]

shadows. { xaden riorson x fem!reader }

Fandom: Fourth Wing / The Empyrean

Synopsis: You find yourself being turned on by your boyfriend displaying his power, and it's making you curious about just how good his control over shadows truly is ... and what else he can potentially do with them. Particularly, regarding your pleasure.

Tags: smut. inappropriate use of shadow signet. ( guided ) masturbation. multiple orgasms. shadow tentacle sex ( vaginal and anal ). oral sex ( m receiving ). Content Warnings: nsfw.

Wordcount: 6.4k

It always starts the same way.

You swear you're used to it by now, Xaden's shadows trailing after him like loyal beasts, dancing between his fingers when he's focused, curling into the air as if they're alive. It should be routine, familiar. But somehow it never is.

Not when you're watching him like this. Especially when you're watching him like this.

He's sitting near the window, stripped to the waist, the late sunlight tracing the lines of muscle across his back as he works, his dragon relic familiar to you. One hand rests on the table, the other casually lifted as if he's half-listening to the quiet murmur of his shadows. They flow across the room with easy grace, flickering around him in slow, deliberate movements. Controlled. Obedient. Dangerous. And utterly beautiful.

You're supposed to be doing something else, but instead you sit on the edge of his bed, chin propped in your hand, letting your eyes wander across the dark expanse of his shoulders and the slow, swirling movement of those ever-present shadows.

And that's when the thought sneaks in. It's not a new one, but this time, it lingers.

What else can he do with them?

That precision, the control he has over them, and the way they respond to him like they're an extension of his own body. What would that feel like, turned inward? Directed not toward battle, but toward you?

A slow, traitorous flush creeps down your neck.

You shift on the bed, suddenly very aware of how warm your skin feels, how much space there is between the two of you. You chew your bottom lip, watching as one of the shadows curls around his wrist like a lover's hand, languid and slow.

Your thighs press together without thinking.

"Whatever you're thinking," Xaden suddenly says, voice low and edged with amusement - apparently, he's been watching you without you noticing, "you're not being subtle about it."

Your heart skips a beat. You look up too fast, and sure enough, he's turned to you now, elbow on the table, chin resting on his fist. Those dark eyes fix on yours, heat smoldering behind them.

"I wasn't thinking anything," you lie, poorly.

He lifts an eyebrow in an unspoken challenge. "No?"

The shadows twist upward behind him, lazily coiling like smoke in a breeze. You can't help it; your gaze follows the movement, and he notices. Of course he does.

"You've been staring for the past five minutes," he murmurs, rising slowly to his feet. "And you do this thing ..." His head tilts, eyes raking over you. "... where your breathing changes. A little faster. Lips parting. Eyes glazed. That usually means one of two things."

You blink, startled. "Oh?"

"Either you're about to kiss me," he says, stepping closer, shadows following after him like eager whispers, "or you're imagining what I can do to you."

Your skin goes hot. You don't respond, can't, because yes, damn it, that's exactly what you're doing.

He stops in front of you. Close, but not yet touching you.

"What is it about them?" he asks softly. His eyes flick to his own hand, where a shadow is curling between his fingers. "The way they move? Or the fact that I can control them with a thought?"

You breathe in, gaze fixed on the shadow. "Both." This single word is a whisper and a confession in one, and you immediately see something in his expression change.

His shadows still as he leans down, mouth near your ear, voice a raw, delicious scrape of sound. "I've thought about it too, you know."

Your breath hitches.

"You pressed up beneath me, breathless and flushed, my hands holding you down while my shadows ..." He pulls back, just enough to meet your wide eyes. "... explore."

You shudder just once, not in fear but in anticipation, and don't look away. You can't - too enthralled, the images already burning into your mind.

"Tell me," he says, voice low and reverent. "Do you want to feel it?"

There's a pause before you answer, soft but sure, "Yes."

That one word changes everything. Xaden's eyes darken, heat and intent flaring behind them like something alive. But he doesn't move forward. Not even a single step toward you. Instead, he stays exactly where he is, a few feet away, arms relaxed at his sides, shadows slowly curling at his heels like they're waiting for permission.

"This is about you," he says, voice a low, molten thread of sound. "So I'm not going to touch you."

You blink. "What?"

He smiles, slow and dangerous, like he knows exactly what that promise will do to you. "You're going to feel everything," he says, "and I won't lay a single finger on you. Not until you ask me to."

Your breath catches.

Because you can already see it, you see how much he wants to. It's in the way his hands flex at his sides, how the tension has crept into his shoulders. His gaze is locked on you, burning, like he's already imagining what it would feel like to give in, to press his mouth to your neck and pull those desperate little sounds from your throat.

But he doesn't.

He just lifts his hand, fingers twitching in a subtle, deliberate motion, and the shadows come to life. One tendril rises, slow and sinuous, brushing along your ankle like a whisper of wind. You twitch, the sensation feather-light and unfamiliar, and your eyes shoot to his. He watches you closely, carefully, as another shadow curls around your calf, sliding beneath the hem of your pants.

You inhale. Sharp. Audible.

The shadows are cool but not cold. Just ... different, unfamiliar. They move like silk against your skin, with the weight and texture of something half-formed, something alive. One glides higher, slowly trailing the curve of your thigh, and you feel it even through the layers of fabric. It's a delicate, teasing pressure that makes your stomach twist and your breath grow shallow.

Xaden says nothing. But his pupils dilate, and his throat bobs when he swallows. Yet he still doesn't move closer.

Another shadow moves, this one rising behind you, slipping between your back and the shirt that suddenly feels far too heavy, too in the way. It lifts the hem slightly, gliding along the dip of your spine with aching patience. You shiver, spine arching instinctively, chasing the touch.

"Good," he murmurs. "Just feel."

The one at your thigh climbs higher, and gods, your breath stutters as it slides beneath the waistband of your pants. It doesn't touch anything yet; it just rests there, waiting for a command. You meet his gaze again, and something about how he's watching you - dark and reverent, restrained but starving - makes heat bloom low in your belly.

"Do you feel how much they want you?" he asks softly. "They react to me, but they respond to you. They're drawn to your need."

You bite your lip hard enough to sting, legs tense, muscles coiling in anticipation as the shadow behind your back slowly inches higher, brushing your lower ribs, tracing the side of your breast through your shirt.

You let out a quiet, shaky breath. Too overwhelmed by the sensation to do anything else.

"I can stop," he offers, voice rougher now, more ragged.

"No!" you say quickly, almost desperately. "Don't."

His jaw clenches and his hands twitch, but he nods. "I won't."

The shadow beneath your clothes at your waist finally moves again, tracing the curve of your hip bone, before finally slipping lower. Not quite touching where you want, where you need it, but circling closer and closer like it knows exactly how to undo you one brush at a time.

And still, Xaden hasn't taken a step.

But he's breathing harder now, lips parted, chest rising with each slow inhale like it's costing him something to keep his distance. He's watching you unravel, and gods, the way he's watching makes you feel bare even with all your clothes on.

"Does it feel good?" he asks quietly.

You nod. "Yes," you breathe.

The shadows are slow and deliberate, gliding just beneath your clothes, shaping your breath, and making your skin feel electric. Every pass, every faint caress beneath fabric you suddenly resent, tightens the coil in your belly another notch.

But then they stop. Sudden. Inexplicably.

They still and retreat, slipping away from your body like smoke sucked into the air. You blink, heart racing, skin humming with frustration and want.

You're about to question your boyfriend, curse him, and beg him to continue, but then you hear his voice, low and raspy, "Take them off."

His dark eyes are fixed on you, sharp and hungry. He's still standing exactly where he was, chest rising with careful, controlled breaths as if proximity might undo him. As if he cannot guarantee not to touch you, should he come closer.

Your lips part. "You want me to ...?"

"Clothes," he explains, voice even lower and rougher than before. "Take them off. I want to see."

Your breath catches because you know he won't ask twice. So, you slowly rise to your feet on trembling legs. You don't rush the process, though. Partly because your fingers are shaking. Mostly because something is intoxicating about the way his gaze follows your every motion, tracking your hands as you peel your shirt over your head, slow and careful, revealing bare skin inch by inch. His eyes immediately flicker to your breast, to your nipples already tightened from the phantom touch of his shadows. He swears under his breath.

Your pants slide down next, slowly over your hips, until they pool at your feet. You stand there for a moment in just your underwear. The room is silent except for your breathing and the subtle crackle of restrained power in the air.

Then, without a word, you slip the last layer down too, baring yourself to him completely.

His jaw tightens. "Sit back down. Just like you were before."

You do, moving slowly, lowering yourself back onto the edge of the bed. Your thighs part instinctively, showing him how aroused this whole thing has already made you.

Xaden's mouth parts just slightly, as he stares at you.

You're already wet. You know you are. The air brushes your skin and makes you clench around nothing, and the way his eyes drag over every inch of you, now neck to chest, to your slick center and back up again, makes your breath catch.

His voice, when it comes, is low and reverent. "Fuck."

He runs a hand over his mouth, like he needs a second to compose himself. "I knew you'd be beautiful," he murmurs. "But like this? Dripping and flushed and waiting ... all because of me? Because of my shadows touching you?"

You exhale shakily. "Xaden ..."

His shadows stir again. Like they can feel his restraint slipping and want to return to what they've been doing before. Touching you, feeling you unravel beneath them. But he holds up a hand, commanding them still.

"I want to remember this," he says, voice quiet. "Every part of you. Every look you make. I want to see what my shadows do to you."

You shift on the bed, instinctively trying to ease the ache growing between your legs. His eyes follow the motion and darken.

"Touch yourself," he says. It's not a command, just a plea by a man starved. "Just for a moment. Let me see how badly you need it."

You hesitate, the heat of his gaze wrapping around you like a second skin. But then, slowly, you obey.

Your breath stutters as you slide your hand between your thighs, fingers moving cautiously at first. Testing. The memory of his shadows still lingers on your skin. Soft, ghostlike. Wanting. But now it#s your hand, your touch, and his eyes never leave you.

You glance up and your breath catches in your throat.

Xaden's no longer standing in front of you; instead, he's taken a seat in the chair across from the bed, distant enough not to touch, but close enough that nothing escapes his view. He sits wide-legged, hands gripping the arms of the chair like his life depends on it. And between his thighs, his pants are visibly, unmistakably tight.

There's no hiding it. The bulge pressing against the front of his pants is hard and obvious, a physical betrayal of everything he's been trying to hold.

You lick your lips, proud that you can have such an effect on him just by presenting yourself to him. Your arousal becomes his arousal and vice versa.

His gaze stays locked on your hand. On the slow, tentative movements of your fingers as they brush through your slick folds, circling your clit once, twice, which draws out a soft moan you try (and fail) to contain.

He keeps watching like he's starved. Dark eyes fixed, jaw tight, the tendons in his neck straining with restraint. His shadows swirl faintly at his feet again, like they're agitated and restless, sensing just how much their wielder is holding himself back.

"Don't stop," he says roughly. It's the first time he's spoken since sitting, and his voice alone is proof of his building arousal. It's lower now, hoarse. Like it's scraped raw from the inside. "Let me see you fall apart."

You shiver, and his command causes your fingers to move a little faster now, bolder, getting encouraged from his noises. Your other hand lifts to your chest, brushing over one breast, teasing one of your already pebbled nipples. The sensation sends sparks dancing down your spine, and you let your head tip back for a moment, lips parting to let out a low moan.

When you spare a glance at him, you realize that one of his hands has clenched into a fist on the armrest. The other twitches, like he's resisting the urge to reach for himself, no matter how difficult it seems to be. His jaw is locked tight, his eyes dark and feral, but his body remains still. Controlled, but burning up in heat.

"For someone who's not supposed to be touching," you murmur, breathless but in a teasing tone, "you're looking at me like you're seconds away from losing it."

That earns an immediate reaction. His head tilts, and a small smile curves at his lips. "I said this was about you, not me."

And then, finally, the shadows start to move again. They slither forward like they've been waiting for this moment, rising to meet your thighs, brushing past your fingers with the same careful precision as before. One tendril wraps gently around your wrist, slowing your movements, before using its grip to guide them. Another one glides along the inside of your thigh, tracing slick skin, spreading you a little wider. Two wrap around your thighs, holding them open, and giving Xaden a perfect view of everything that is happening.

Xaden exhales like he's been holding his breath for minutes. "Look at you," he says, "you're soaked."

The shadows shift, and a new one curls beneath your breast, lifting it slightly before trailing the tip across your nipple. You gasp, louder this time, hips rocking instinctively into your own hand guided by their touch.

"You should see what I see, love," Xaden murmurs. "Flushed. Desperate. Dripping for me. For my shadows."

The one around your wrist retreats now, your hand free again, and you're moving it quicker now, fingers sliding in deeper, guided by your need and his intense focus. But the shadows don't stop this time; they join you. One flickers gently across your clit while another brushes the spot where your fingers disappear inside yourself, clearly planning to either join you or take over completely.

You moan again, this time unfiltered. Loud and desperate and fueled by a kind of heat you've never felt like this before.

And across from you, Xaden groans, quiet and broken, when you suddenly see it: His hips shift. He presses into the seat of the chair, like he's trying to relieve the pressure, just for a second. Just to survive the sight of you like this. But still, he doesn't touch. Gods, does he want to, though.

You're so close you can taste it now. The shadows are everywhere, coaxing, teasing, knowing. One is stroking your clit in maddening circles, precise and rhythmic, while another moves against your entrance in tandem with your fingers, every motion tailored to bring you to the brink of orgasm. Your hand is soaked, knuckles slick, your breath ragged as your thighs tremble with every breath.

Your head falls back. Your hips rise. You're right there, teetering on the edge ...

Suddenly, your wrists are caught, stopping every motion immediately.

Your eyes fly open with a sharp inhale as cool tendrils of shadow wrap around both wrists, gentle but firm - no matter how hard you try to free yourself, you can't - and lift your arms above your head.

They pin you to nothing but air, stretched and exposed, your back arched and your chest rising in quick, desperate breaths. Your hands twitch in the hold, but there's no pain. Just a quiet, impossible strength that says: stay.

"What ..." you gasp, eyes darting to him. "Xaden!"

His gaze is molten, no longer calm, no longer composed. He leans forward in his chair at least, forearms resting on his thighs, and his voice is barely human when he speaks. It's low and dark and hungry. Different from what you're used to. "You don't need your hands anymore."

Immediately, you reply with a quiet, wrecked sound, caught somewhere between surprise and need. He still hasn't moved from that chair, hasn't touched you, but somehow, this is even more intimate than him being right in front of you. Or above you. Your body is fully open, trembling under the sensation of shadow and want, your skin hypersensitive, your breath breaking.

"I want to see you fall apart," he says, each word thick with restraint. "But I want it to be because of me. Not your fingers. Mine."

In that moment, you realize: his shadows are his fingers. They are an extension of himself. Guided by his will, listening to his command, touching you the way he would.

They start moving with more purpose now, no longer teasing. One slides between your legs, a thicker one than the small tendrils that have touched you before, and presses inside you. Slow but thick enough to stretch, and somehow it feels both soft and strong all at once. You cry out, hips jerking, the sensation unlike anything you've ever felt.

Another one trails up to your stomach, curves over your breasts, and brushes your nipples with aching precision. First one, then the other. Going back and forth, switching between them.

And the one at your clit? It doesn't stop. It keeps circling, stroking you with maddening accuracy. Never too much, never too little. Just enough to keep you spiraling higher and higher.

Xaden watches you writhe under the touch of his power, his jaw clenched so tight you think it might crack.

"You look so fucking perfect like this," he rasps. "Wrists bound. Mouth open. Needing me ... and so fucking wet for me."

You moan at the cadence of his voice, low and dark, cracked with hunger. One of the shadows brushes your throat like a phantom kiss, not choking, just reminding you that he could touch you anywhere and anytime. That he is touching you, even if not directly.

"Do you want to come?" he asks, eyes fixed on your soaked center, on the way his shadows move inside you.

"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. "Please ... Xaden, please."

"Good," he growls. "Then let go."

And with one final flick of shadow against your clit, one deep thrust of dark silk inside you, right against your spot, you shatter. The moment your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs, tearing a loud moan from your throat, everything blurs.

You need a few seconds to come back, and when you do, when the wave recedes, the shadows remain.

Your body is still pulsing, clenching involuntarily around the cool tendril inside you. Your skin is damp with sweat, your chest heaving, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. You're floating, skin prickling, heart fluttering ... and then you feel it.

They haven't stopped.

The shadow tendril buried inside of you doesn't retreat. No, it stays where it is. Still moving, slower now, but steady still, curling in a way that makes your overstimulated nerves jolt in shock. Another brushes your clit in delicate, lazy circles, too gentle to hurt, but too much for your already sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your breath catches in your throat. You try to speak, but the words stutter out as a broken moan.

Xaden hasn't moved from his seat yet, but he's leaning forward now, elbows braced on his knees, his expression dark and unreadable. His pupils are blown wide. His jaw flexes as he watches the way your body arches, the way you fight the pleasure even as it builds again. Faster than the first time.

"You're shaking," he says softly.

You nod, unable to do much else, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your wrists are still pinned above your head, held by nothing but shadow and his command. You don't even think about pulling free anymore.

"You just came, and now you're already clenching for more. Tell me, love. Tell me how much you enjoy it."

You whimper, hips jerking as the shadow inside you twists again, gentle but devastating.

"Xaden." His name slips out like a plea, like a warning.

He cocks his head slightly. "Do you want me to stop?"

You should say yes. You should. Your body is too raw and overstimulated. But even as the words rise in your throat, you feel it again. That heat. That slow, growing ache that builds from the aftermath and transforms into a second wave of pleasure. The shock has started to fade, replaced by something darker, something deeper. Pure need. Desperate want. Burning heat.

So instead of giving him the answer you should, you shake your head, and whisper, "No. Don't stop."

His eyes darken even more, if possible, and a low groan escapes him, like your words physically unravel something inside him. "Then take it," he growls. "Let me watch you fall apart again."

The shadow at your clit quickens just slightly, the circles tighter now, more deliberate. The one inside you thrusts a little deeper, filling you completely before dragging out with slow, perfect pressure. You cry out, body jolting with every pulse of sensation.

Your back arches. Your legs twitch.

And Xaden is watching it all, hands clenched on the arms of his chair, muscles taut, a sheen of sweat at his brow from how tightly he's reining himself in.

"You're going to come again. And you'll keep going until I say you're done." It's not a threat, it's a promise. You know he isn't playing around, especially not when it comes to something like this.

Another shadow tendril rises and wraps around your waist - not to restrain, but to cradle. To hold you still. You're barely sitting upright anymore, slumping into its cool embrace like you're weightless, boneless. Which, honestly, after everything, might not be that far off the truth.

Your nipples are hard, your mouth slack, and your whole body trembles. The pressure of another orgasm is rising again, faster this time. Hot and brutal and inevitable.

You can't think. Can't breathe. All you can do is feel.

When it finally hits, it hits you harder than the first. The second climax tears through you without warning, without mercy. It's raw and overwhelming, your body clenching so hard around the shadow inside you that your whole vision whites out at the edges. You cry out, loud and unfiltered, every nerve stretched, every muscle taut.

Your limbs tremble violently in their bindings, thighs twitching with aftershocks. The tendrils of shadow cradle you still, one stroking inside, another lazily circling your clit like it's savoring the moment. There's one still playing with your nipples, and a few more keeping you in place, holding you open and mostly unmoving. Your skin feels too hot, too sensitive, like you could burst from even a single breath of air.

You let your head drop back for a moment, eyes fluttering shut. Your heart is racing, lungs dragging air in ragged gulps, body slick with sweat.

For one second, you think it's over. But then you blink and realize Xaden has finally moved. He's standing now, and while his shadows move across the room, remaining on your hot body, he has finally stepped closer. Not yet touching you, but finally within reach.

His jaw is hard, his breathing uneven. His eyes are darker than you've ever seen before. And when your gaze shifts downward, you see it.

He's pulled down his pants, his cock now in his hand. Thick, flushed, and painfully hard. He's not stroking, just holding it, fingers tightening like he's seconds away from losing all control.

Yes! He'll finally give it to me now, you think for one blissfully naive second.

You're wrecked, spent, soaked. Although your body is done, your mind screams at you, imagining it vividly: Xaden finally sinking into you, claiming you after all that teasing and restraining, giving up the control he so carefully maintained.

But he doesn't move, doesn't come closer, doesn't give any sign that you're wish is about to come true. Instead, he meets your eyes and smirks.

"You think you get this now?" When he speaks, his voice is ruined with lust. His hand flexes around his cock, but he doesn't stroke. Doesn't offer it to you. "You think just because you came twice for me, I'm going to fuck you?"

Your lips part, but you don't have an answer. Your mind is too occupied with watching him, big, flushed, and ready. The ache between your legs hasn't faded - it only seems to grow stronger.

"You don't get that yet. Because this isn't about me." His gaze flicks down to your body, your parted thighs, your glistening skin, your nipples still hard, your wrists still pinned high in the air. "This is about you; this is about what you can take."

He's moved closer, until he's standing right at the edge of the bed and between your spread legs.

The shadow inside you pulses once in a deep, deliberate thrust that has your hips jerking as another gasp rips from your throat.

"You're not done, love," he says. "Not even close."

Suddenly, something new touches you. Smaller. Different.

Your body goes completely still as a thin tendril brushes softly over the curve of your ass. Hesitant. Gentle. It's not yet pressing, just a presence. Like it's testing the waters, asking for permission to go further.

Your breath stutters in your throat, your heart giving a sharp little flutter of surprise as your eyes fly to Xaden.

He's still watching you, every inch of you, every breath. His cock is hard in his hand, his control barely holding. But his gaze softens the moment he sees your expression shift.

"No, don't tense you," he says gently, tone softer than before. He knows this is new territory, and he's giving you a chance to stop him before he goes further.

You swallow hard. "Xaden ..."

"Shhh. You're safe, I promise."

The smaller shadow hasn't moved again. It lingers where it is, waiting for you to breathe more normally.

"I won't hurt you," he promises.

You nod, chest rising with each shaky inhale. You know that. Xaden would never do something that'll hurt you.

He watches you for a moment longer, his gaze like a hand stroking down your body. "This is just another way to make you feel good. If you want it."

You don't need to think about it for long. You just nod and whisper, "Okay. I trust you."

That soft tendril starts to move. It's just a nudge at first, brushing between your cheeks, slicking itself with your arousal before it traces lower. The pressure is featherlight. Circling, teasing, not yet pushing in.

Xaden looks at you, at the small tendril working at your tightest hole. "That's it. Let it in. Let me show you what you can feel."

You gasp as it eventually slips in, not far, just barely enough to make you tense. But you feel the stretch, the sensation. It's neither overwhelming nor wrong. It's just ... more. Different. Not something you're used to.

Paired with the slow thrusts from the other shadow and the rhythmic circles on your clit, it feels insane. Like your body is being touched in ways you never thought to imagine.

You moan, louder this time, raw and half-broken. From the corner of your vision, you see Xaden's hand tighten around his cock, stroking up and down just once. Probably to alleviate the pressure.

"You're taking it so well," he says. "So fucking perfect for me."

The tendril inside your ass moves again, just slightly. A flex. A press. Slowly but surely working you open, so your whole body shakes. By now, it feels like it's not entirely your own anymore, nothing but heat and trembling limbs, every nerve alive and burning.

You're still bound. Still held open by his shadows, which have not relented the slightest. The one inside your cunt keeps up that slow, steady rhythm, deep and dragging, like it knows exactly how to keep you suspended right on the edge. The tendril inside your ass moves in time, not fast, not rough, just full. Measured. Perfect. And the one at your clit continues its circles, patient and relentless, tracing the shape of you, bringing you closer to your next inevitable orgasm.

You moan again, high and shaking, toes curling.

Xaden's voice breaks through the haze. "Fuck. You look so fucking good like this."

His hand is still wrapped around his cock, now flushed dark and heavy, and he's definitely throbbing.

"You don't realize, do you?" he murmurs, looking down at you, at your stretched, wrecked body, held wide open for him by nothing but his magic. "Stuffed in all the right ways. Taking every bit of it like you were made for this."

You moan, body arching, because gods, the words, the way he says them ...

Suddenly, he freezes because you do something he doesn't expect. You tilt your head back, eyelids fluttering. Your mouth falls open. Not in a cry this time, but in invitation. Slow. Willing. Silent.

You look up at him with your lips parted, tongue just barely visible, and there's no mistaking what you're asking for. Not begging. Not demanding. Just offering - in case he needs it.

His breath catches in his throat. A muscle in his jaw ticks. He lets out a noise which sounds suspiciously like a growl, and for a second, he doesn't move.

But then he steps forward.

His cock is right there now, heavy and flushed and aching. So close you can smell the salt and sweat and want rolling off him in waves. He watches your mouth like it's the most dangerous thing in the world.

"Are you sure?" he asks, voice low and guttural. "Because if I fuck your mouth right now, I'm not going to last long. You've already undone me, love. All of this -" He gestures at your body, his shadows still moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. "This is you doing it to me."

You breathe out around the words. "Then let me finish it."

That seems to be all it takes.

His hand lifts as he guides himself to your lips, eyes asking for permission once more, before he finally slides in. The weight of him on your tongue is heady. Real.

The moment you close your lips around him, Xaden shudders like he's being struck by lightning. "Fuck. Yes. Just like that, love."

He doesn't thrust. Not yet. Instead, he lets you set the pace, lets your tongue swirl, lets you hollow your cheeks, and allows your mouth to worship him in the way you want.

But his control? It's shredding by the second. You see it, you feel it.

As his shadows keep moving inside you, pushing you higher once more, he finally touches you, tangling a hand in your hair. His breath catches and his hips twitch, and you know: This is the beginning of the end.

His cock is heavy on your tongue, warm and pulsing, the taste of him already blooming against the back of your throat. He's still not thrusting, letting you drag your mouth over him slowly. Your lips glide down his length as far as they'll go, your tongue curling underneath as you pull them back, then down again, building a rhythm.

Above you, Xaden swears, quiet and savage. "Fuck, you're perfect. So fucking perfect with your mouth full of me."

His hand stays buried in your hair, fingers clenched tight, but he still doesn't force it. Doesn't need to. You're doing it for him - to him. And the look on his face is giving you confirmation you're doing something right, because it's nothing short of wrecked.

But what ruins you all over again, what truly undoes you, is that his shadows have never stopped. They're still moving inside you with terrifying intent.

The thick one inside your cunt is thrusting faster than before now, perfectly timed with the flickering pressure at your clit. The smaller tendril in your ass moves in a slow, careful motion, stretching you just enough to make your body twitch with every movement. Your wrists are still held high, legs shaking. Your entire body feels like one exposed, burning nerve.

You can't moan around his cock, but your throat vibrates with the effort.

Xaden feels it. He chokes out a curse, hips jerking forward just a little, and that's the moment you've been waiting for. His control finally snaps. "Shit - love, I'm gonna ... fuck, I'm-"

You look up at him, eyes wide, mouth full, and take it.

The shadows drive deep inside you, fast and hard now, and your body tips over the edge one last time. Your third orgasm of the night crashes through you like lightning rippling through your spine. Your hips buck, walls clenching around the tendrils inside you, every inch of you convulsing with a release so raw it leaves your vision blurring.

And above you, Xaden roars. His hand tightens in your hair, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he thrusts deep one last time, spilling hot down your throat, groaning so low it seems to vibrate in your bones. His eyes are locked on yours the entire time, wild and worshipful and undone.

You swallow around him, reflexive, greedy, and he nearly collapses.

The shadows don't stop immediately. They ease, slow their movements, stroking you gently through the aftershocks as your whole body trembles, overstimulated and utterly spent. A soft, rippling sensation coils around your thighs, your belly, your chest, like they're trying to soothe you now. Trying to bring you gently down from your high.

When he finally pulls out, you're still breathing hard, lips parted, chest heaving. Xade drops to his knees in front of you. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb wiping a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. His gaze searches yours, worried and full of something deeper than lust.

"You okay?" he asks in a whisper.

You nod. "I've never -" You break off, breath hitching.

He leans in, presses a single kiss to your damp cheek. Then your temple. Finally, your lips. Soft this time, with no demand behind it. Just him. Just your boyfriend.

"I know," he murmurs. "Me neither."

Time seems to lose all meaning after that.

You're not sure how long you sit there, body limp, shadows fading slowly like dusk melting into night. The bindings at your wrists release at last, and you let your arms fall with a shuddering sigh, your whole body humming, flushed and overstimmulated in the best way.

You barely notice when Xaden moves. It's only when you feel his arms around you that you do. Strong. Gentle. Steady.

He lifts you with seemingly no effort at all, one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back. You don't protest. You just let your head fall to his shoulder, your cheek resting against his bare skin, still damp with sweat and heat. His heart is racing.

He lies you down on his bed, real, solid, grounding, and eases you down like you're fragile. You aren't, of course, but gods, you're glad he treats you like you are right now.

Then he crawls into bed next to you, not reaching for more, not chasing the embers of lust still flickering in the air. He's just lying there, close and real.

You turn to him, your limbs slow and heavy, and he lifts the blanket over both of you. The heat of him seeps into your bones. His arm curls beneath your head, and his hand rests on your waist, holding you there like he's afraid you'll disappear.

And then, finally, he speaks. Quiet, almost uncharacteristically unsure. "I didn't go too far?"

You shake your head, brushing your nose against his chest. "You stopped every time you thought you might. You gave me every choice."

He exhales, which you can feel in your hair. "I've never done that before. With the shadows, I mean."

You pull back just enough to properly look at him in disbelief. "You've never used them during ...?"

His eyes meet yours, soft and unwavering. "Never. Not like this."

Your chest tightens as something inside you settles. "What was this, then?" you ask, not teasing. Just curious.

Xaden hesitates, then brushes his thumb across your cheek, the way he did when you were bound and writhing, only now with tenderness so thick it nearly breaks you.

"This," he says quietly, "was me showing you that you're not just another weapon I want at my side. You're the only thing I've ever wanted to fall for."

Your breath catches. There are no more shadows now. Just you, and him, and the sound of your heartbeat where it echoes against his chest.

And for the first time since setting foot in Basgiath, you feel safe. Loved. His.

[strange-and-unsual4]

Hello! Can I ask for very fluff Xaden Riorson x reader please🥺

Of course you can! Xaden needs all the fluff. I hope you enjoy, anon! :) Thank you for requesting!

In your defense you had tried to warn him. 

Your dragon had always had a good sense for the weather, and he had warned you this would happen if the two of you took too long. 

Of course, there was no way you could have predicted the venin guards or that you would have to scrap your plans to get out of there unnoticed. 

Or how your next plan would immediately go to shit, and you’d end up killing them all anyway just to keep your presence secret. 

It definitely caused a delay. 

Now you were soaked, your dragons were slippery and irritable, huddled under a crumbling bridge downstream. You and Xaden had taken shelter in what barely passed for a stronghold. Four standing walls and half a roof. 

The wind howled through the cracks, and the stone you sat on was hard, wet, and unforgiving. It didn’t help you stop shivering, but you were grateful to be out of the rain. 

Xaden, on the other hand, was in the process of starting a fire. Thank gods you had the materials for that in your packs. You’d much rather use it for this than its normal purpose of burning riders that had fallen. 

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” You asked Xaden through chattering teeth. 

He looked back over his shoulder and frowned. His gaze swept over you, taking in your soaked clothes and trembling hands. “What I need is for you to get dry.” 

You huffed a laugh, more air than sound. “And how do you suggest I do that?” 

He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Well, you can start by taking your clothes off.” 

Despite the chill, you could resist the urge to tease him. “If you wanted me naked, Riorson, all you had to do was ask.” 

He rolled his eyes at you, but the smirk lingered. “We’ll lay everything near the fire to dry faster. You’ll freeze if you stay like that.” 

You nodded. That made sense, but you weren’t looking forward to sitting on this cold stone in your underwear. It couldn’t be worse than sitting in wet socks though. 

Stripping out of everything but your underwear, you hung your clothes from a jut of stone as Xaden coaxed the fire to life. The rush of warmth made you sigh in relief, and you stepped closer, holding out your hands and willing the trembling to stop. 

Xaden disappeared behind you for a moment, and you heard the soft shuffle of movement before a blanket settled around your shoulders, thin, but soft and blissfully dry. 

“Better?” He whispered near your ear, fingers gently tugging your damp hair free from beneath the fabric so it wouldn’t cling to your neck. 

You leaned back against him without thinking. Even through his wet clothes, his skin radiated heat. “Mhmm . . . but you’re warmer.” 

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest, and pressed a kiss to your cheek, lingering just a heartbeat longer than usual. “Give me a second.” 

Then he was gone, and you immediately missed the heat of him. Your disappointment faded fast though when he stepped into view, bare except for his underwear, and hung his clothes beside yours to dry. 

You couldn’t help but look. The firelight caught on the ridges of his muscles, the defined lines of his shoulders, the blue shimmer of his relic. The map of scars across his back caught your eye, a quiet reminder of everything he carried. It warmed you in a way the blanket never could. 

Without a word, he pulled another blanket from his pack and laid it out in front of the fire. He sat down, stretched out his legs, and looked over his shoulder at you. “Are you going to join me or not?” 

You didn’t need to be asked twice. 

Settling in front of him, you let him pull you into his lap, your back to his chest, legs tucked between his. His arms wrapped around you, grounding you, and your head tipped back against his collarbone. Xaden was an inferno. Your cold limbs thawed against him, the chill easing from your skin in waves. “Gods, I love how warm you are.” You murmured, wrapping your arms around one of his like it was a pillow. 

“Yeah, I can tell by the way your feet always seem to find their way between my legs every night.” Xaden teased, and when you looked up he was smirking at you. 

You looked up at him with mock outrage. “Well, would you rather they end up in your face? Maybe that would stop you from snoring.” 

“I do not snore.” Xaden leaned down, nuzzling his face against the side of yours for a moment before murmuring. “And I’d much rather wake up with something else in my face.” 

He nipped at your ear, sending a warm shiver through your entire body. 

Heat rushed through you, quick and wicked, at his words and the image he planted in your mind. “Xaden Riorson.” You gasped, feigning scandal. “I can’t believe you’re having such inappropriate thoughts.” 

“In my defense,” he said, brushing your hair aside to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. “We are almost naked.” 

You laughed, tightening your hold on his arm. “You’ve got me there.” 

He smiled against your skin, then shifted to tuck your head beneath his chin. You felt the quiet hum of his contentment in the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

The rain softened into a steady rhythm, the crackling fire a gentle counterpoint. The cold that had sunk into your bones faded. Your muscles unwound, and warmth bloomed where his skin met yours. You hadn’t felt this comfortable, this still, in what felt like forever. Most nights, exhaustion dragged you both into bed after missions or training - or other, more distracting activities. 

This was different. This was peaceful. Intimate without urgency. It was the quiet privilege of being close. 

Your hand started tracing the lines of his relic as a clap of thunder roared overhead, and a memory stirred behind your closed eyes, making you smile. “You know what this reminds me of?” 

“What?” he replied, voice soft. 

“Do you remember when we were little, and I was so terrified of storms I’d run into your room?” Your smile grew wider as the memories played out. “You’d distract me with your toys or stories?” 

“How could I forget?” A low chuckle rumbled in Xaden’s chest as his hand skimmed along your side. “One time lightning struck outside, and you hid under my bed for three hours. I got stuck trying to get you out.” 

Heat flushed your cheeks, remembering how it had taken another half hour for you to shove the mattress off his bed and drag him out from under there by his feet. “I have a confession.” You said, tilting your head so you could look up at him, biting your bottom lip. “I stopped being scared of storms when I was like sixteen.” 

His brow lifted slightly.

“I just liked it when you held me.” 

You expected him to look surprised. Maybe a teasing quip.  

But instead he just smiled. A soft, boyish smile that cracked something open inside you, because it wasn’t Lieutenant Riorson looking at you like that. It was the Xaden from before everything had been taken from you both. “I know.” 

Your eyes widened. “What?” A startled laugh left your lips. “Why didn’t you say anything then?” 

Xaden shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” his eyes softened as he looked at you, so full of affection it made your chest ache. “Probably had something to do with the fact that I had a massive crush on you.” 

You couldn’t help the slow smirk that pulled at your lips. “You had a crush on me?” You leaned closer, voice full of faux pity. “Oh, how adorable -”

He cut off your words with a kiss. 

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t desperate or heated with fear that the two of you might not survive the night. 

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that felt like a last chance. 

No, this one was slow, as sweet as chocolate and as warm as the fire crackling in the pit in front of you. It was a kiss that held you steady even in the middle of a rainstorm in an abandoned stronghold. This was a kiss to savor. A memory to think about when fighting the war didn’t seem worth it anymore. 

This kiss was a promise. A tether. A kiss that said, I’m not letting you go. 

When he finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours, and in them, you saw everything. The past. The future. 

You knew, without a doubt, your gaze held the same softness. The same love. 

A love you’d fight every venin on the continent to protect.

[strange-and-unsual4]

hear me out: an angsty part 2 to all the wrong/right places where ridoc finds out about Y/N and Brennan. omg the dramaaa

I Love(d) You, It's Ruining My Life

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

Pairing(s): Brennan x reader

Warning(s): roughly making out, swearing

Summary: You didn't realize just how protective your boyfriend could be over you -- that is, until he feels threatened.

SR’s Note: Plot twist... you thought Ridoc would be the jealous one, didn't you? (;

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

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

All The Wrong Right Places

It'd been four months since you came to your senses. Four months since you swore off your ex for good, finding true happiness in someone you'd never expected; your best friend.

Brennan had swept you off your feet from the moment you allowed him to; he'd wined, dined, and fucked you to no end. You would admit, you felt nothing less than comfortable with him, knowing he'd be there for you no matter what.

The early June summer sun had now faded, replaced by the rain and fog of October. You'd found yourself out that evening, joining a few friends from the college for yet another party.

And though Violet swore Ridoc wouldn't show... you spotted him the moment he arrived.

The room lit up as he walked in, all of his friends swarming him just to get a word in. You were left scowling over the rim of your red solo cup, watching nearly everyone there flocking toward the sun-kissed boy.

Most of the night had gone on that way; everyone milling about, seeming to gravitate toward the brunette. You'd done your absolute best to stay out of his way, but just before you were about to leave...

"Y/N! Hey," he chuckled, his words only loosely running together. You took a deep breath, halting from shoving your other arm into your jacket. Turning, your eyes meet his.

You couldn't deny the small tremor that ran through you.

It'd been months. Months. You were now happier than you'd ever been, you felt so free, so safe...

"Hey. Ridoc." You responded, tone clipped. He held his arms wide, grinning wildly.

"Haven't seen you all night!" He said loudly. You winced, glancing side to side as he continued on. "In fact... I haven't seen you in.. months."

His head tilted to the side in thought, and you sighed as you sheathed your bare arm within the thin cotton jacket.

"Yeah, well... I haven't been around." You said in an implicating way. His brow raised, and he barked a sharp laugh.

"Wait wait wait -- you been seein' someone?"

Your cheeks warmed, and you settled your hands on your hips.

"As a matter of fact, yes, Ridoc. I have been."

He rears back as though you'd struck him, a surprised chuckle wheezing out of him.

"No shit! Wow... I mean... holy shit-"

"What?" You snapped, confident in the anger rising within you. "Is that so hard to believe?"

He shook his head, flattening his lips into a line. "Nah, nah... I mean, what we had goin' was good though, you know."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Ridoc, whatever we had was not healthy." Bile churned in your stomach at the reminder, recalling every time you reluctantly crawled right back to him. "It wasn't... anything. Anything at all."

He sighed, scratching his head. "Didn't seem like nothing. You kept comin' back."

Your brows narrowed. "Ridoc, you're so shallow! We dated for... Gods know how long. I kept coming back because I loved you... and it ruined my life. But now, I have-"

"Y/N?"

You hadn't realized how loud you'd gotten. How close you'd stepped toward Ridoc, an accusatory finger jabbing at his chest. You hadn't ehard the front door swing open, or the familiar jangle of Brennan's car keys as he spun them around his finger.

You hadn't realized your boyfriend had arrived, as you'd arranged... to pick you up.

You turned slowly, the look of horror surely plastered on your face. Brennan saddled you with a blank look, clearly catching the tail end of the argument and finding himself unsure of what to make of it. Ridoc chuckled, his chest rumlbling beneath your fingertip.

"Uh oh... looks like your new boyfriend's here," he slurred, stating the obvious. He leaned in, speaking softly so only you could hear.

"Try not to let this one 'ruin your life'."

You glared, splaying a flat hand on your ex's chest and shoving. Hard.

"You're insufferable."

It was the last words said before you rushed out of the house, gunning right for Brennan. A mere minute after the door slammed shut, an explaination was at the ready.

"Brennan, please let me explain-"

"Get in the car." He said, his voice low as rain pelted from above. You paused, stopping on the sidewalk as he kept toward the car. He reached forward, gripping the passenger doorhandle and swinging the door open.

"Did you not hear me?"

You huffed, stalking closer. Before entering the vehicle, you tried again.

"Brennan-"

"In." He said, his stare hard. "Now."

✧･ﾟ: *

The drive was silent, save for the rain splattering against the windows and the sweep of the windshield wipers batting it away. Night had fallen, making the road harder and harder to see. Brennan drove on, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

You hadn't spoken another word, hadn't dared to since closing the passenger side door. You'd never seen Brennan so upset, so perturbed by something he simply just didn't understand.

Debating opening your mouth in defense once more, you halted. Brennan hung a right, pulling into a vacant parking lot and parking nearly midway between two streetlamps. He stared ahead for a moment, then twisted the key and shut the car off.

"Brennan..."

"Let's talk about this in the back."

You sighed, not thrilled to get out once more in the downpour. Shielding your hair with the hood of your jacket, you quickly got out of the car -- only to get right back in. Brennan joined you in the backseat, his eyes vacant as he slid in atop the leather seats.

The two of you shared the silence once more, and you found yourself unsure where to look. You occupied your time by stripping yourself of your jacket, finding the car already growing warmer. When you did finally glance over at Brennan, you found him watching you, studying you with that feral hunger he only ever unleashed in the bedroom.

Your lips parted, but you didn't speak. Your boyfriend's hand snaked around your neck, quickly bringing your lips to his. He worked his mouth against yours deliciously, not being so kind or considerate about the way he was practically devouring you. You squeaked in surprise, but took the hint rather quickly when he tugged your hips atop his lap.

He broke the kiss at once, his fingers curling beneath your top and roughly yanking it over your head. His mouth was on your breast at once, his teeth raking over the tops of your mounds.

You sucked in a sharp breath, fisting his red-brown curls in both hands. Absentmindedly, you had begun to grind your hips on his lap; the tension growing between the two of you nearing white-hot.

"Brennan," you sighed, and he pulled back from your skin.

"Say you don't love him anymore," he demanded, his eyes staring up at you. "Y/N, I need to know-"

"I don't," you said, not hesitating in the slightest. "Brennan, I've told you a million times I'm over Ridoc-"

He growled, his large hands squeezing your ass through your jeans. You gasped, tugging his face close to yours again.

"That's not what it sounded like," he ground out, opting to take your bottom lip between his teeth instead of kissing you. Your eyes widened, and when he let go, you explained.

"You came in on the tail end of that -- Brennan, I was attempting to put that asshole in his place."

Brennan's eyes softened ever so slightly, though his erection did the opposite. You swallowed, not imagining this the time or place you'd admit something like this -- but the unsaid words hung in the air like cigarette smoke.

"I thought I was in love when I was with Ridoc," you explained, lightly scratching your nails against Brennan's head. He leaned back, enjoying the light massage as you spoke. "I realize now that... he was a huge waste of time. I was so blind to what I've always had, right here in front of me."

A small smile pulled at his lips at that.

"Damn right."

You rolled your eyes. "And," you continued, lightly tugging on his curls. "I realize now that it wasn't love. It couldn't have been. Because nothing I felt for Ridoc feels even remotely close to the way I feel about you."

His eyes softened, taking in the admission. He leaned forward, his lips connecting with yours. He was much gentler, kissing you with a sweet sort of intimacy that sent your heart fluttering.

"I love you too." He admitted, only pulling back an inch. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. And there's no way in Hell I'd let that damned fool take you away from me ever again."

✧･ﾟ: *

[strange-and-unsual4]

44 from your prompt request list with Ridoc :))))🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Just The Two Of Us

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

Pairing(s): Ridoc x reader

Warning(s): fluff

Summary: While babysitting two of your closest friend's children, you exchange sweet words with your husband and love of your life.

SR’s Note: Omfg this turned out so cute! Now I'm ready to make Ridoc a dad... hahahahah. This uses prompt 44 from my prompt request masterlist!

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

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

The autumn air had grown chilly throughout the day, threading and weaving through the light cardigan you wore. Liam continued chasing after his little sister Lilith, both of them screaming in delight as they tumbled down the slide.

"Lili! Slow down you'll get hurt!"

Your heart warmed at the little boy's words. At only age five, he was fiercely protective of his baby sister, who was only two years younger. Sure enough, Lilith tripped as she ran for the playground stairs again, taking a second longer than usual to get back up.

When you heard her low cry, your feet started moving. That was your cue.

"Lili!" Liam shouted, flanking his sister's side. You crouched low, sliding your arm's beneath the little girl's body and helping her to her feet. Fat tears streamed down her cheeks, and you realized she'd skinned her knee in the mulch.

"Oh no! Just an accident, right?" You cooed, getting eye-level with the girl. She sniffled, pointing to her scraped knee just visible beneath her little dress. You nodded in understanding.

"Lili! I told you, remember? I already told you no running-"

"And that's a very good reminder, right?" You said, validating Liam's concerns. Liam narrowed his thin brown eyebrows at his sister, and you patted his back. "Let's go a little slower next time, okay?"

Lilith nodded in understanding, glancing teary-eyed at her brother. He huffed over-exaggeratedly, and held out his arms.

"Huggie?" He asked. She nodded slowly, stalking over to him and allowing him to wrap his little arms around her. Your heart swelled at the sight; they really were their parents kids. Liam, the oldest, looked mostly like Violet. His sandy brown hair tipped in silver was a nod to his maternal side, that was for sure -- but his unwavering brown eyes and protectiveness came right from his dad. Lilith was the exact opposite -- her blue green eyes mirrored her mother, and contrasted beautifully with her inky black hair from her father. Both children were wonderful, if anything else -- especially coming from two of your closest friends.

When Liam released his little sister, she looked sadly at you once more. You scooped her up into your arms, careful to avoid her knee as you balanced her on your hip. In the other hand, Liam wrapped his tiny fingers around yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In truth, it was -- you and Ridoc had babysat the kiddos many times, so much that they'd even left toys at your house for when they visited.

Lilith rested her head on your shoulder, her little eyes drooping as you walked. The park was a short distance from your home, but just long enough to coax the girl into a deep sleep.

･ﾟ: *✧

Liam didn't put up too much of a fuss during nap time today, surely all that running and playing wearing him out. Ridoc was set to arrive before dinner this evening, and either Xaden or Violet before bedtime for the kids. A soft autumn rain pelted the windows in your living room as you sipped from your afternoon coffee, turning yet another page in your novel.

A small voice whispered to you from the hallway, and immediately you were on your feet.

"Y/N? I be out here?"

You rose from your spot on the couch, crossing the distance quickly to Liam. He stood, wide-eyed as the storm picked up outside. You took his hand in yours, guiding him to the living room with you.

"Absolutely, sweetheart! Is everything okay?"

He nodded, his eyes wide as you fixed him up on the couch with one of your favorite blankets. He snuggled in, bringing the fabric up to his nose. You chuckled, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"What's wrong, honey?" He glanced up at you.

"Storming outside," he commented, wincing as a bolt of lightning illuminated the space. You rubbed a gentle hand over his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"I know, but it's alright! See? We are inside, and all that is outside -- so we're safe!" You promised. He didn't seem to take the bait.

"And, Ridoc?" He urged, looking to you in fear. "He outside?"

You sighed, knowing the little boy was right. In the distance, you could swear you heard the door swinging closed -- and sure enough, Ridoc's head was peeking around the corner in an instant.

"Nahhh little guy, I'm in here with you!"

Liam jumped from the couch, tossing the blanket to the ground. You grinned as he ran to your husband, arms wide and expression beaming. His fear was instantly long forgotten.

"Ridoccccc!"

"Liammmmm!" He mirrored, kneeling to embrace the little guy. Your husband's hair was soaked from the rain, his hands and clothes sodden from yet another mission today -- that'd be a fun one to wash. Reguardless, you were glad every evening he returned home safely, and this was no exception.

"Ridoc! We, we went to the park, and we played on the slide, oh and the swings, and then... oh yeah, Lili fell down and didn't listen to me, and got an ouchie-"

"Woah, woah! Sounds like a very fun day then, huh?" Ridoc exclaimed. The little boy continued talking aminatedly, and you just shook your head, smiling. Ridoc gazed up at where you'd come to stand, his gaze both knowing and memorizing of you. When Liam paused to take a breath, Ridoc set his hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, buddy, it's almost dinnertime -- why don't you wake up your sister, nicely, and then you guys can play for a while, hm?"

Liam nodded, accepting the mission.

"Nicely, wake your sister."

"What we having to eat?" Liam asked, raising an eyebrow. Ridoc pretended to think for a second, then seemed to form a wonderful idea.

"How about... grilled cheese?"

Liam jumped and shrieked in delight.

"Grilled cheese! That's my favorite! You know it!"

Your husband chuckled, knowing all too well what the kiddo preferred.

"Yes, I know! My favorite too, but hey -- first, go on and get Lili up, okay? Nicely," he added, giving the boy a pointed look. Liam scurried down the hallway, jumping and raving over the dinner soon to be had.

Ridoc rose from his knees, sighing as he reached his full height before you. You smiled softly as he pulled you close, his metal-stained hands bracketing your waist as you stepped into him. He let out a long breath as you pressed up onto your tippytoes, pressing a warm kiss to his lips.

"Hi," you said softly, grinning as you pulled back. He returned the smile, kissing you again.

"Hi baby," he said, his voice lower than it had been moments ago. "Everything okay with Liam? He woke up early."

You nodded, staring up into his eyes. "I think he was frightened; either by how dark his room got with the rain outside, or maybe the lightning."

Your husband barked a laugh at this. "The son of both lightning and shadow weilders... that's kind of ironic, isn't it?"

You shook your head at his observation. Leaning in, you kissed him one more time before you heard a ruckus down the hallway. Liam had surely woken his sister up, alright -- now him and Lili were both shouting over grilled cheese. Ridoc drew in a long breath before calling down the hallway.

"Hey! Guys, play with your toys for a bit, alright? Your mom and I will make dinner soon!"

Their combined squeals of excitement had you grinning, before you realized what your husband had just said. He leaned in to kiss you again, quickly before you pushed back against his chest.

"Your mom, huh?" You teased, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead. "Is there something I missed?"

Ridoc chuckled, his cheeks flushing pink as he realized his mistake.

"Sorry, sorry I just... Gods, I love those kids so much. Sometimes I forget their not ours."

His lips pressed against yours again, his grip firm on your waist as he blindly guided you toward the kitchen. You couldn't help but smile -- sure, you'd thought of it many times yourself. While you loved Liam and Lilith like they were your own, you did hope for some of your own one day.

He backed you up to the kitchen counter, his hands sliding beneath your butt as he continued kissing you. You got the message, jumping and allowing him to sit you atop the marble surface. Your body leaned toward him, and his hands found your hips once more.

"You're so good with them too," he complimented, pulling away for only a second. "Like you were born a natural."

You giggled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. When you straightened, you looked him in the eyes once more.

"Ridoc, I think you'd be a great dad."

His eyes widened, his throat working as he swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice came out strained.

"Y-You really think so?"

You nodded, and he kissed you again. This time, it was not soft; it was passionate. Like the two of you were thinking, wanting, wishing for the same things without even having to say it. Your rendezvous was short lived, as a crash sounded from down the hallway. This time, it was Lili that shouted, scolding her brother for whatever had happened. The two of you stared at eachother, wide eyed before breaking into a fit of giggles.

"I think I'll enjoy just the two of us for a little longer."

"There's no way I could keep it serious if my kids were as funny as them."

Your combined, jumbled words had you sharing a laugh once more, and Ridoc moved to help you from the countertop at once. He strode for the refrigerator, swinging it open in search of bread and cheese. You aimed for the hallway in opposition.

"I'm going to go make sure they aren't killing eachother in there."

"I'm going to start dinner; you know how dangerous it is to keep a Riorson waiting. Let alone two of them."

･ﾟ: *✧

[strange-and-unsual4]

Zade Meadows x fem!reader

YOU FIND OUT HIS CHILDHOOD PHOTOS

Zade: Y/n, this is a bad idea. You can't just come over to my place for the first time, find out old albums and go through them!

Y/n : "Guess what, I just did", you say sticking your tongue out.

*You open the first album. It's got several pictures of Zade as a baby and to say that he was chubby would be an understatement*

Y/n : "Aww! Baby Zaddy was wayyy cuter, ya know. Look at those fat hands, and the unusually chubby cheeks! Ohh!! Those dimples too!", you gush over him.

Zade : *blushing* Yeah, I've always been told I was a cute baby.

Y/n : Just cute?! That's the babiest baby of all babies!

Zade : *chuckles softly*

Y/n : Who would've guessed this cutie would grow up to be so intimidating yet so hot. I mean, it's kinda unbelievable, isn't it? Plus, those dimples are giving me severe baby fever.

Zade : Yeah yeah, I did have cute dimples. No need to get all mushy about it. And are you serious about that baby fever thing?

Y/n : Yeah, isn't it visible? I want a heterochromic baby with chubby dimpled cheeks too.

Zade : Y-you do?

Y/n : "I hope your genes run strong, Zaddy", you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Zade : *clearly flustered* W-wait wha- really?

That was the first time you saw the tall, brooding Zade Meadows flustered and stammering.

[strange-and-unsual4]

“Meadows baby, our last name is Meadows.”

Zade Meadows - Hunting Adeline

[strange-and-unsual4]

A Bet Well Lost - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

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

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

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

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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