writinginatree

[writinginatree]

Here you go! I took some freedom with the details, but hopefully it's close enough to what you had in mind <3

Hi! Hope you’re doing well :)) I love your writing so much and I had a request idea for a Xaden x Reader fic if that’s ok!

Reader and Xaden are best friends growing up and in love unbeknownst to each other (her father is Fen’s right hand man), and when the Rebellion fell, leadership requested reader cut the marks on Xaden’s back just to punish them both more :(( She cleans his wounds after and he tells her it’s not her fault when she breaks down but they’re quickly separated without a goodbye.

When they’re reunited at the Riders’ Quadrant, they’re closer than ever and their feelings continue growing and so on. Reader eventually bonds Tairn :)) When they confess and kiss, reader hesitates when she feels the marks on his back, he comforts her and she kisses every scar. So basically some good old angsty hurt/comfort? I hope you like it, I would absolutely read literally anything written by you but this has been in my head for ages. 😅 Have a good day ❤️❤️

Hi! I'm okay, thanks. I hope you are too! Sure, I'll try my best to do your idea justice!

[writinginatree]

Latenight Confessions

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/reader

Summary: A quiet night with your best friend unexpectedly leads to a long overdue heart to heart about the wounds of the past and repressed feelings.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury, some angst, I made up some stuff regarding the Tyrrish custom behind Xaden's scars, Iron Flame spoilers. Set pre-canon.

Based on this request.

"Move over," you huff, poking your finger at Xaden's side.

He bats your hand away, not giving you an inch of space. "If I moved over any further, I'd be falling out of bed."

Ugh. That's the problem with these damn beds — they very clearly are not meant for more than one person. You could cry thinking of how big and comfortable your beds back home in Aretia had been, so much better suited for sleepovers. Especially Xaden's — there'd been enough space in it to easily fit not only Xaden and you, but also Bodhi and Garrick on the occasion that all four of you were having a sleepover. All of you are much bigger now than you were back then, of course, but these days it's just Xaden and you, anyway. You would kill to be lying in his bed in Aretia right now.

"Then put your elbow somewhere else," you say, nudging the offending body part with your own. "Feels like you're trying to dig a hole through my ribcage."

Lying on his stomach with a map of the Continent before him, Xaden is bracing his weight on his underarms in a way that has his relic-covered elbow pointed at you like a weapon.

"You were the one who insisted it would be more comfortable to do the planning in bed," he reminds you, but does you the favor of retracting his elbow, poking it into the mattress instead as he props his chin on his hand.

You roll over, throwing an arm across Xaden's back and resting your chin on his shoulder to glance at the map too, though at this point, you've already memorized all possible routes. "It would be, if the bed wasn't so damn narrow. Do you think we'll get bigger ones when we're second-years? I heard they have bigger rooms, at least."

"Probably," he answers distractedly, still focused on the problem of the next dagger delivery. "If we can make it through the rest of this year without being found out. Would you stop trying to stab me with your chin?"

"Sorry."

You turn your head so your cheek lies flat against his shoulder blade instead, and close your eyes. If you aren't careful, you'll fall asleep like this; it's getting late, and Xaden is so warm and comfortable. Your fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on his lower back. His shirt has ridden up a little, his bare skin even softer and warmer under your hand. You slide it higher up his back — your hands are always a little cold, and despite how he likes to complain about it, you know Xaden doesn't really mind you warming them on him.

But when you feel the scars beneath your fingers, you freeze.

They're thin, barely raised — if you didn't know they're there, you probably couldn't even feel them. But you know. Oh, how you know. You will never forget the day he got them, will carry the guilt of what they'd forced you to do for the rest of your life. That day had left scars on both of you, though only Xaden's are physical, partially disguised by the relic Sgaeyl had gifted him, but still visible to anyone who knows to look. Your own only exist on the inside, a matching scar to marr your soul for every one etched into your beloved best friend's back.

It's a miracle that after everything, the both of you are still as close as you'd been as children. The apostasy and everything it made you do irrevocably changed both of you, but somehow, your friendship had prevailed. If anything, you're closer than ever now that you're finally reunited after the near-unbearable years in separate foster homes.

Things are the same between you as they had always been, but at the same time, they aren't. You're both older, harder, weighed down by responsibility. Gone are the days of chasing through the mountains surrounding Aretia on horseback, of stealing cake from the kitchens and huddling in Riorson House's library on rainy days until the scribe in charge chased you out for leaving chocolate smudges on the precious books. Now, it's dragons you ride, venin-killing daggers you steal, and the potential consequences of getting caught are no longer a mere scolding or being grounded, but death. The love you feel for Xaden — going far beyond platonic affection — had already been blossoming before his father's rebellion tore you apart, but the guilt mixing with it is another of the many subtle differences to before.

Xaden shifts slightly, like he felt you stiffen and wants to look at you over his shoulder to say something, but then seems to think better of it. The two of you never speak of his scars, of what happened that day. Every time you skirt the topic, guilt clogs your throat and prevents you from saying everything you so desperately want him to know.

You force your body to relax, and gently trace your finger up and down the scar it rests on.

The placement of each cut is so ingrained in you that you don't even have to see Xaden's back to know which one this is and who it represents. Every name is burned into your memory as permanently as the scars on Xaden's skin. The marked one he had taken responsibility of with this particular scar is dead, shoved off the parapet half a year ago. You never actually met him, can't even put a face to the name. Maybe that's for the better. The knowledge of every marked one lost hurts enough as it is, and knowing them personally only makes it worse. Terror seizes you every time you think of the marked ones you already lost this year, and of all the others that will follow you into this death trap of a school next year, and the year after, and the one after that and—

You turn your head, pressing your face deeper into Xaden's shirt and inhaling the comfort of his scent. Don't think about it. You cannot let yourself think about all those innocent lives, can't let yourself question how many — if any — of you will make it out of Basgiath alive. You have a weapons drop to plan, that's what you should focus on.

"When are we sneaking down to the forge again?" you ask, Xaden's shoulder muffling the words so they're barely intelligible.

Though each of you has a small bag of daggers stashed away already, it's not enough for a full shipment. You need to take as many as you can without leadership's notice, or it won't be worth the risk of the long flight.

"I was thinking we should wait for the weekend," Xaden answers, leaving the sentence hanging in a way that tells you he'll welcome your input if you have any concerns or better suggestions.

"Sounds good."

Minutes pass in comfortable silence as he continues to pore over the map. You're about to doze off when Xaden groans, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

"That meeting place is shit," he curses. "No matter what route we take, we'll have to fly fucking slalom to avoid all the outposts on the way."

You lift your head. "Can't you tell them to meet us somewhere else? I don't see why we should always let them decide these things."

"Because they're the ones out there on the front, and know where we can meet without Navarrian patrols coming across us."

"Still. They're making things difficult for us on purpose, and you know it, too. They want our help, not the other way around, so why are we letting them act all high and mighty?"

"You know it's not that easy," Xaden says, twisting his neck to glance back at you. "This alliance is more fragile than ever now that I've called off the arrangement with Cat."

You grimace at the mention of the Poromish heiress. If there has ever been a more unpleasant person, you haven't met them. Words can't describe how relieved you were when Xaden decided to call off the betrothal his father had arranged — and not purely out of selfish reasons. While you definitely prefer having your best friend to yourself, his own mental health was the more important concern. It would not have been good for him being stuck with someone like that, someone he neither likes nor gets along with, who only sees him as a trophy because of a title he no longer holds.

"Which you had every right to do," you remind him. Really, Tecarus had done you a favor by refusing to hand over that luminary, finally giving Xaden an excuse to get out of the betrothal he never wanted, without feeling guilty for the problems his refusal would cause. "And I repeat: They need us, not the other way around. I'm not saying they should grovel and beg for our help, but is it really too much to ask for that they be a little more accommodating about when and where we meet to deliver the daggers they want?"

Xaden folds his arms, resting his head on top of them. "Politics just are nonsensical like that," he grumbles into the mattress. "What are you suggesting we do about it?"

It's your turn to groan. "I don't know! You know I'm no good at politics and all that diplomatic shit. That's your field of expertise."

The sound he makes in response is half scoff, half laugh. "We're both terrible at this."

"True," you admit. "But we make up for it with enthusiasm."

At that, he barks a laugh, brief but real, and you allow yourself a small smile of victory. It's much too seldom that you get to hear him genuinely laugh these days.

"Is that what we're calling it now? Enthusiasm?" The amusement lingers in his tone.

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Determination? Ruthlessness? The will to survive?"

"We're doing more than survive," you say. "If that were all, we wouldn't be out there smuggling those daggers past the border."

What you're doing isn't exactly the peak of self-preservation. You might very well end up getting caught and executed like your parents, but it's worth the risk to carry on their legacy.

"True." With a sigh, Xaden folds up the map, hangs his arm over the edge of the bed, and throws it to the floor. "Let's go to sleep. We can figure out what to do about the drop-off tomorrow."

He sits up, ignoring your yelp of protest at being dislodged from your comfortable spot on his shoulder. Before you can complain, he pulls off his shirt, carelessly throwing it at his desk chair. The way his muscles flex with the casual movement could make anyone drool, and your brain completely shuts down at the sight. All you can do is stare. It's not like you haven't seen him shirtless before, but being in his bed with him while he's half naked feels decidedly different than seeing him bare-chested while sparring or going for a swim.

Luckily, he doesn't seem to detect anything improper in your gaze, probably interpreting your stare as one of bewilderment. "What? I only sleep with a shirt on in winter."

"It's barely spring," you sputter.

"It's getting warmer."

"So is this what I can expect every night from now until it's autumn again?"

Xaden and you spend the night in each other's room so often that half the quadrant is convinced you're a couple, and the other half thinks you're fucking. While you certainly wouldn't say no to either option, neither is the case. Your sleeping arrangement is strictly platonic — a mere matter of practicality. The fact that both of you suffer from insomnia and sleep better in the other's company aside, it allows you more private time to scheme.

But Amari give you strength — if he's going to be shirtless every night from now on, it's going to take even more effort than before to hide your attraction.

"Yes." His brows knit. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Well, no—"

"Good. Then scoot over, or I'll lie down on top of you."

Gods, he just had to put that image in your head, didn't he? Even though he certainly didn't mean it like that, you have half a mind to stay where you are, just to see if he makes true on the threat.

You're not sure your heart would survive that, though, so you roll over to lie against the wall, making just enough space for Xaden to squeeze into bed beside you. Clad in a short-sleeved shirt yourself, his bare skin meets your own as your arms press against each other.

It's a relief when Xaden smothers the mage lights, darkness hiding any signs of how flustered you are.

You've barely settled down when something slithers around your waist, winding up and around your shoulders, down around your hips. If you weren't so used to it by now, you might have yelped. The first time it had happened, you'd actually screamed.

Now, you just smile into your pillow. "Xaden," you whisper. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Your shadows."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

The shadows retreat, and you almost regret saying anything. But Xaden desperately wants to learn control over his signet as quickly as he can, and pointing out when he wields without meaning to is part of helping him with that.

The scraps of moonlight flowing in through the half-open curtains are just bright enough to make out the flat look Xaden gives you. "I've only had my signet for like a month, Y/N. I can't control it yet."

"I don't mind," you say. In fact, you quite like being wrapped in his shadows; it makes you feel secure somehow. "Though I gotta admit I am curious. Why does that always happen?"

"I know, that's not what I meant. I'm just wondering why the shadows always do this. I get the whole shadows rising and writhing around when you're agitated-thing, but when they wrap around me like this there never seems to be any trigger, and I've never seen it happen with anyone else."

Xaden is silent for so long you think he's not going to answer. Finally he says, "You're important to me. I think... I think the magic can sense that. I think it wants to protect you."

"Aww," you coo, "so your shadows like me! I like you too, shadows."

Xaden rolls his eyes. "Can you not? They aren't alive or anything. More like... an extension of me. They're drawn to you because I'm—"

He abruptly falls silent, like he said more than he meant to.

"Because you're what?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

Xaden turns, putting his back to you — his bare back, the covers only pulled up to his waist. Even though it's too dark to really make out the scars, you can't help but stare at where you know they're scattered across the expanse of his skin. Without thinking, you lift a trembling hand, pressing your palm flat over the scar right between his shoulder blades — the scar that represents you, cut there by your own hand.

You remember the horror of carving it into his skin like it was yesterday; how the general had rattled down name after name with no emotion, no pity. When she reached your name on her list, there had been no acknowledgement of the fact that it was your own life Xaden was to take responsibility for next, only that cold stare, a silent order to keep going and make the next cut. You weren't so foolish to think she hadn't realized — you might not have been anyone important, not like Xaden, who was taking lead in the face of your parents' failure, but there was no doubt she knew your name.

You never learned why it was that out of all the separatist kids, it had been you she had sent for that day, whether you'd been chosen for the task deliberately or at random. She'd needed a Tyr to do it, someone familiar enough with the custom to perform it, but why you? Had the general known how close you and Xaden were, and sent for you out of malice, knowing how much it would hurt you? Or was it merely because you genuinely were best suited to the task — your father had been one of Fen's most valued advisors, your mother a priestess; as a result, you were more well-versed in customs like this than most other teenagers, and since you had wanted to become a healer, you knew how to best make the cuts and treat them afterwards to minimize the risk of infection.

You prefer to think it had been the latter, if only because you hate to think you gave the general what she wanted when you burst into silent tears after the first cut. Better to belive she hadn't cared, hadn't chosen you as a form of punishment for sins neither you nor Xaden had committed. She couldn't have been entirely heartless, or she wouldn't have made that deal with Xaden when she could have just as easily let you all burn beside your parents.

As cruel as it seemed, that deal had been the only way of survival — not just for you and Xaden, but for all one hundred and seven of the rebellion leaders' children, most of them much younger than yourselves. When your horrified gaze had collided with Xaden's, he merely nodded, stoic and brave even at seventeen, resigned to carry that burden for the rest of you. Both of you knew there was no other choice.

And so you'd done as ordered, kneeling on the cold stone floor behind Xaden, the ritual knife a terrible, sacred weight in your hand. General Sorrengail perched on the edge of her desk with her list of underage traitors to be claimed for the Riders Quadrant, and when she read out the first name on that long, long list, you had willed your hands to stop shaking and took the knife to your best friend's back.

Again and again you lowered the blade to his unblemished skin, willing your voice not to waver as you spoke the ceremonial words with every cut. One hundred and seven times you repeated those sacred Tyrrish words that would burden him with the responsibility for the person represented by each cut, and one hundred and seven times Xaden answered with the traditional reply, each repetition the same except for the names. His voice was tight with pain, but not once did he allow himself to flinch or cry out.

You kept your free hand at the base of his spine, hoping the gesture could provide a fraction of comfort as the endless litany went on and on. The tears you couldn't hold back mixed with the blood trickling down Xaden's back, but you kept the despair from your voice, refusing to upset him with it. This was painful enough for him as it was, much worse than it was for you.

When it was finally done, the general gave you five minutes to bandage Xaden's wounds, and dismissed the both of you without another word. You didn't get any chance to speak to him again before you were all carted off to be fostered with various Navarrian nobles, could only pray the wounds would heal well, that Xaden would be treated decently and granted access to an actual healer wherever he ended up.

Thinking back on it all, tears well in your eyes even now. Reminding yourself that Xaden's wounds have healed just fine, that he is fine and back at your side, you swallow the tears. You press your forehead against Xaden's back, brushing a kiss to the scar he took for you.

Goosebumps rise on his skin, and another shadow manifests, which settles around your waist like an arm holding you close.

Your fingers wander over the scars, appreciating every single one. Here is the one that represents Bodhi, there Garrick and Soleil and Eya, there Xaden's foster brother Liam, whom you can't wait to meet someday. So many lives, so much responsibility weighing on Xaden's shoulders. So much pain, carved there by your own hand.

A single tear escapes your eye, running sideways down your face to drip onto the mattress.

You never even got the chance to apologize for what you'd been forced to do, never got to tell Xaden how sorry you are for the pain he had to endure. Now would be as good a time as any to remedy that, but as usual, the words refuse to come out.

The guilt envelopes you like a shroud, so palpable Xaden seems to sense it.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," he murmurs. "You just did what you had to, for all our sakes."

Gods, he knows you so well, always knows what you want to say and do before you do it. It can be annoying sometimes, but more often it just makes you feel seen — loved — and is incredibly helpful when the words get stuck, like now.

The shadow around your waist pulls you closer, putting your front flush against Xaden's back. You wonder if he wielded subconsciously again, or if it was on purpose this time, but it feels wrong to ask about that during such a vulnerable moment. Instead, you wordlessly drape your arm over his side. Your hand brushes against his, and Xaden clasps it tightly in his.

Pressing another kiss to his scarred back, you manage to whisper, "I just can't forget that it was me who gave these to you. Who hurt you."

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats, and brings your hand to his mouth to kiss your palm — the very palm in which you'd held the blade that cut all those wounds into his back.

Another tear streaks down your face. You already knew it hadn't been your fault, knew Xaden didn't blame you, but actually hearing him say it cracks something open in your emotional defenses, a wound half-healed and festering.

"I'm glad it was you," Xaden confesses in a broken whisper. "I know that's a horrible thing to say, to think, because I know how much it haunts you, but having you there, having you be the one to make those cuts, made it more bearable somehow."

You squeeze his hand, hold him tighter, well aware how hard it is for him to be vulnerable like this, what a monumental proof of his trust in you this conversation is.

"In that case I'm glad I was the one to do it, too," you whisper against his skin, heart aching with all the love you feel for him. "I'm just sorry you were forced to take on that burden at all."

"I would do it again."

"I know."

For a few minutes, the two of you lie in silence. Xaden lets himself be held, and doesn't let go of your hand, either. Your tears dry, something like peace settling into the cracks of your heart. You will never forget that day, probably won't ever be able to think of it without hurting, but knowing your presence made it easier for Xaden to receive those cuts takes the edge off your guilt. You hadn't even realized how very heavily it weighed on you, never realized how much lighter getting if off your chest would make you feel.

"I never thanked you," Xaden says after a while.

"For what?"

If he wants to thank you for performing those cuts, you're going to fucking bite him.

Your tone must have given away your incredulity, because Xaden chuckles. "Don't go biting my head off. I just meant for facing all this together with me. For always being by my side. I couldn't have done all this without you."

"You don't have to thank me for that, silly," you huff, nudging your head against his back. "By your side is where I belong."

Xaden lifts your hand again, this time kissing the back of it. "Yes. It is."

Heat creeps up your cheeks, your traitorous heart speeding up. You tell yourself he didn't mean it like that, even if it sure sounded like it. Wishful thinking, nothing more.

Though now that you think about it... Earlier, when you asked about how strangely attached to you his shadows seem, it almost sounded like he meant to say it was because he felt that way. And the way he said his magic wants to protect you... It doesn't necessarily mean anything, could be totally platonic — but it doesn't feel platonic.

With another squeeze of your hand, Xaden lets go and turns to lie on his back. You stay on your side, resting your head on the pillow of muscles between his shoulder and chest as his arm wraps around you, replacing the shadow around your waist. His bare skin is incredibly warm and soft under your fingers, a feeling you can't get enough of as you trace the lines of his abs.

"What were you going to say earlier, Xaden?" you whisper. Maybe the answer won't be what you're foolishly hoping for, but either way, you want to know.

He takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself for something, and whispers back even more quietly than you, "That the shadows seem attracted to you because I am."

Your fingers still, splaying flat on his stomach. Holy shit. Xaden is attracted to you. Xaden is attracted to you. Completely stunned by the admission, you realize that though you were hoping for it, you didn't believe it could happen, never thought about what you would do if he did like you that way.

His grip on your waist has tightened, the only indication he might be as nervous to have this conversation as you are.

Slowly, you shift your head to look up at him. Your wide eyes meet his, Xaden's gaze intense and piercing even in the dark.

With his signet, he can probably make out a lot more of your expression than you of his.

You should say something, ask what exactly he means by attracted, just to be sure, or tell him you feel the same. But you're still processing his words, what they might mean. Everything you dreamed of but never thought you could actually get, suddenly a real possibility.

Those perfect lips of his quirk up in a lazy grin. "You want to kiss me so bad right now, don't you?"

Ugh, it's so typical of him to notice that and get cocky, even when he should be squirming as he waits for an answer to his confession. Worse, you can't even bring yourself to be annoyed by it, or pretend he's wrong, because gods, you do want to know what his mouth would feel like on yours, what he tastes like.

"Yes," you breathe. "Have wanted to for years, actually. I just— worried it'd make things awkward between us, since I didn't know how you'd react."

Xaden shakes his head, the grin turning into a gentle smile as he cups your cheek. "You really thought that after everything we've been through together that could drive a wedge between us?"

"Silly, I know. I was just so scared it would change things between us, and I figured you'd probably never feel the same—"

"I've loved you since we were children," Xaden softly interrupts. "I wasn't supposed to, so I never said anything, but I did."

"Oh." Shaking the shock of his words, you smile at Xaden. "We're both idiots, aren't we?"

"Seems like it. And for the record, this will change things." Before you can panic about what he means by that, he elaborates, "I intend to make up for all the time I could have been kissing you already, and the next person who has the audacity to flirt with you is getting their jaw broken."

You chuckle, relief and love flooding you in a cocktail more potent than any drug. "I love you, Xaden. More than words can describe."

"I love you too," Xaden says, nudging your face toward his own.

Then his mouth is on yours, and every coherent thought drains from your head. The taste of minty toothpaste is still heavy on his tongue, his lips impossibly soft. You've dreamed of this for years, but nothing you ever imagined can compare to the reality of kissing him. You're instantly addicted.

He releases you, both of you slightly out of breath, and rests his forehead against yours.

"Mine," he whispers, and this time there can be no doubt the shadows snaking around your limbs are intentional.

"Yours," you whisper back, wrapping your legs around the closer one of his, one hand on his shoulder, the other draped over his waist.

Your smile is so wide your cheeks are already starting to ache. You're half convinced you must have fallen asleep planning the dagger drop-off and this is all a dream. It's just too good to be true. But gods, if this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

Xaden traces his thumb along your bottom lip. "What are you thinking?"

"Just wondering if this is really happening. If it's a dream, I'll be pissed when I wake up."

"Good thing it's not a dream, then," he chuckles. "You're grumpy enough in the mornings as it is."

"Oh, shut it! I bet I'd be considerably less grumpy if you wake me up with a kiss."

With a smirk, Xaden lifts his brows at you. "Is that so? I think I'll have to test that theory."

"Mhh, please do."

[writinginatree]

heyyy! im the one who requested the garrick x tauri reader fic and i absolutely loved it ❤️ thankyou for taking the time to write it!! :))

Of course! I'm glad you liked it!❤️

[writinginatree]

Took a while because this ended up being twice as long as planned, but here it is! Hope you enjoy! 🫶🏻

heyy i love your works so much!! ❤️ i had a rather specific garrick tavis x reader idea i was wondering if you might be interested in :)) reader is in the same year as garrick and they have mated dragons. she’s not a marked one (maybe royalty/ daughter of navarre leadership) but she’s in the inner circle because she was the only one who befriended and defended xaden and garrick in first year (maybe she even killed alic at threshing?) they’ve been in love for ages and everyone knows it but like idiots they’ve been dancing around it because they’re too scared. all this changes when garrick’s poisoned and almost dies in onyx storm, after reader helps him to rest and stays with him to makes sure he’s ok, they confess and get together! i’m obsessed with your writing so i would love love love to read this if you write it ❤️❤️

Sure thing! And thanks, I'm glad you like my stuff! ❤️

[writinginatree]

At His Princess's Command

Relationship(s): Garrick Tavis/female!Tauri!reader, Xaden Riorson & reader, Violet Sorrengail & reader

Summary: When Garrick almost dies, you can no longer hide that you've been in love with him for years.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Onyx Storm spoilers, mentions of canon-typical violence, panic attacks, poison, mentions of reader's family being toxic/kinda abusive, slight canon-divergence (reader takes Aaric's place in quest squad and we're pretending they stopped for the night between Hedotis and Zehyllna), one mention of reader having long hair.

Based on this request.

You impatiently tap your fork against your hand, courtly table manners too deeply ingrained in you to start on the cake. No matter what your hosts say, it would be impolite not to wait. But damn, does that cake look good. You really hope the servers hurry with getting the triumvirate their forks so you can find out if the cake's taste matches its appearance.

Suddenly, your hand is empty.

You look down at it, then over at your fork in Violet's hand, blinking in confusion. Just as your gaze meets her tense face, Garrick, who sits at your other side, says the cake tastes just like home, and a jolt of terror has the blood freezing in your veins.

The word flares bright in your mind. Poison. Gods, how did you not think of it? Throughout your childhood, you've been drilled about the dangers of it time and time again — though most Navarrians adored their princess, the danger of being poisoned at some banquet or other was never zero. The fact that your hosts hadn't received their forks alongside you should have instantly set alarm bells ringing in your head, but you'd been so preoccupied with the triumvirate's ridiculous judgement of your friends' life choices and wondering if this really is supposed to be the test of wisdom Violet had said was waiting for you, that you hadn't even considered they might test you by poisoning the godsdamned food. That's why Faris had waited until desert, you suppose, so you would be reassured by having survived the main course and fully focused on the conversation — too focused to be suspicious about the missing forks until it was too late.

"Don't eat it!" you shout, head whipping around to face Garrick.

But of course he already has. Gods, how did he manage to shove down almost half the slice so quickly? Why didn't you think faster, fast enough to stop him?

As you watch Garrick's face slacken, it's like your heart stops in your chest. If Violet hadn't snatched the fork from you before you could even think about taking a bite, you would think you're poisoned too. Terror paralyzes you for a second, two, then your body remembers how to breathe and you snap out of the stupor, your hand shooting out just in time to keep Garrick's head from slamming into the table as he collapses.

"Garrick!" Xaden shouts.

Oh gods, no. This can't be happening.

"He's not breathing!" You should do something about that, give him mouth-to-mouth, but you can barely breathe yourself. With your much too fast and shallow breaths, you wouldn't do him much good. "Xaden, do something! He's not fucking brea—"

"I heard you the first time."

Your friend is already on his feet, passing behind your and Violet's chairs to help you lower Garrick to the floor.

The chair topples over as you shove out of it and fall to your knees at Garrick's side, frantically feeling for his pulse. You can't find it. Is it just because you're shaking too hard, or is there no pulse to find?

Mira is yelling at someone to get Trager, but what good is a medic when you don't have the antidote to whatever is killing him?

"What did you put in that fucking cake?!" you snap at the triumvirate, even as it dawns on you that there's no way they'll tell you.

The poison was part of the test — and Garrick failed. You failed.

Xaden kneels on Garrick's other side, opposite you, ear to his chest to check for a heartbeat. "Sluggish but beating."

Thank you, Malek, for not taking him yet. But he still isn't breathing. His face is starting to turn blue.

"Do something," you plead again, wetness trailing down your cheeks. "We have to— to get him breathing again. I— I can't—"

Xaden doesn't waste time on a reply, lowering his face to Garrick's to breathe air into his mouth.

Meanwhile Violet is now trying to get answers from Faris, but, as you already suspected, he isn't talking. That asshole is perfectly willing to let Garrick die on his dining room floor, just for failing to guess that the cake was poisoned.

"Violet."

Xaden's voice is pleading, vulnerable like you've never heard it in the three and a half years you've known him. The realization that even your usually stoic leader is close to losing composure only makes it harder to control your own distress.

You're having a panic attack, you realize — worse than any you've experienced before, and you've had your fair share of them. All the breathing techniques and grounding exercises you know have abandoned you; the only thing you can think of is that you might be about to lose Garrick.

Not that you have any claim to him whatsoever — unlike your dragons, the both of you are merely friends, nothing more. If he dies now, he'll never know you feel more for him than friendship.

"I won't let him die," Violet promises, the words directed as much at you as at her boyfriend.

You tear your gaze from Garrick for a second to give her a grateful look, the panic receding the tiniest bit. Violet is one of your oldest friends — one of the only real friends you had as a child — and has always been the smartest. If anyone can find the right antidote, it's her.

Moments later, the door flies open. Trager and the others — finally. You don't know how much good his medical training can do in this case, but hopefully he can keep Garrick from dying long enough for Violet to figure out how to actually save him.

As Trager joins you and Xaden at Garrick's side, Violet and Mira shout orders at the rest of the squad. They all disperse to do their part, leaving the four of you alone with the triumvirate — all of them bent over and clutching their stomachs, thanks to Violet's arinmint.

"We have to get his heart beating stronger." Trager puts one hand on top of the other on Garrick's sternum, then forces all his weight down. "Keep breathing for him."

You know you should do something, anything, to help too, but you can't bring yourself to take your eyes off Garrick for even a moment, can't do anything but clutch his hand, fight for breath, and pray, pray that Violet really will find an antidote.

You're vaguely aware you'll hyperventilate if you don't calm down, but all you can think about is Garrick. Though your dragons are mated, it's different than with Xaden and Violet, who would almost certainly both end up dead if one of them dies. If Garrick dies, Chradh will likely survive it, and you'll be forced to live in a world without Garrick in it.

The thought is unbearable.

Without interrupting the heart massage, Trager calls your name. "Breathe. It won't help Garrick if you pass out."

"I k-know," you gasp.

Gods, you feel so useless. Worse than useless — you're making the situation worse, distracting Trager from helping Garrick, just because you can't get a fucking grip on yourself.

"It's going to be okay. Just breathe in" — he waits for you to do so — "and out. Good. Again. Deep breaths."

You do your best to force your thoughts to stop spiraling into doom, focusing on your breathing under Trager's instruction. Eyes trained on the almost hypnotic rhythm of his hands compressing Garrick's chest, you slowly regain some semblance of control over yourself.

Giving yourself a firm shake, you rub your hands over your face. When you open your eyes again, Trager and Xaden have stopped their efforts.

"What—?"

"He's breathing on his own."

Oh thank the gods. He's breathing — shallowly, but he is breathing. That's as good as it can get without the antidote.

"You can't die, Garrick," you whisper, curling in on yourself with your head on Garrick's shoulder. Every breath you feel him take comes as a relief. "You hear me? I forbid it."

He always jokes about being at your beck and call, heeding his princess's every command. It always makes you feel a little awkward, a reminder of your power imbalance and the life you'll never be able to fully leave behind, but for once, you hope he meant it.

No matter how ridiculous it is to believe that an order from you will keep him hanging onto live long enough for Violet to find the antidote, you keep repeating it anyway. He is not allowed to die. Not here, not now, not if you have any say about it. You'll personally follow him into the afterworld and drag his sorry ass back out before you let him leave you like this — killed by a piece of cake, of all things! When he wakes up, you'll give him an earful about shoveling the damned thing into his mouth so carelessly, that's for sure. You try to convince yourself he will wake up again. He just has to.

There's noise in the kitchen, then Vi and Ridoc step out of it. Almost at the same moment, Dain returns with Violet's book, and it must contain what she was looking for, because she sends him to get figs.

You blink at that. Figs? You don't know what you expected the antidote to be, but certainly not that. No matter. If they really help Garrick, figs will be your new favorite fruit from now on.

Violet turns to you, sending you into the kitchen with Ridoc to prepare five cups of water. You don't want to leave Garrick's side, but it's to save him, so you make yourself go.

You've just filled the first cup when Dain comes sprinting into the kitchen with the figs. Grabbing the nearest knife, he cuts them as small as possible, crushing the pieces with the flat of the knife for good measure before dumping the stuff into the water cup you hold out to him.

Grabbing a spoon, you head for the door, stirring the mixture as you walk. Dain and Ridoc follow with the other water cups; you don't know what Violet needs them for, and you honestly don't care.

Xaden and Trager already have Garrick on his side, and together, the three of you manage to get the solution down his throat.

Garrick sputters, spitting some of the slurry out, but his eyes flash open. Xaden yells at him to wake the fuck up and drink it. It takes him four big swallows before the cup is drained and he falls back, his head landing in your lap.

He still doesn't look good.

You frown down at him, while Xaden's worried gaze snaps to Violet.

"Give it time," she soothes. "We're under the hour mark. He'll be alright."

You don't take your eyes off Garrick. "You don't know that."

If you weren't still so worried about Garrick you'd be embarrassed at the way you sound, voice shaking and thick with tears. Your heart is still thumping against your ribcage like a trapped bird, but at least your breathing has normalized.

While Violet turns to threaten Faris some more, you run your hand through Garrick's hair.

"Wake up, Garrick. Please. You can't just leave me like this. I need you."

You wish there was magic here, wish you could mentally reach for Garrick or the dragons. Chradh would be able to tell you if Garrick is close to waking up, but you can feel neither him nor your own dragon. Maybe that's for the better — they're probably both furious about the poisoned cake, and getting swamped with dragon rage is the last thing you need right now.

But gods, how you long for Garrick's voice in your head. How you wish he'd wake up and tease you about the tears you shed for him, for believing he would die that easily.

You don't remember how to live without him. Though it's only been three and a half years since that day your dragons choose you and forever bound you together, it feels like you've known him an eternity.

When you think back to life before you became a rider, before you met Garrick, it seems woefully empty.

Abandoning your father's court to go to Basgiath had been the best decision of your life, not just because being a rider allows you to fight for what is right or because your dragon understands you like nobody else, though both things are also true, but because if you hadn't joined the quadrant, you might have never met Garrick, certainly wouldn't have become so close with him and the other marked ones.

When you declared you wanted to become a rider, your father had been far from thrilled, but since — much unlike your older brothers — you rarely ever asked for anything, he had eventually given in and allowed it. Though you hadn't liked entering the quadrant together with your brother, it was your luck that you did. After Alic's death, your father would have never let you go.

But gods, how you had loathed it, loathed Alic, loathed the implications. You knew how it would make you look; like you were just a little girl trailing after her older and stronger brother. For a while, you had even considered going to the healers instead, just to put some distance between yourself and your brothers. But being a rider was what you wanted, had always been your dream, a way to truly make a difference, and you wouldn't let Alic take that from you just because he had decided a dragon would suit his ego. You'd ignore him and make your own path.

It was easy enough to ensure you were put in a different squad, a different wing, than Alic. Even though your status wasn't supposed to mean anything in the quadrant, everyone was eager to please the princess, to win your favor. Precisely for that reason, you kept to yourself as much as you could. You were tired of fake friends, tired of all the lies.

The marked ones were understandably wary of you — it was defying your father that had gotten their parents killed, and they had no way of knowing you despised him, despised the deceit and cowardice he ruled with. They couldn't know you came to Basgiath to escape all that, that you knew what was out there and couldn't stand the thought of sitting idly in your father's palace in Calldyr doing nothing about it, that you wanted to find a way to fight the real enemy.

The open hostility had been strangely refreshing. It wasn't like any of the marked ones tried to harm you — they weren't fools — but they made no secret of the fact they wanted nothing to do with you, and you could feel them glare at you anytime one of them was in your vicinity.

Sometimes other people would get mad about it on your behalf, but when they tried to start fights about it, you quickly shut it down. All you wanted was to be left alone, treated normally; the marked ones didn't bother you.

Alic, of course, was a different matter. While you ignored the marked ones when you could and treated them the same you would anyone else when you did have to interact with one of them, your brother found twisted amusement in the pain the children of the rebellion had been caused on your father's orders, and tormented them whenever he could.

Not that he didn't torment everyone else, too — even you weren't entirely safe from his bullying, though he didn't take it quite as far as with others he deemed farther beneath him. When it suited him, Alic played the protective brother, using you as an excuse to pick on any marked ones he caught being less than friendly to you, only to be the one pushing you around and insulting you moments later.

No one seemed to take notice of it, and you were used to it, so you simply avoided him as much as you could, the way you'd always done. Being away from home made it easier to keep your distance, though in the quadrant's limited space you couldn't help running into him occasionally.

At home, you had been expected to get along. As the only girl, you had been expected to keep the peace between all three of your brothers, to play the perfect daughter of the perfect royal family, smiling even when Alic pinched your arm so hard you teared up. Being not quite a full year younger than him and Halden, you'd spent your whole life quietly suffocating in their oppressive orbit, shielding Cam from their cruelty as much as you could in hopes he would grow up a better person than them.

But at Basgiath, you didn't have to pretend anymore. Though people would never let you forget where you came from, you weren't the princess there, just another cadet. There was no more need for you to associate with Alic.

Dropping the pretense was freeing, but also strange, like speaking a language you weren't quite fluent in. So many times you'd been lectured about being nice to your older brothers, even when they were anything but. Turning your back on Alic when he commanded you to write his assignments for him had felt like committing a crime against the crown, but you'd done it anyway.

And as you grew bolder, more openly cold towards your brother, the marked ones slowly warmed up to you. It was such a gradual change you didn't even notice at first.

Not until the day you faced Garrick Tavis on the challenge mat.

He completely kicked your ass, but he was... shockingly nice about it.

The moment you'd heard his name called out alongside your own, you had prepared to die. It was the first match in which the professors dared to pair you with one of the marked ones, though you had no doubt there'd been requests from them to challenge you before. Considering who you were, it was to be expected they would try to kill you — and on the mat, they would have every right to do it, though even so, there were sure to be repercussions. But in the quadrant, every cadet was equal — or was supposed to be, anyway — so the professors couldn't avoid letting you fight a marked one forever.

The separatist kids had every reason to want you dead, but when Garrick stepped on the mat with you, he didn't seem like he was out for blood. He looked calm, confident, eager for the fight — normal. Like you were just a regular cadet, not the princess of Navarre, not the daughter of the man responsible for hiding the truth and orphaning more than a hundred children, Garrick himself among them.

You wondered if maybe he was just that good at hiding his hatred, if he was trying to make you let your guard down so he could stick a blade in your heart. But you'd seen him fight, knew he was one of the best in your year, outdone only by Xaden Riorson himself. He had no need to resort to tricks if he wanted to kill you.

And he didn't. Didn't try to kill you, didn't even hurt you any more than was strictly necessary to defeat you.

You walked off the mat with all your bones intact, and only a single, finger-shaped bruise blooming around your wrist where he'd gripped it to twist your dagger from you. Your thoughts, however, were a jumble. Not just that Garrick had defeated you so gently, he'd even offered his hand to help you to your feet after you yielded. And he had smiled at you — not the cruel sort of smirk you were used to seeing from Alic when he won a fight, but an actual friendly smile. Slightly cocky, clearly proud of his victory, but friendly nonetheless. Like he was a little sorry for ending the victory streak you'd had going.

It didn't make any sense. The marked ones hated you. Why would one of them spare your life when presented with a chance to end it, let alone be so nice about it? You even wondered if it was a ploy to indebt you to him, if he would hold it over your head and claim you owed him for letting you live, but he did no such thing. He just went on with his life as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

You payed more attention to the marked ones from that day on, started watching Garrick, and realized the glares had stopped — or at least become significantly less frequent. When you passed a pair of them talking to each other in the courtyard, they no longer interrupted their conversation to watch you with narrowed eyes until you were gone. When you had breakfast duty and a marked one got something from your station, they politely thanked you, some of them even giving you a smile. One time a marked girl was nearby to see Alic shove you around, and wordlessly offered a hand to help you to your feet once he'd left.

None of them went so far as to befriend you, but it seemed the growing awareness that you were here to escape your family was enough to come to an unspoken truce.

And Garrick... Garrick slowly but surely started to take up more and more space in your thoughts. It was a little embarrassing, developing a crush on someone you'd never even talked to, but he had a certain charm about him that you could tell others weren't immune to, either. For someone with a rebellion relic, he was a very successful flirt.

He wore the dagger he'd won from you during that challenge strapped among his other ones, but so far as you could tell, he never used it — as if it were too valuable, too precious, something he didn't want to lose or damage. A ridiculous thought, of course, but you couldn't shake the feeling it was true.

Or maybe he just thought it too impractical — it being one of the daggers your father had gifted to you when you departed for Basgiath, it was a filigrane little thing adorned with jewels, looking more like a little girl's toy than an actual weapon. You yourself preferred fighting with the daggers you won in challenges, hating the way the blades you'd brought with you across the parapet seemed to scream spoiled princess.

Every time your eyes met across a room, you quickly looked away, lest Garrick notice the heat rising to your cheeks. You were used to male attention — guys had been hitting on you since you'd barely hit puberty. Everyone wanted the influence they thought they could gain from being with you, or to simply be able to brag about having kissed the princess of Navarre. But there was something different about having Garrick's attention on you, however fleetingly.

Maybe it was just that he didn't seem to care who you were, that even though he should consider you an enemy, he never treated you like it.

You'd never given any of your countless suitors the time of the day, which meant that now that there was someone you were actually interested in, you had no clue what to do about it. Was there even anything you could do? A marked one was the last person you should get involved with, the last person who would even want to get involved with you, no matter how many flirtatious looks he shot you.

Smiling at you from the other side of a room, handing you a book you dropped, brushing hands when you happened to reach for the basket of bread at the same time during lunch — none of that had to mean he liked you, or wanted anything to do with you.

The more you watched him, the more you doubted he even realized how friendly he was to you. Or — just as likely — maybe it was an act. Maybe he actually was trying to get close to you, to use you for your title like everyone else. Having the princess wrapped around his finger certainly would make life easier for him and the other marked ones.

Whatever his motives were, you kept your distance. You had joined the quadrant to bond a dragon, not to chase after boys, regardless of how handsome and charming they were. You needed to keep your eyes on your goal: to become a rider and fight for what's right. Between studying, hours in the gym, and Gauntlet training sessions, you had no time to waste on ridiculous crushes.

You did a good job of ignoring the way your heart sped up whenever you caught sight of Garrick, right up until Threshing came around.

When you stumbled upon him, Xaden Riorson, and Alic in the grounds, your resolve to keep away went right out the figurative window. It came as no surprise that your brother was using the opportunity to go after the marked ones, but you were still shaken that it was Garrick of all people he was targeting. Could Alic have noticed the way your eyes lingered on the marked cadet sometimes, or was it merely coincidence?

Seeing him raise his blade to strike Garrick down, you called your brother's name. You had no idea what exactly you thought you were doing — there was no way you could talk him out of the slaughter he seemed to have in mind. Did you seriously mean to fight him? Gods, you would be in so much trouble if you did. But you couldn't just walk away and let whatever happened happen, no more than you could stand there and watch it happen.

As it turned out, you didn't have to actually do anything. The brief distraction you provided gave Xaden enough time to place himself between his wounded friend and your brother. The following fight was short but brutal — and you did nothing to stop it, even when Xaden raised his sword for the killing blow.

Just before it fell, you turned your back, walking away with Alic's last scream ringing in your ears.

Even now, you sometimes find yourself wondering if the role you played in your brother's death makes you a bad person. You tell yourself it doesn't, that he was the bad person. The lack of remorse you feel about what happened, however, most certainly does. You can't bring yourself to care. He had been meaning to kill Garrick — Garrick, who is worth a dozen Alics. If Xaden hadn't been there to rid the world of your brother, you might have done so yourself. After twenty whole years in Alic's proximity, you had long given up any hope that he might grow out of being such a bully. He never would have changed.

You had still been reeling from the encounter when your dragon found you, leaving you no time to process what had happened — that you and the two marked ones were now co-conspirators in killing your brother. You might have only indirectly contributed to his death, but if your father got wind of it...

You could only hope he wouldn't.

Before you could contemplate what horrible fate would await you should anyone find out how exactly Alic had died, you were soaring through the sky to the flight field, where the next shock was already waiting for you in the form of your dragon's mate — a Brown that had bonded the very person your brother had been trying to kill. And because mated pairs couldn't be separated, that meant you were now tied to Garrick Tavis for the rest of your careers — and lives.

You still hadn't spoken a single word to each other.

It was a lot to get used to; the knowledge that Alic was dead and couldn't torment you any longer, the constant paranoia that someone would come arrest you for letting him die, and most of all, being bonded not just to a dragon, but by extension also to Garrick.

Once the both of you actually got to know each other, you'd instantly clicked, becoming almost as inseparable as your dragons, but despite all the lighthearted flirting, your bond never developed into anything more. It was like there was an invisible line neither of you were willing to cross, feelings the one thing you never spoke about — uncertain territory neither of you seemed willing to enter.

A groan from Garrick abruptly ends your reminiscing. His eyes open, meeting yours. "This is my least favorite isle."

You sob a laugh, silently agreeing. It's such a relief to have him awake and looking at you that you can barely hold back a fresh wave of tears. You hardly notice when Xaden jumps to his feet and attacks Faris; leaning down so your face hovers mere inches above Garrick's, it's like the two of you are in your own little world, shielded by the curtain of your hair.

"How are you feeling?" you ask, tracing your thumb along his scarred cheek.

"Well, I've definitely been better. But," he adds, that adorable dimple appearing as he grins up at you, "considering I have a beautiful princess fussing over me and acting as my pillow, I can't really complain."

"Gods, you're unbelievable." You don't know if you want to slap or kiss him. "You almost died, Garrick! And the first thing you do upon waking up is flirt with me?"

Upside down as he appears in your vision, it's hard to read his expression, but his shrug is entirely unapologetic. "It's not every day I get to wake up with my head on your lap. Those soft thighs do something to a guy, you know."

Un.be.lie.va.ble.

"More likely the poison got to your brain." You shake your head. "Do you even realize how fucking scared we all were for you?!"

No need to mention that it had been you who had freaked out the most.

Your expression must give something away though, because Garrick's face softens, and he reaches up to trace a finger over your cheek. Belatedly, you realize the tracks of your earlier tears must still be visible.

"I'm alright," he reassures you. "It'll take more than some poisoned cake to get rid of me."

You give him a wobbly smile, covering his hand with your own, the other still cupping his face. "Then I guess it's a good thing I don't want to get rid of you. Whatever would I do without you trailing after me?"

"Pretty sure it's usually you who trails after me, princess."

"Whatever. Just promise me that the next time we're served poisoned cake, you won't shovel it down like that."

"Yes, my lady. You can rest assured I will not be making that mistake twice."

Someone clears their throat next to you, interrupting the quiet conversation and reminding you that there are, in fact, other people in the room with you.

"Trager, help the princess with Garrick and start moving him toward Chradh," Dain orders. "Ridoc, let's pack everyone's shit."

The following night, you lie awake on your bedroll, watching Garrick's sleeping form in the firelight. While he seems to be recovering just fine from the effects of the poison — strong enough to keep his seat as you left Hedotis behind, and already back to doling out his usual sarcastic quips when you made camp for the night — the turmoil inside you still hasn't lessened. You can't bring yourself to take your eyes off Garrick, no matter how briefly; every time you do, the bitter taste of fear floods your mouth again.

He was so close to death, so close to leaving you. If he'd died, he would have done so without ever knowing how much he means to you.

The thought haunts you.

You've faced so much danger, overcame so many of your fears, pushed your limits time and time again. You like to think you've become truly brave in the three years you've been a rider, yet confessing your feelings is the one thing you still haven't found the courage to do.

How could you possibly tell Garrick you love him when even his and Xaden's friendship is already so much more than you deserve, considering everything your family has done to them?

Maybe it makes you a coward, but you've decided long ago that you would rather keep things as they are than risk rejection. With all his flirting, you're pretty certain Garrick would welcome you into his bed with open arms, but would he welcome you into his heart, too? He has never shown any indication he's interested in a long-term relationship — not with you, nor anyone else.

Maybe he just doesn't do romantic love.

If that's the case, you're fucked. You don't want a quick fling or to be friends with benefits. You could never be that casual about him, wouldn't be able to handle having him without having all of him. And if you tried and it ended up not working out, things would be terribly awkward. It's not like you would be able to avoid him, thanks to your dragons.

But watching him almost die made those worries pale in comparison to the sheer terror you'd felt at the idea of a life without him.

It's not like this was the first time you've witnessed him in mortal danger; gods know you've all had your share of close calls in your years as cadets, and even more since graduating. But somehow, this felt different. This wasn't just a blade evaded by hair's width, not an almost. This time, he stood right on Malek's doorstep — a door wide open, only waiting for him to walk through.

You've never come as close to losing him as this, never really had to think about what it would be like to have to go on without him, never quite realized just how much you need him, how much you rely on his presence to keep you sane in the midst of this war. You'd never dared to truly let yourself imagine what it would be like to have more than the friendship you built, kept telling yourself it's not worth the risk of destroying what you have, but after you almost lost him completely today...

You're not sure how you're supposed to keep hiding your feelings for him. Everyone saw you freak out. Oh gods, did they realize why you had reacted so extremely? Would they tell Garrick? Would it even matter if they do?

You know he cares about you, the question is just in what way; purely platonically, or maybe romantically, too?

If you don't find the guts to talk to him, you'll never know.

With a sigh, you turn onto your stomach, head resting on your folded arms, turned sideways in a way that will probably leave you with a stiff neck so you can keep Garrick in your sights. Your bedroll is laid out far enough from his to not seem clingy or improper, just close enough that if both of you were to stretch out an arm, your hands would be able to touch.

That's not going to happen, of course. He's sleeping, and you won't reach for him, no matter how much you want to.

You'll just watch over him, let the rise and fall of his chest reassure you that he's breathing. You know you won't be able to sleep anyway, no matter how hard you try.

Every time you close your eyes, the day's events play out in your mind again and again. Garrick chewing on that cursed cake, Garrick collapsing, Garrick laid limp on the floor, unbreathing. Better to stay awake, thinking about your feelings for Garrick and what to do about them, than to relive those moments over and over.

Maybe you should risk telling him. You only have this one life, only one chance to be with him. Do you really want to waste it just because you're scared he doesn't feel the same? What if he does? Wouldn't that be worth risking your heart for?

In the end, you must have dozed off after all, because the next thing you know, the stars overhead are gone, replaced by the dull twilight of early morning.

You've rolled closer to Garrick in your sleep — you're lying on the blank sand between his bedroll and your own, your blanket tangled around you like a constrictor snake.

Garrick's arm is stretched out in the sand next to you; a twitch of your hand is all it would take to make your pinkies touch. To your embarrassment, he stirrs before you can untangle yourself and move back onto your bedding. You can't even pretend to still be asleep; your fight to free yourself from the bondage-loving blanket made you twist into a position no one would believe you can sleep in.

Garrick doesn't even waste time on a good morning before he starts teasing you. "Careful, princess, or I'll get used to that beautiful face being the first thing I see when I wake up."

His voice, low and still rough with sleep, sends shivers down your spine. You're still so sleepy you can't stop yourself from imagining what it would be like to always wake up beside him and get to hear his morning voice.

"Shut up."

He doesn't, of course. "If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do is ask."

"Shut up! I must have gotten cold in my sleep or something."

Garrick chuckles quietly. "Yeah? Come here then, princess. I'll keep you warm."

If you actually were cold, the heat rising to your cheeks at his words would certainly be enough to change that. Nonetheless, you scoot just a tiny bit closer. A second later, Garrick's hand slides under your waist, pulling you flush against him so suddenly you can barely stifle your yelp of surprise.

Everyone else is still asleep around the dying fire, except for whoever had taken the last watch. In the dim light of dawn, you can just make out their silhouette on the opposite side of your campsite.

Garrick's body is warm and solid against your own, and though you hadn't actually been cold at all, you're far from complaining. You only hope he can't feel the way your heart is racing.

This close, you can make out every detail of his handsome face, from the stubble on his jaw over the scar he got at Resson and those oh so kissable lips to his ever observant eyes.

"You're staring again," he whispers. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you haven't stopped staring at me since we left Hedotis, except to sleep. Did the poison give me purple freckles or something, or is just my good looks that have you so enraptured?"

You're not yet awake enough to make up an excuse or evade the question, so you answer honestly. "Just assuring myself you're still here. That you're breathing. Yesterday was—" You shake your head, words failing to adequately describe the horror you'd felt. "I almost lost you. I just— I can't bear the thought of a world without you in it."

"Aww, you really care about me that much, huh?" he teases.

"Yes," you simply say. You don't feel like joking about the matter.

Garrick must realize it, his expression turning serious. "I heard you, you know. When you told me not to leave you. I thought you didn't like giving orders, but it seems you do have it in you after all."

You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant as you desperately try to remember what exactly you'd said. Had you let slip any of what you felt for him? You'd been so upset — too upset to care what you said or who might hear. "I figured it was worth a try, considering how you always say you'd do anything for me. Thought I'd see if that includes staying alive."

"It does. My life is all yours, princess."

Though the words are lighthearted, joking, his tone is anything but.

"You shouldn't say things like that," you whisper. "I might get the idea you actually mean them."

"I do. Not even Malek himself could make me leave if you tell me to stay."

Your hand curls into a fist around the fabric of his shirt. Gods, when he talks like that, you can almost convince yourself he feels about you the same way you feel about him.

"Good, because I don't know what I would do without you by my side. I don't— I don't think I want to know. When it looked like you were about to die it was like— like I couldn't function anymore." You hadn't meant to admit it, but the words are gushing out faster than you can stop them. "Everyone else did what they had to, but I— I was completely petrified. All I could think was that I was going to lose you and I couldn't do anything about it."

"But you didn't lose me. I'm alive, princess. And I won't be going anywhere, I promise."

He pulls you closer, both arms wrapped tight around your waist, and you rest a palm on his chest. His heart beats strong and steady, not at all like the sluggish slow stumbling it had done when he lay dying on Talia's dining room floor. Without thinking, you rest your head against Garrick's chest and close your eyes, soaking up the sound, every beat a promise that he's alive and will stay that way.

"Garrick?"

"Yes, princess?"

"What would you do if I said I love you?"

With your head still lying on his chest, you can hear his heart speed up at the question.

"If that were the case, I would have to kiss you."

You bite your lip, slightly angling your head to peek up at him. "Really?"

One of Garrick's hands leaves your back and gently lifts your chin, making you fully face him.

"Why don't you try saying it and find out?"

Because you're scared, that's why. But he wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it, if he didn't feel something, too. He wouldn't play with your feelings like that. And the way he's looking at you...

You shove the fear aside, and say the words you've held back for so long. "I love you, Garrick."

"I love you too, princess," he says just as quietly, and then his lips are on yours.

[writinginatree]

Another one from the Garrick x Tauri!reader (coming tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it takes me to edit it!)

"Gods, you're unbelievable." You don't know if you want to slap or kiss him. "You almost died, Garrick! And the first thing you do upon waking up is flirt with me?"

this week's word is...

How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[writinginatree]

The worst part (in my opinion) is that she did show him love, right up until she abandoned him. We know she made him a blanket, she told him bedtime stories and fed him his favorite cake, probably did all the stuff any loving mother would do. And then she took all that away from him, without explanation or apology or so much as a goodbye. And I think that made it all the more painful, much more so than it would have been if he'd never felt loved by her at all.

Still can't stop thinking about the fact that Xaden's very first instinct upon seeing his mother again is to wrap his arm around Violet like she needs protection (and that's literally the wording in the text!!) Like he's scared she'll take Violet away from him?? Hello??

[writinginatree]

Still can't stop thinking about the fact that Xaden's very first instinct upon seeing his mother again is to wrap his arm around Violet like she needs protection (and that's literally the wording in the text!!) Like he's scared she'll take Violet away from him?? Hello??

[writinginatree]

Murtagh would definitely get really upset/angry on your behalf when he finds out you had to suffer through that with no one to rely on, though he would try not to let the anger show because he doesn't want you to think it's directed at you/doesn't want to upset you. If you're comfortable with physical comfort, he'd definitely pull you into his lap and hold you close for a while, vowing to always be there for you and protect you.

He'll make it very clear that you didn't deserve any of what they put you through — no matter how many times you need to hear it to start believing it, Murtagh will never tire of repeating it. You deserve to be loved and cared for, cherished, and he'll make sure you get to experience that. He can't change the fact that growing up, the adults in your live failed you, but now you have him, and he'll never let you feel alone or unloved again.

He will absolutely never forgive your parent for traumatizing you like that, and absolutely doesn't allow anyone to invalidate your feelings. He's also 100% willing to put himself between you and that parent, and will help you avoid them.

When you do get into a situation where you see them, he's not leaving your side, and will do his best to divert their attention away from you. Murtagh is very in tune with your emotions, and if he notices you getting upset, he'll get you out of the situation, no questions asked. Thorn is already waiting outside — if you just need a moment to calm yourself, he'll let you take shelter under his wings, but if you need to get out of there altogether, Murtagh and you will climb into the saddle and they'll fly you far, far away

Not to play pain Olympics (debating this for Dark Legacies), but I do kind of wonder how the other characters would react to a reader/character who was raised by an abusive/emotionally immature parent, especially if narcissistic abuse was involved (which can feel very similar to the cult tactics we see later in the Murtagh book). I feel like if they knew the extent of it, most of the main cast would be horrified, but Murtagh would be the most understanding—but even then, he still had at least a little bit of a foundation of safety with Selena and I’m sure Moran had servants and nannies and wet nurses, then Tornac later (not to diminish his pain at all). But what about them finding out someone didn’t even have those things? Like they’ve just been raw dogging it this whole time and still somewhat think everything that happened to them is their fault for just being defective?

[writinginatree]

if i ever interacted with you and it was awkward just know im sorry and painfully aware that sometimes i come off like a person who is having the first conversation of their life

[writinginatree]

Garrick x Tauri!reader for this request

The following night, you lie awake on your bedroll, watching Garrick's sleeping form in the firelight. While he seems to be recovering just fine from the effects of the poison — strong enough to keep his seat as you left Hedotis behind, and already back to doling out his usual sarcastic comments when you made camp for the night — your own heart hasn't stopped racing. You can't bring yourself to take your eyes off him — every time you do, the bitter taste of fear floods your mouth.

this week's word is...

How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[writinginatree]

I was the one who requested the Xaden/Garrick/Reader fic! It was sooo good, I loved it! Thank you! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

I'm glad you enjoyed it! 🥰

[writinginatree]

Here, I hope it's what you had in mind! <3

I saw your requests were open, and I really did enjoy the Xaden/Garrick/Reader fic!

If you have time/want to, could you write one where the Reader is targeted because she's a marked one and they help her.

(I'm almost kinda thinking like when Xaden came to Violet's aid in the book when she was jumped in her room)

No big deal either way! I love your writing and hope you have a great morning/afternoon/night depending on where you are in the world! 🤣🫶🏼

Yes, absolutely! Right now I'm neck-deep in preparations for Bodhi week, but as soon as I've got that wrapped up, I'll start on this! I hope you have a great day/night too 🫶🏻

[writinginatree]

Ambushed

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/Garrick Tavis/female!reader

Summary: When you're late for a secret rendezvous, Xaden and Garrick quickly realize you must be in trouble and come to your aid.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, minor character death. Established poly relationship, set pre-canon.

Anonymous requested: Xaden/Garrick/Reader where the Reader is targeted because she's a marked one and they help her (I'm almost kinda thinking like when Xaden came to Violet's aid in the book when she was jumped in her room).

Xaden checks his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes. It's 4:35 now, five minutes past the agreed-upon time, and still no sign of you.

He shares a concerned look with Garrick.

It's entirely unlike you to be late. Usually, you're the first to arrive when the three of you agree to meet somewhere. Especially considering the importance of tonight's plans, Xaden had fully expected you to already be waiting when he left his room, and was surprised to find only Garrick there.

Fleetingly, Xaden wonders if you got cold feet, but immediately dismisses the thought. Of the three of you, you'd been the most eager to turn the plan of smuggling weapons to the fliers into reality, to finally do something to continue the fight your parents had started. It could be possible you simply overslept, but even that seems unlikely. You wouldn't miss sneaking into the forge for the world, which means something has to be wrong.

As Xaden snaps his watch closed, silent understanding passes between him and Garrick. They've waited long enough — maybe too long, an anxious little voice in the back of Xaden's head insists. Whatever has kept you from showing up must be serious. Dangerous, perhaps. They should be with you, make sure you're okay, instead of uselessly lingering beside the staircase, where anyone could walk by and see them. The hour isn't entirely unreasonable, but whether leadership, suspicious as most of its members are of them, would believe the excuse of being up early for some extra training is something Xaden would rather not put to the test.

Garrick and Xaden move as one down the hall in the direction of your room.

Just then, Sgaeyl pushes past his shields, flimsy as they are. When she speaks, Xaden is glad he can't keep her out yet.

"Hurry," is all she says, confirming his fears.

You're in danger.

Garrick must have gotten the same information from Chradh, breaking into a run at the same moment Xaden does.

"What's the situation?" Xaden asks down the bond, hoping your dragon has relayed details to Sgaeyl and not just a vague distress call.

"It seems your girl has been waylaid by a group of unbonded cadets. She is holding her own for now, but clearly in need of backup."

Wasting breath on a curse, Xaden pushes himself to run even faster. Gods, why does your room have to be so fucking far away from theirs? Xaden and Garrick's rooms are right next to each other, but you ended up far from them, on the opposite side of the first-years floor, which means unlike them, you have to walk the halls alone to get to them. Xaden curses himself for not having thought about that sooner, and promises himself that from now on, he and Garrick will always pick you up from your room, nevermind that it means having to double back the way they came.

Sgaeyl had warned him to watch out for the unbonded, but now it's clear that even so, he underestimated how much of a threat they really would be. Knowing how capable you are, it hadn't crossed his mind until tonight that the unbonded could actually do you any harm; foolishly, he hadn't viewed them as serious a threat as the many enemies you all have among leadership and the cadets whose families remained loyal to Navarre.

Skidding around the last corner with Garrick close on his heels, they're greeted by the sight of you with your back to the wall about halfway down the corridor, trying your damnedest to fend off four enemies at once. Blood runs down your cheek, and through a bloodstained hole in your shirt, Xaden can see a gash just above your hip bone. The hem of your shirt and your pants gleam wetly with blood in the dim light of the hallway.

Boiling rage steals Xaden's breath at the sight.

How fucking dare those bastards lay hand on you? Fucking cowards, jumping you in the dim hall because they know they could never beat you in a fair fight. You're one of the best fighters Xaden knows, but ambushed and outnumbered like this, even you don't stand much of a chance.

Two of the assailants turn at the sound of Xaden's and Garrick's approaching footsteps, raising their weapons in a defensive stance while the third continues to try and wrestle yours from your hands. The fourth looks between you and the new arrivals, clearly panicked. She's clutching her shoulder, blood seeping out between her fingers.

The sight fills Xaden with grim satisfaction. You got her good. But they won't get away with just a few injuries. Oh no, Xaden will make them pay. Nobody touches either of his partners and lives; he already proved that during Threshing.

Catching a glimpse of Garrick's expression, Xaden notes that it's just as murderous as he himself feels.

"Get the fuck away from her!" his boyfriend bellows, drawing one of the swords strapped to his back and charging right at the group.

The man in front flings a dagger, but Garrick dodges and keeps advancing, using the moment his opponent fumbles to draw another weapon to rush him.

With Threshing only a few days past, neither of you has a signet yet, which means the odds are relatively even now that Xaden and Garrick are here. Xaden is sure the three of you can defeat the four unbonded cadets, but it won't do to be careless. It wasn't due to lack of fighting skills that the man to your right failed to bond a dragon, that's for sure — Xaden had faced him on the challenge mat earlier in the year, and while Xaden had won, it hadn't been as effortlessly as most of his other victories. The other three can't be weak either, considering they survived this long.

Sidestepping Garrick and his opponent, Xaden draws two of his daggers. While he prefers the swords, they're no good in such close quarters. The dormitory hallway is not necessarily narrow, but doesn't provide enough space to properly swing the swords without risk of hitting a wall or one of you.

Garrick must have come to the same conclusion — switching his sword to his non-dominant hand, he slams his bare fist into his enemy's face. Taken by surprise, the cadet stumbles a step backward and collides with the bulky woman you're still fighting.

Her attention wavers for a split second, giving you opportunity to yank free of her grasp and jab your dagger into her throat.

Garrick's opponent is knocked off balance too; the arm holding his weapon droops, leaving an opening Garrick doesn't hesitate to take advantage of, sinking his own blade deep into the man's guts. Jumping back, Garrick easily dodges as the injured man swings his short sword at him in retaliation. Already swaying on his feet, he's too slow and clumsy to stop Garrick from finishing him off.

Xaden notes you crossing blades with the woman with the injured shoulder, but then he has to focus on his own enemy — the man he remembers from challenges. Fighting with a hatchet in each hand, the brunette is annoyingly fast, and with the limited range of his daggers, Xaden has a hard time getting past his defense. His opponent even manages to hit him in the chest with the handle of a hatchet, but after chasing him down half the length of the hall, Xaden finally spots an opening, and plunges his blade into the cadet's chest to the hilt. He goes limp, hatchets clattering to the floor, and Xaden whirls around to check on you and Garrick.

His eyes find you first; bent at the waist with your hands braced on your thighs, you're panting and wan, but as far as he can tell no worse injured than when he entered the hall. The fourth and last opponent's body lies between the other two, and Garrick is crouched beside it to retrieve his blade, which seems to be stuck between the woman's ribs.

Xaden pulls his own dagger from the hatchet-wielding cadet's chest and walks back down the hall to you, wiping his blades on his pants before sheathing them.

The fight was certainly loud enough to wake the other cadets residing in this hall, but their doors remain closed. All the better. He doesn't feel like dealing with anyone else.

Reaching you, Xaden immediately pulls you into his arms, simultaneously giving Garrick a once-over to make sure he didn't get hurt while he was busy with his opponent. Other than a laceration on his jaw, he seems fine.

Finally having freed his blade, your boyfriend joins the both of you.

Xaden presses a kiss to your forehead and releases you, the weight on his chest easing now that you're out of danger. Garrick cups your cheek and does the same, asking if you're alright.

You nod, taking a steadying breath before answering.

"Yeah, thanks to you two." Huffing a humorless laugh, you run a hand over your face and shake your head. "Those fuckers were sneaky as hell. When I left my room, they were already waiting, but I only saw two of them at first. By the time I noticed the others, it was too late to retreat."

Xaden's brows knit. "How did they know when to wait for you?"

It shouldn't be possible for anyone to have known about your rendezvous; the three of you had been careful to only discuss it in the privacy of your rooms, using sign language in case leadership had someone with enhanced hearing around, and Xaden doesn't have to ask to be certain neither of you told anyone else about it.

You point at the dead woman at Xaden's feet, the one you had killed. "Her room is right next to mine. My best guess is she must have heard me getting ready and ran to get her friends so they could use the chance to ambush me. Pretty sure they were supposed to have breakfast duty today, so they would have been getting up already too."

Xaden frowns down at the corpse, barely restraining himself from kicking its face. "Didn't this one bond, though?"

"Yeah, but her brother didn't, so I guess that's why she helped him and their friends." You shrug, failing to hide a wince at the pain the movement causes you. "Or maybe it was just for fun because she hates us marked ones so much. You should have heard them going on about how unfair it is that a traitor like me got bonded by a dragon while they were passed over."

"Assholes," Xaden scoffs, wishing he could have killed them slower.

When you ask what to do with the bodies, Xaden shakes his head with a pointed glance at the wound in your side. "Nothing, for now. You're hurt."

"Yeah, let's get you to the healers and then we'll see," Garrick agrees.

"No healers," you say. "The less people who know what happened, the better. I can stitch myself up while you two get rid of the bodies, and then we can go scope out the forge like we planned."

Xaden shakes his head. Even if the attack's timing was just coincidence, it's better not to risk it. "We'll do it another time. But you're right about the healers. Come on, let's patch you up, and then I'll clean up this mess."

"I can help," you argue. "I'm mildly injured, not at the brink of death. You've got some nasty scrapes too, if you haven't noticed."

He hadn't noticed, if he's being honest, but now that you say it, he can feel the dull ache of a bruise forming on his sternum, and the sting of a cut on his arm. Still, he took decidedly less damage than you, so it's only fair he should be the one to deal with the cleanup.

Garrick kicks aside the arm of one of the bodies so you and Xaden won't trip over it, and opens the door to your room. His knuckles are bleeding.

"Where do you have your med kit?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Wardrobe," you answer. "Bottom right corner, behind my spare boots."

While Garrick retrieves the medical supplies, Xaden walks you to the bed, his hand hovering inches from your elbow in case you need help. You aren't exactly steady on your feet, no matter how you try to hide it. You sit down; Xaden remains standing Taking the first aid kit from Garrick when he steps to his side, he motions for him to sit down too.

Garrick rolls his eyes as he does so. "You know it doesn't always have to be you taking care of us, right?"

The both of you tell Xaden so all the time, reminding him he's just a person too and entitled to moments of weakness like everyone else, but the scars covering his back make it hard to forget the responsibility he carries for your lives.

"I'm fine," he deflects, and gently pushes on your shoulder to make you lean back so he can better reach the wound in your side. You hiss in pain when he peels your shirt away from the cut, which thankfully isn't as deep as he had feared.

Still... "That's gonna need stitches."

"I was afraid you would say that," you grit out between clenched teeth. "Any chance either of you would like to knock me out before you sew it shut?"

Xaden shakes his head. He knows how much you hate needles, but knocking you out is definitely not happening; you've taken more than enough damage tonight. "Nope. Sorry, love, but we need you awake. Garrick can distract you."

"Fine," you groan, squeezing your eyes shut. "Just be quick about it."

Xaden waits until Garrick has leant in and captured your lips with his, then he quickly cleans and closes the wound.

Your pained whimpers are muffled by Garrick's mouth but still audible, and when Xaden briefly glances up from his work he notes the white-knuckled grip you're clutching his shirt with. He knows how big an effort it must be to hold still like this. Tying off the end of the thread, Xaden frowns down at his handiwork. It's not the prettiest, but it'll do well enough.

"Okay, I'm done. Anything else that needs stitches while I've got the needle in hand?"

You both shake your heads, but then Garrick sits up and leans forward to poke at Xaden's arm. The cut there is still trickling blood, red smeared all over his forearm.

"Give me that," his boyfriend demands, grabbing for the thread and needle, which Xaden quickly holds out of reach.

"It's not that bad."

"Bad enough to need a stich or three," Garrick insists. To you, he adds, "Back me up here, babe."

"He's right," you tell Xaden.

"You're just agreeing with him because I was the one poking you with a needle just now," Xaden grumbles, but hands the offending item to Garrick and holds out his arm. He doesn't think the stitches are strictly necessary, but it's true that the cut will probably heal better with them.

Working together, the three of you soon finish patching each other up.

When you try to follow Xaden and Garrick as they step back into the hall to dispose of the bodies, Xaden stops you.

"Oh come on! I'm not that hurt!"

"No," Xaden admits, "but this—" he points at your side "—is going to rip right back open if you aren't careful. I doubt you want us to have to redo the stitches, right?"

As expected, that convinces you. "Fine... But I can at least hold open doors for you and keep watch so no one will see us."

Xaden nods and the both of you join Garrick, who is already in the hall, glaring down at the corpses with his hands on his hips.

"So, if we killed the breakfast crew..."

Xaden claps him on the back. "I think we might have to content ourselves with a cold buffet this morning."

[writinginatree]

Soft Murtagh fluff for @murtagh-thorn. I hope everything goes well tomorrow/(today?)!!🫂🩷

The night is still and quiet, disturbed by nothing but the soft snores of the red dragon behind you. Tired from the day's long flight, he fell asleep what must have been two hours ago, while Murtagh and you sat by the fire and talked — of your fears and dreams, the uncertainty of the future and what the coming days might bring. Murtagh had steered your thoughts away from the darker paths they were wont to take, eventually distracting you with his favorite book of poetry. Reciting poem after poem to you, he'd even gotten you to read a few out loud yourself, until finally both of you grew too weary to keep your eyes open wide enough to read.

Now the both of you are settling down too, cuddling close in the ample space between Thorn's belly and his legs. Murtagh's arm is thrown over your waist, his heartbeat a steady lullaby in your ear.

You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. "Sleep, my dear. Everything will be alright. The future may be uncertain and frightening at times, but I will be with you."

"Always?"

"Always," he promises. "Wherever you go, whatever you do, I'll be there by your side. No matter what."

You feel around for his hand in the dark, lacing your fingers with his when you find it. "Thank you, Murtagh."

He returns the grateful squeeze you give his hand, the arm around your waist holding you just a little tighter, like he wants to emphasize he'll never let you go. "Of course."

[writinginatree]

The Book Can Wait

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran/Xaden Riorson/reader

Summary: Finishing the book you're reading proves impossible with Bodhi and Xaden next to you, needy for attention and unable to keep their hands to themselves.

Warnings: Cousincest, making out, allusions to sex

Written for @empyreanevents's Bodhi Week Day 7: Free Day. I had something entirely else planned for today but it turned out terrible so you're getting this instead because I saw @xadensbiceps and @theoppositequeens write Bodhi x Xaden this week and got the urge to join the fun (except I made it a reader-insert because apparently I don't know how to write anything else lol)

AO3

Fully engrossed in the book propped up against your pillow, you ignore the dip of the mattress where Xaden's elbow digs into it near your waist as he leans over you. You can feel his body heat against your back, just distracting enough that you stumble over a word and have to restart the sentence you were reading.

To your left, Bodhi also shifts. His fingers — previously tracing nonsense shapes on your arm and shoulder — still for a second, then leave your skin altogether. You instantly miss the contact.

Briefly glancing over your shoulder to see what they're up to, you find Xaden and Bodhi locked in a kiss. Both their torsos are bare, miles of soft, brown skin and toned muscle on full display, practically begging to be touched.

Fuck. Do they have to look so stupidly hot while you're just trying to finish your book?

It takes all your willpower to avert your eyes and focus back on the text before you. Only two more chapters, you remind yourself — less, actually, seeing as you're already halfway through one of them. If you manage to ignore the distractingly perfect men on either side of you for just a little longer, you can finish the book and then focus solely on them.

Naturally, that plan doesn't work out.

You manage a single page before one of them nips at your shoulder, ripping you out of the story again. A kiss to the same spot follows, then fingers trailing down your spine and soft curls brushing your arm as Bodhi's head enters your field of vision and obscures the view of your book, his hand coming up to caress your cheek.

He smiles up at you like the very definition of innocence — acting as if he doesn't know damn well what he's doing.

Xaden kisses his way along your shoulder up to your neck, his hand sliding under your shirt.

Your eyes squeeze shut.

"Guys," you whine. "I only have like a dozen pages left. After I'm done reading you'll have my full attention, I promise."

"Oh, I think we already have your attention," Xaden's low voice sounds right against your ear.

He's right, of course. It's impossible to concentrate on anything else with the two of them being all over you like this.

Opening your eyes, your gaze meets Bodhi's.

He's half lying on your book, dark curls obscuring the words, but you know he's taken care to not wrinkle the pages lying down. He takes your jaw in his hand, gently guiding your face down to his. His mouth brushes yours in a barely-there kiss.

"Your book can wait," Bodhi mutters against your lips. "We can't."

"Yes you can. You just don't want to."

Unsuccessfully fighting a smile, you don't sound nearly as stern as you'd intended. It simply isn't possible to be irritated at their interrupting your precious reading time — not with the way Bodhi is purposefully being all adorable while Xaden continues to cover your neck in open-mouthed kisses.

Bodhi shrugs and claims your mouth with his own, effectively shutting down any further retorts. With his tongue roaming your mouth, it gets increasingly hard to remember why you would even want to complain in the first place.

Releasing you from the kiss, Bodhi expectantly looks up at you.

You know if you really insisted on going back to your book, he and Xaden would accept it. They could keep each other occupied. But you also know your thoughts would keep drifting back to them and the fun you'd be missing out on. There is no resisting the temptation they provide — Bodhi sprawled before you like a mischievous angel, Xaden wrapped around you from behind, nuzzling against your neck like the devil whispering in your ear.

With a sigh, you pull the book out from under Bodhi's head and close it. You'll just have to read the remaining chapter another time, no matter how badly you want to know how the story ends.

"Alright."

Bodhi's beaming smile makes it instantly worth it. Still, you can't help but tease them a little, jokingly complaining that the two of them are like a couple of needy puppies begging for attention.

Payback follows instantly in the form of Xaden biting your neck — hard. If he's trying to beat the puppy allegations that's not the most efficient move, but before you can say so, he starts to suck on the sensitive skin and the thought dissolves in a rush of warm pleasure.

"What ha— nhh— happened to not leaving any marks?" you gasp.

Bodhi answers for his cousin, locking eyes with him over your shoulder, the grin that spreads over Bodhi's face mirroring the one you feel against your neck. "We can't leave marks on each other, but we can leave marks on you, actually."

Xaden's hum of agreement vibrates against your skin. His mouth glides higher up your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"Ah. That's reasonable, I guess. But—" You interrupt yourself with a breathy moan when Bodhi licks up the other side of your neck. "But hardly fair. You could let me mark up one of you, at least."

"Nope."

Though you're not exactly happy about it, you understand Xaden's reasoning, and can't claim to disagree. Rumors are the last thing the three of you need, and if someone were to see all three of you with lovebites at the same time, rumors would ensue. And even if it's just you and one of them alternatingly, there would be talk. People probably wouldn't jump right to the conclusion of a polyamorous relationship, but they might think you're hooking up with both of them behind the other's back. Either way, it would only lead to unnecessary drama.

"Aww, come on, Xay! I want hickeys too," Bodhi pouts.

"Next time. We can take turns," Xaden decides. "But we have to be careful it's really just one of us getting hickeys, and not all the time."

Bodhi grumbles something unintelligible and pulls you on top of him. His hands are at your waist, toying with the hem of your shirt.

You sit up and lift your arms, silent permission for him to take it off, which he wastes no time in doing.

The fabric isn't even fully over your head when Xaden's hands are already on you, following the curve of your ribcage with what feels like reverence, like no matter how often he's already done so, he can't wait to explore every inch of exposed skin again.

Bodhi's teeth scrape over your throat, hands joining Xaden's, groping and caressing until you can no longer tell whose touch is whose. It doesn't matter. There is only their skin against yours, searing kisses and mingled breaths. Their lips on yours and each other's, Xaden's bare chest warm against your back, your hands in Bodhi's hair.

Angling your head to give him better access to your neck, your gaze falls on your book, laying abandoned on your pillow. It'll have to wait a little longer — in this moment, reality is much more appealing than any story could ever hope to be.

[writinginatree]

Hii!! I live for your riorson!reader fics and i’m obsessed with the necromancy signet especially… could you write a fic maybe where the reader is using the signet in a battle or maybe just increasing her power with her signet? whatever inspires you love!! have a lovely day🩷🩷

Hi! Thanks, I'm glad you like them! And yes!! I've actually been thinking about a second part of Zombie for a while — the signet sparring in onyx storm is going to be so much fun. So yeah, it's on my to-do list, I just need to catch up on requests first 😅🩷