Xaden doesn't believe in second chances until he meets you.
genre: slowburn, fluff, suggestive content, mentions of death, violence and abuse. Reader is a Healer. iron flame spoilers so don't read if you haven't read iron flame and if you do read it, don't blame me TT.TT
a/n: Happens after the fight at Resson. Don't come after me. I love Xaden and Violet and this is just for shits and giggles so if you don't like it please just ignore it. Also, let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! This one's gonna be quite a long one <3
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
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It's warm.
Your eyebrows furrow into a frown. A small groan escapes your mouth as you turn and bury your face deeper into your pillow.
This feels like heaven.
It smells of mint and a hint of leather and pine.
You can hear the softest of voices. They echo in the distance, but you merely want to go back into that lovely, dreamless sleep that's hanging onto you like a soft cloud.
You drift away.
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"--not awake yet."
Voices again. This time they sound closer.
You let out a soft groan and nuzzle into the pillow, swearing that this scent feels eerily familiar. But the thought escapes just as it dwindles in when your muscles slowly relax. There's a blanket draped across your body, warm and fluffy, and it helps against the myriad of voices getting louder by the second.
"It's been more than a week."
"She needs time."
"You better be right about this Sorrengail, or I'm not going to be a very happy man."
You recognise that voice somehow. It's one that soothes you, but as soon as the memory sparks you feel yourself dwindling again like a leaf in the breeze.
Sleep consumes you once more into its open, friendly arms.
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The next time you wake, there's a headache pounding through your head.
A groan slips past your lips as your eyes flutter open on their own accord, only to be met with a grey ceiling.
You blink, trying to rid yourself of the fuzziness that comes with having slept for what feels like centuries, as you try to comb through the last of your memories.
Where are you? What time is it?
And then, it hits you with full-force.
The dungeons. The interrogation room. Knives at your neck, getting slapped and kicked. Your arm dislocated, your knee, split in half--
A sob rips its way out of your throat and you shudder, forcing down the bile crawling up the back of your mouth as your hands find purchase along the bedsheets. It's almost impulsive, the way you find your hands and rub at your wrists, as if trying to see if the chains are still there. But all you feel are slow fading bruises that make you wince when pain lances up your arms.
That's when your eyes slide down, almost missing the figure sprawled across the single chair by your bedside. The recognition sends another jolt through you.
Xaden.
He's here.
And you're...safe.
Like he'd promised you.
It's like you've called him from sleep, for the said man slowly rouses, blinking a few times before realising that you've been staring at him like he's just grown an extra head.
"Tala," he straightens, leaning forward on alert.
"Hey," you reply weakly. Voice soft and broken.
Xaden doesn't hesitate to rise from his seat, striding over and grabbing the glass of water from your bedside. His hand comes to a rest at your jaw, the touch surprisingly gentle and tender, at odds with the emotions blazing in his eyes.
He tilts the glass to your lips, his other hand going around your nape and settling there to hold it still, "drink," he orders.
You do so without comment, gulping down the water upon noticing that you're parched.
You down the entire thing and Xaden puts back the glass before he finds a seat along your bed, closer to you, but not touching.
"You--" the words are tangled up in your throat. There are no words to explain the rush of gratefulness you feel towards him, "you came."
His face softens, "I did."
"You saved me," you whisper.
"And I would do it a thousand times if I had to," his eyes are intense on your own, almost like he can't stomach the thought of looking away. They trail over your features before he presses his lips together, "I'm sorry I--" his jaw flexes, "--didn't get to you sooner."
"It's not your fault," you shake your head, lean back against the pillow, "you did what you had to do."
"They took you because they knew I would come for you," his nostrils flare, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble, "I don't like people touching what's mine."
Mine.
You blink.
Mine.
Heat rushes to your cheeks at his sudden admission, "I--uh--I'm not an object." you try to wheeze out in a broken stutter.
His mouth curls up dangerously, "well aware."
Gods. It hasn't even been five minutes and already he's playing with your feelings. You look back down towards your hands flexing along the blanket and try to change conversation, "are you hurt?"
"A few wounds. All will heal," his eyes flicker down to your bandaged arm, "are you in pain?"
"A bit. I haven't tried moving yet, but..."
"It will take some time."
A soft breath rattles through your chest, "can you...tell me how injured I am?" and when he seems he's about to close down on you, you quickly add a soft, "please?"
Xaden's jaw ticks. He laces his hands together, elbows pressing onto his knees as he leans forward, closer to your space.
"You have multiple knife wounds," he starts, voice knotting with barely restrained anger, "your left arm is dislocated but Brennan set it back. Your leg's shattered in three pieces. They put a splinter to hold it together while the bone mends. That will probably take the most time to heal."
He makes a grab for the bowl you haven't noticed had been sitting by your bedside and holds it up to you, "drink it," he orders, his voice gentle yet as firm as a command, "it will help you heal."
You do as told, feeling a bit pathetic as he tilts the bowl towards your mouth. A small dribble escapes down your shirt and you pull away with a grimace, shame bubbling through your chest, "I'm sorry," you whisper.
But Xaden seems to pay no mind, grabbing onto a nearby hand towel -- one he'd been using to press along your forehead -- before gently wiping at your chin and neck.
His movements are firm yet light, with the kind of commanding certainty of a man who knows how to use his hands. The intimacy of his action renders you speechless, cheeks turning dusty rose at how close he is. That Xaden Riorson, the fearful man that commands shadows, is wiping up your mess like you're a six months old baby, and has nothing mean to say about it.
"You need to rest," he orders when he finally pulls away and lets you breathe, "I'll need to go. But I'll be back before you wake."
Your head dips into a nod, "thank you Xaden," you murmur.
He's already rising, pausing to take in your words. His eyes find yours and lock, deep onyx clashing with soft maroon, and for a minute your world hangs by a thread.
You can barely breathe.
Then, his head dips into that singular, assessing nod, and with a few strides, he's gone from your room.
Or his room, seems like.
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Recovery is a slow journey, as you soon learn. And it's a pain in the ass when you're rendered useless.
Before, you'd already be scurrying around trying to help Brennan heal the injured riders with new balms, coming up with various healing ointments and remedies that could speed up recovery. But he's consistently shoved you out of the healer's room for over a total of six times before you've finally given up and decided to mope the halls of the Riorson manor instead. Liam and Rhiannon seem intent on keeping you by their sides at every second of the day when Xaden is not here to play babysitter, and otherwise you're focused by the man of shadows himself to sit and play barbie while the rest of the life moves on without you.
The boredom is killing you, and you soon find yourself taking longer walks outside just to get a whiff of that fresh mountain air. That, and to run away from Xaden's constant need to check in and remind you that you're a patient who's still recovering.
If anyone would've ever told you that Xaden Riorson was a mama hen at heart, you would've laughed in their faces and told them to go fuck themselves.
But now, not so much. You're finding it hard to believe he is the man that he is, considering how freakin' naggy he can be.
"You shouldn't be so harsh on the guy you know," Liam says one afternoon as you watch him and Sawyer toss a ball back and forth. You're seated along one of the rocks, keeping them company and stealing warmth from Liam's dragon who apparently seems to have taken a liking to you.
It helps that he isn't as big as Sgaeyl, also that his eyes seem kind and gentle. They remind you of Liam himself, mostly.
"He's acting like a mother with her first-born son," you scowl back, "tell him to ease off a little. I'm not a baby."
"He's just worried about you," Sawyer catches the ball in mid-air with a flawless jump and goddamnit if that didn't look cool.
You look down at your own stupid, useless leg and wonder how much longer will it take for you to be able to walk without having to hobble everywhere like a goddamn loser, "well maybe he needs other things to keep him occupied."
"He went mad you know, that day they took you," Liam says as he catches the ball with one hand. He tosses it back to Sawyer and adds, "he was considering burning down Basgiath just to get you back."
Embarrassment bubbles up your chest, "don't be ridiculous," you try not to blush, though you can't help but wonder if it's true. And if it is, then that's hotter than it should be.
"He's not lying," Sawyer says, "Thought Xaden was tough to deal with on a daily basis but, when we knew you were gone, he went batshit crazy. The only reason why he took so long was because General Melgren wanted us to help Basgiath against the venin."
That catches your attention, "what venin?"
They both frown at you, "the venin we fought," Sawyer's eyes dart back and forth between you and Liam, the ball now forgotten in his hands, "the ones we were up against at Basgiath. That's why Xaden took so long to get you out."
Liam, who'd been gauging your reaction from the start, asks gently, "you didn't know?"
"No," you whisper brokenly as realisation sets him, followed by the weight of guilt, "no I didn't know."
You find Xaden in the archives poring over a gigantic map along with Garrick and Brennan when you slam the door open with as much force as you can. That's enough to make the trio's heads swivel in surprise.
It's Brennan that speaks first, "Tala!" he rushes towards you, "you're not supposed to be walking alone by yourself!"
But you push his arms away and force your body forward despite the screaming protest of your leg. You hobble clumsily to the oak table, "I want to speak to Xaden," you scowl at the other two riders, "alone."
Is that amusement that flits across Xaden's face? He turns towards the other two before you have a change to register it fully, "leave us."
You wait until the screech of the double doors end with a final clang, your eyes dead set on Xaden's, your mouth pressed into a thin, annoyed line and your entire body shaking with repressed emotions about what he's done for your sake, about the lives he'd risked.
He watches, leaning back against the map table and crossing one leg over the other, and somehow that act alone feels unjustifiably hot.
You force yourself back into focus, "Liam told me about what happened in Basgiath."
"That so?"
"Yes," you hobble even closer, now just a few meters away from him so that you have no choice but to look up at his six foot four frame, "you risked your rider's lives all because of one little healer. I don't know about you, but I don't think that's the smartest decision you've taken Riorson."
"Oh, we're back to Riorson now, are we?" Xaden cocks his head at you and it aggravates you even more.
"Stop making fun of me!" You seethe, "why are you okay with this?! Why are you okay with sacrificing so many lives beyond the point of measure just so that you can--"
"Just so that I can save what's mine?" he cuts you off.
You blink in surprise. What?
Xaden straightens. His hand reaches out, grasping your forearm before he tugs.
You stumble against him when your legs give way, "hey!--"
His arm winds around your waist and he doesn't hesitate as you crash against his chest, pinning you down with a firmness that leaves you gasping as his other hand goes up to grasp the side of your face.
He tilts your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him, and what you find in those onyx pools has your heart suddenly stuttering.
Oh shit.
"I'm only going to say this once," his voice is barely a growl, deep and rumbling through his chest. Heat sears down to your tummy in response, undeniably enjoying how he's caged you so easily against him, "I told you I don't like other people touching what's mine. I've made that pretty clear," his eyes bore into yours with intent, "do you understand what I mean, Tala?"
"I...uhm..." the words dissipate along your tongue with the way he's looking at you. Because in his eyes, in the molten inferno that's blazing through his gaze like a beacon, there is denying the feelings he's been trying to keep hidden all this time. He doesn't have to say it, you see right through him like he wants you to. Because he does want you to, what with the way he's holding you hostage like he can't bear the thought of leaving one millimetre of space between your bodies.
Xaden presses even further, hand tightening as you all but feel his line of muscles against your body, "do you understand, Tala?" he murmurs lowly, his thumb brushing across your jawline.
"I--I think so," you stutter.
"Good," and then, in a swift motion, his hands find your waist and the world spins so quickly you cry out until you find he's perched you atop the table, pushing his body against your legs that splay on either side of him so that you're now face to face.
The compromising position sends another wave of embarrassment and heat frolicking down your spine and you can't help but bite your lower lip as want suddenly bubbles through your chest.
Gods. Does he have to be that hot?
"Now," he leans in even closer, so close his nose brushes yours and you swear you see stars, "if you must know, I'm not a patient man, Tala. If someone takes what's mine, it is absolutely crucial I get it back as soon as possible. You're lucky I didn't burn the entire place down to find you."
His words rattle you in the best of ways and there's no other choice but to look at him as he says them, a mixture of warmth and lust that has nothing to do with your frustration blossoming through your chest. He cares about you, more than you can imagine, more than what's said, and if you'd been doubting it, there's your answer.
"I won't love you like I loved Violet. What happened with her--" there's a rock that forms in his throat, hands flexing along your hips as he pauses, takes a shaky inhale, "--was something else. We were connected, in more ways than you could imagine. So it takes time for that kind of bond to cease to exist. But don't mistake my past with Violet for my inability to feel anything towards you."
This is probably the most Xaden has ever spoken to you of his feelings. That in itself is a surprise. But now paired with the revelation that he does feel something for you, like you do for him -- it's like another wall of bricks slamming into you headfirst without warning.
"So..." your mind tries to piece together all the information, "so you--you feel something. For me? Am I--understanding that correctly?"
The side of his mouth quirks up in amusement, "correct."
"Does that mean you're not..." your words trail off as you try to make sense of this new reality, "you're not going to stay away. Like you said a few weeks ago?"
"No," he draws you even closer and you let out a soft breath upon feeling his firm muscles pressing against your curves. You can feel him, even through the thick layers of your Healer uniform and for once you feel like discarding the whole thing.
"Oh," you squeak out, "good," your hands, which have somehow found their way to his chest, cling onto his rider's tunic as if unsure what to do with yourself.
Xaden chuckles, the sound like a purr through his chest as he dips his face towards you.
The sight of him, so close and so unarmed for once, makes your heart skitter in your chest. You've never seen past Xaden's mask...until now.
Now, it's almost like he wants you to read into every crevice, every crease of his features.
There's an unspoken message in his eyes, a silent question that causes your eyes to flutter closed. You feel his breath, warm and seductive, fanning across your face and your entire body stills in anticipation, head tilting up as you wait.
And wait.
And then, you feel the softest of kisses.
Right atop your temple.
You let out a small yelp of surprise, eyes flying open as Xaden merely laughs low in his throat, "what, were you expecting something else?" his eyes twinkle with mirth.
Embarrassment floods your being and you wish the ground can swallow you up.
Right now.
"No!" you say a little too loudly.
He watches you, one eyebrow raised in growing amusement, "sure looks like it.”
And before you know it he’s leaning over to press another kiss along your jawline.
You suck in a breath, your muscles locking in frenzy as he continues a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, down your neck, over your collarbone right where your uniform dips. Each kiss punctuated with a searing heat that blazes with hot, scorching fire, rendering your body limp and useless as desire clouds your judgement.
“Wha—what are you doing?” You stammer in what you hope is a strong protest. You body, on the other hand, seems all too intent on going limp in his arms, knees suddenly made of jelly.
Xaden hums in response, nose brushing against naked skin and sending thrums of desire in his wake. You stiffen in his hold, hands curling over the material of his tunic as he moves up to press another chaste kiss right by your earlobe.
You let out a soft, strangled sound. Part want, part embarrassment. It makes Xaden chuckle softly before he murmurs, “cat got your tongue?”
“I—I—“ you try to force some logic and reason but can’t seem to form full sentences when every thought is unwoven by the mere sensation of having his mouth trailing across your jawline, his hands pressing into your hips and grounding you to him with a touch of possessiveness that sends heat coiling through your tummy.
“Hm?” Xaden nibbles along your jaw, pressing another kiss at the corner of your mouth, “tell me, Tala,” he murmurs against your lips, “what do you want?”
“I—I—I want—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, though it’s hard when all you can feel is Xaden’s warnth, the way his hands cares you, the closeness of his body to yours, “Xaden. Please.”
“Please what?” He give your hip a squeeze, onyx eyes finding yours through the storm of emotion broiling through your head, “say the word doll.”
“I don’t—I just—“ but you know what you want. The desire thrums through you, crackle like a fire that needs a release. You’re just too shy to admit it, to stoop down and confess that you want him.
You’re not used to this, to being physically close with someone, to be vulnerable and open with your feelings when you’re in such compromising positions.
Tears prick the corner of your eyes as shame and embarrassment crash through you in dual disarray. Xaden notices, eyebrows kissing at the center as unexplainable emotion flickers across his face.
“Tala,” his tone is gentle, completely at odds with the silent intensity throbbing in his gaze. He clenche his jaw, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know you won’t,” comes your feeble whisper, “I just—I don’t know what to do and it’s—it’s embarrassing.”
Your words are like a slap. He reels back in a mixture of surprise and suspicion, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he murmurs firmly.
“I know,” you clamp your hands along his tunic, tugging him closer so that you can all but bury yourself into his chest.
He’s warm and solid, and more than enough for you to feel safe. You unconsciously find yourself burrowing even closer if that’s even possible, and Xaden lets out a soft breath before he slowly starts extricating himself from your grip.
Panic seizes the back of your throat, “where are you going?”
Amusement dances across his lips, "while I would love to stay here forever, leadership is practically eavesdropping on us. Unless you want an audience for whatever we were about to do--"
"No!" you blurt out before he can finish, your face flaming bright red. You hate how easily he gets you riled up and he knows it too, for he lets out another huff of laughter before slowly sliding you from the table with a care that renders your heart to mush.
Keeping a hand braced along your waist, he ducks his head, brushing his lips across the top of your ear, "wait for me," he murmurs, "we're not done."
His words cause your heart to jump, skin flushing with goosebumps as you slowly stumble out of his grip, "I'll be going now," you announce, ignoring the fact that your face is a blazing red beacon.
You hobble out of the room as quickly as possible, knowing without looking back that Xaden's dark-eyed gaze is still on you, that infuriating smirk playing across his lips.
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"We need to evacuate this place," Brennan's gaze is glued on the map before him, his eyes tracing every road that twines through the Esben mountains, "the venin know where we are, it's just a matter of time before they come for us."
At the table are found Xaden, Garrick, Dain, Bodhi, Imogen and a few other rider graduates that had decided to join their cause. The grim faces around the table clearly reflect the dire matter at hand; how are they supposed to move a horde of dragons away from Aretia when they're practically a big, fat moving target for them?
"Moving will only make us more vulnerable to wyvern attacks. We're too big of a group," Imogen snaps.
"Not if we split up," Bodhi suggests.
"You want us to split up?" Dain scoffs and straightens in his chair. He shakes his head, "we can barely hold them off when we're all together. What makes you think we can actually survive if they come for us when we're all scattered?"
"Then do you have a better idea Aetos? Because I don't see you coming up with one," Imogen says.
"Splitting up is the right thing to do," Xaden cuts them all off. He rubs a hand across his face, feeling the edge of stubble against his fingers, "the question is: we need to be smart about our pairings."
"Put compatible signets together," Garrick says, "that could work, in theory."
"Where exactly are we headed?" one of the riders whose name escapes Xaden's memory, asks.
Brennan taps the furthest point on the map right along the northern border. It's a piece of land surrounded by high mountains and just the thought of climbing through that rough terrain has Xaden's stomach dip in apprehension.
"We're aiming for the north. The wards don't reach high up there, and the lack of grounding power makes it so that venin and wyvern cannot make it past the mountains."
"And what about our dragons?" Bodhi asks, "if there's no magic, no wards, will they be able to survive there?"
"Marbhe says it's not ideal but they'll survive," Brennan presses his lips together, "but it's important we move fast. We cannot waste any time."
So that's how it's decided that the riders of the rebellion will start moving away from the Riorson Manor. As much as it pains Xaden to leave his childhood home behind, he knows deep down that it's for the best, that staying here will only endanger all of the riders willingly sacrificing their lives to do something that thy feel is right.
He finds you in the early hours of the morning after hours and hours of careful, crafted planning with the rest of the riders, only to spot you by the window, legs curled up underneath with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You're so engrossed in gazing at the sunrise peaking over the mountains you don't notice him entering until he clears his throat.
"Xaden," your eyes widen in surprise. You straighten in your chair, the blanket slipping off your shoulder and showing off a slither of pale skin, "what are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that myself," Xaden forces his eyes towards your face, blatantly trying to ignore how positively endearing you look swathed in too-big blankets that seem to drown you out, "why are you awake at this hour?"
"I couldn't sleep," you murmur as he crosses the room over to you, "I thought I might as well watch the sunrise. It's prettiest up here. Not the same as the one from Basgiath."
Sure enough, you know what you're talking about. The golden rays that glisten across the snow-tipped peaks is reminiscent of a victorian painting.
"It is," he agrees quietly.
But he feels your eyes on his face, as if processing the tiredness etched in his features, "why are you up till this early in the morning?" you ask quietly.
He leans against the wall, right at the edge of the window, and he feels the cold seep into his flight jacket, "had a meeting with the other riders."
"Did it go well?"
He bristles, looks away towards the view as his jaw clenches in thought, "we have to move soon."
"What?" your tone elevates in surprise, "what do you mean?"
"We're not safe here," his dark eyes find yours, "it's only a matter of time before the venin will find us."
"And where..." the words trail off along your tongue. You can only gape up at him, unsure of what to say, what to do, "where will we go?"
"Brennan found a place. It's not ideal, but it's necessary," he can't help but grimace at the thought, "we'll move tomorrow at midnight."
You stay quiet but he knows without a doubt you're positively thrumming with more questions. You're not one that is appeased by a few words, he's learnt that you're quite diligent in knowing all your sources before trusting the entirety of it. And he's come to admire that about you.
You may not have the strength of a rider. But your brain is just as smart as any tactician on the field, and that is something that isn't learnt.
"Hey," Xaden nudges your leg with his booted foot, and when your eyes flutter up to his, says, "think you should get some sleep."
You're about to protest, but then notice his pointed look -- the look that says you cannot argue with him -- before begrudgingly rising and moving towards your bed. Xaden follows as you crawl beneath the bed covers, propping himself along the corner of your mattress as you tuck yourself in.
"You should get some sleep too, Rider Riorson," you mumble against your blanket.
His hand reaches out without warning to brush a stray lock away from your forehead.
Your breath catches, body stilling.
His thumb brushes against your cheekbone, slowly moving down to trace the outline of your jaw--before finally dropping to your lower lip.
You swallow thickly, your body suddenly on full alert as your throat suddenly squeezes with nervousness.
"Xaden?" you breathe out.
His dark eyes are glazed over, almost like he's trapped in a daydream as he leans over and very gently -- taking all of the time in the world -- presses the softest of kisses against your temple.
You release a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding all this time.
"Goodnight Healer," his voice is a soft rumble, "I'll see you in the morning."
And then he stands and strides out without a backward glance, leaving you all hot and bothered underneath the blankets, with a racing heart and flushed cheeks as you are left staring at the closed door in a mixture of emotions you cannot quite define.
You had imagined it, you try to tell yourself. You had imagined the entire thing.
There's no way he'd been staring down at your lips like you're someone he wants to kiss.
It's all in your head.
It has to be.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
The day that follows is filled with packing and trying to fit everything into a maximum of five small boxes per person. Brennan leaves instructions early in the morning for you to concoct as many brews and medicines as possible, which keeps you busy for the entirety of the day and most of the afternoon, until you look out of the window and realise that indeed, it is shy past six and you still haven't eaten lunch.
Thankfully, it seems that your rider friends have been thinking of you, for Liam and Sawyer pops in right afterwards with a sandwich plate and some cut up fruit, courtesy of Ridoc's ugly knife skills.
"The guy knows how to kill someone, but can't cut fruit to save his life," jokes Sawyer when you'd burst out laughing at the uneven squares of pear and apple lining the metal plate.
You take one last bath with one of the healing medicines concocted by yours truly, ensuring that you scrub your skin clean until you're tingling all over, before heading for your final dinner with the rest of the riders in the mess hall.
Rhiannon and Imogen are already present, wolfing down bowls of porridge as a huge plate of whole roasted chicken rests along the table, filling the table with its delicious aroma.
You approach uneasily, eyes darting between your bowl and Imogen. While you haven't exchanged many pleasantries with the said pink-haired rider, you're far from comfortable in her presence. She's more than a little intimidating. You swear you might cry if she looks at you wrong.
"Hey Tala," Rhiannon offers you an easy smile that you return quickly. You take a seat and start eating, trying your best to make yourself as small as possible.
"Are all medicines packed?" Imogen's sudden question startles you.
You jump, head whipping towards hers in surprise, "Y--Yes. I've just packed them all this afternoon."
"Good. I'll need a few boxes for my squad," Imogen resumes scarfing down her soup, "make sure they're sealed tight. We won't have any communication between squads when we move."
Something queasy tightens in your tummy, "do you know who I'm travelling with?"
"Not sure," Rhiannon shrugs, "we're all split up in terms of signets. I'm with Ridoc."
"They're putting offence and defence together, to make sure we at least have a chance," Imogen scoffs, "though I'm not sure how many of our squads will survive the crossing. It's practically suicide."
Her words do nothing to qualm the uneasiness building inside you, and that merely strengthens tenfold when you attend the final Battle Brief. You find a seat between Liam and Sawyer who both offer you kind smiles, ones that cause your stomach to curl with dread like you’ve just drunk spoiled milk. You hope against hope this isn’t the last time you’ll get to see them.
Brennan starts off the meeting by summarizing the route you will be taking for the next week, before he starts dividing squads into groups of five or six. You notice he is matching riders with diverse signets and that only makes the dread fill you up until it’s hard to breathe. Something— a little tiny voice at the back of your mind — tells you that you won’t be with Xaden.
The thought is enough to send fear skittling down your spine.
“—Liam, Abbigail, Richard, Penn, Tala and Garrick.”
You tense, stiff as a board.
Liam and Garrick. Definitely not with Xaden, then.
You can’t help but feel a bit disappointed by the choice.
“You have till eleven to pack all your things. We meet in the Mess Hall at eleven thirty. First group to depart at midnight on the dot. Then, we’ll keep intervals of two hours between each squad,” Brennan straightens from the dais where he’s been leaning all along then, “you may go. Bring only what’s necessary. Nothing more.”
Mind racing, you numbly follow the rest of the sea of riders scuttling out into the corridor and barely register walking back to your room until you push open your door—
Only to find Xaden standing there, back to you.
Breath hitching slightly, you frown at his silhouette, “Xaden,” you take a step forward, “are you done packing?”
He turns at your voice, dark eyes softening slightly and the sight renders your heart warm.
“Mostly,” he diverts his gaze towards your pack that’s almost keeling over from it’s weight, and his eyebrow perks up in question, “I think you might have overpacked.”
Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you stumble to your pack, “I don’t have a choice. All the medicine is exclusively for healing riders in case of emergencies—“
But Xaden’s not listening. He snatches the pack out of your hands before emptying it out onto the floor in a mass of bandages and clattering metal pots and scattered books as thick as tomes.
“Hey! I—“
“You will not survive if the pack is twice your size,” he interrupts with a scowl as you watch how he deftly picks out less than half of your contents. He leaves all your books, all your journals about medicine and spices, and instead wraps rolls of bandages around small pots that will serve as first aid before shoving it all into your pack.
"But my books--"
"They're too heavy and from what I recall, you have a good memory," he sends you a pointed look, "you'll be fine."
Tying up the remaining knots of your pack, he gives the strings one harsh tug to ensure it's all in place before handing it back to you, "that should be better."
"I liked it better when you didn't meddle with my affairs," is what you mutter as you sling your pack over your arm. But in all honesty, Xaden's done you a big favour; your bag feels less like a walking brick and more like something that will not suffocate you in the span of an hour. You have to admire his thoughtfulness despite the brash way in which he presents himself.
"I liked it better when you were scared of me," he smirks.
Your head snaps to him, "I wasn't--"
"Tell me something I don't know, healer."
You can feel heat prick the back of your neck in growing embarrassment, "you are such a dick, Riorson."
"I am, yes," he steps closer, one hand reaching up to curl your hair behind your ear. His eyes darken with emotion and the tenderness found in his pupils makes your heart constrict, "but it seems you like that."
"I--I never said that," you can't think when he's so close like this.
If you reach out with your hand, you can touch his face. Just like he did with yours.
But will he pull away? It's Xaden Riorson after all, the commander of shadows. The man who doesn't let his mask fall for anyone, no matter what.
And you're not sure where you stand with him.
Unfortunately for you, what you blurt out is:
"I'm scared."
Xaden's gaze hardens.
You gape, eyes widening in shock at your own admission.
Idiot.
You feel like slapping yourself.
Of course you're scared. What does that make him?!
Idiot.
Oh gods, you wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole right about now.
"Only fools wouldn't be," is what he murmurs in response. He takes another step closer, so close that his chest practically brushes against your healer uniform and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing, though all you do get in exchange is the subtle scent of mint and leather that renders your head dizzy.
"What if--Why were we separated?" you can't help but ask. Your voice is hesitant, fearful of what his answer might be. But it's important, it's been bugging you ever since the list came out.
"I have to be with Brennan," his jaw works. That beautiful sculpted jaw you wish to kiss, to touch with your naked fingers, "we'll close the rear. It's the only way we can make it out alive, if we're found by the venin."
"But I could be of help, if I--"
"No," his eyes flash with unmistakable emotion and you all but cringe back. Xaden softens then, as if he's controlling himself around you, to not scare you off, "no. I want you in front. I cannot have you close to me, not during battle."
"But I--"
"I've already lost important people in my life Tala," Xaden cuts you off, "I cannot lose any more."
You bite down onto your lower lip so hard that you draw blood, and he notices, for he lets out s soft hiss, hand lifting to touch your lower lip.
"Don't," his murmur is a rasp. He tugs gently onto your lower lip, "you're hurting yourself."
You swallow and nod, trying not to get lost in the way Xaden's eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips.
Your chest tightens. The breath catches in your throat.
"You promise me you'll be careful?" you whisper.
His head dips once. His hand slides up the back of your nape, head dipping down towards yours until your noses brush.
You let out a strangled breath, body stilling in growing anticipation.
The moment hangs in mid-air. As if the world has stopped, as if everything has fallen away for that one, little pocket of time.
Your world is suddenly reduced to Xaden, and Xaden alone. His imposing presence, his scent that invades your nostrils. His warmth that surrounds you, causing your knees to buckle.
But his arms are there, slipping around your middle to hold you up. And with one, swift motion, Xaden bends down to kiss you.
It's like fireworks.
They explode behind your lids. You gasp, your body practically stumbling against his as a satisfied rumble echoes through Xaden's chest. He kisses you softly. Once. Twice. More and more and more until you're nothing but a breathless heap against him, fists curling over the material of his riding leathers as you all but fall victim to everything that is Xaden Riorson.
His hand tightens around your nape, sliding up to cradle your jaw as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. Longer. His tongue darts out, swiping against your lower lip in a tantalising request and you all but whimper against him, heart practically exploding out of your chest as you try to fight the overwhelming wave of feelings that crash through you like a tumultuous storm impossible to evade.
It's maddening. Addictive. And sexy, the way he kisses you like he knows exactly how to get you to respond to him. Pressing you even closer to his wall of muscle, a soft groan vibrates through his chest upon feeling you tremble in his grasp. As if he enjoys how you're unraveling for him.
He parts from you, murmurs against your mouth, "open up, doll," he rasps.
Then he's kissing you again, tongue pressing more insistently against your lips and letting out a stifled growl that vibrates through your very being when you finally part for him like melted butter.
"Fuck," he mutters against your mouth. You can only whimper in response, feeling his hand slide from your jaw, ghosting along your side to pin your hip to his. A possessive hold, a way to say you're mine.
It's hot. It makes your blood boil. It makes the world spin in all the best of ways.
His lips disconnect with yours at some point, traveling over your jawline as you all but tilt your head back in mercy. A soft gasp falls from your mouth, followed by a sharp whine that has you reddening to your toes, all because he's pressing dots upon dots of kisses along the column of your throat until he finds a patch of skin that he suckles on.
"Like that?" his murmur brushes against your skin, sending your brain into a haywire of lust and desire as he keeps on suckling at your sensitive spot.
You all but writhe against him, heat pooling in your tummy as you all but pant and breathe in staccato. You try to pull away when the feelings get a little too intense, but Xaden wants none of that, pinning you in an iron hold against his chest until you're a breathless heap.
"Xaden--" you stutter with ragged breaths. But he merely hums and proceeds to kiss his way back up your throat, nibbling along your jawline before finding your lips once more and kissing you with deep, passionate swipes of his tongue.
You're not sure how long you spend kissing Xaden like it's your last moment on earth together, but at some point he draws back, chest heaving and looking just as dishevelled as you feel -- which you're glad for, because honestly your brain is a scrambled mess of feelings and you're not sure where to place your heart.
His arms are still around you, thumb brushing along your hipbone through your healer uniform, and the heat of it causes you to flush bright red.
"That was..." you trail off, unsure of what to say, what to do.
What are you supposed to say in such a situation?
Clearly that means that he....he feels something for you?
He wouldn't be kissing you otherwise?
Or maybe--
Do riders do that?
Horror is an ice bucket that slaps you in the face.
Xaden, seemingly reading the shift in your features, can't help but chuckle before lifting his hand and flicking your forehead, "whatever's going on in that pretty little head, stop it now."
Your cheeks deepen with color, "sorry," you mutter, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze.
His thumb catches your jaw, tugs you up so that you have no choice but to look into those beautiful pools of onyx.
"You don't--do that right? With all the other riders...too..." you stammer, heart beating wildly out of your chest, "...or do you?"
Xaden stares at you for a solid minute.
And then, he bursts out laughing.
You gaze up at him, wondering if he's finally lost his mind. It takes him a moment to calm down, rubbing a hand over his face as he keeps on chuckling, "no little healer, I do not go around kissing every rider I see."
"I'm just asking," you protest with flushed cheeks, "Ridoc said you guys have sex all the time so--"
"So what?" his brow raises in that seductive, no--nonsense way of his and heat trickles through your tummy, "you think I go around fucking all my--"
"No!" You slap a hand over his mouth, mortified at his use of words, "Gods, you are so crude sometimes--"
Xaden just chuckles and kisses your palm. You yelp, jerking your arm away but he makes a grab for it, dragging it back to his lips before pressing another series of kisses along your knuckles.
You can't help but blush at the intensity in his eyes, at the seductive smirk along his lips, "stop looking at me like that," you mumble.
"Like what?" he grins against your hand.
You jerk your arm away once more and this time he allows it, grinning like a little boy while watching you make another grab for your pack and moving towards the doorway in an attempt to calm your flushed cheeks, the maddening beats of your heart.
"We're going to be late," you don't look at him for fear that you might run straight back into his arms. But before you can do anything else, you feel his fingers close around your forearm. He tugs you to him so that you all but fall into his chest, his arms wrapping around your frame in a gentle hug.
You're more than surprised. Xaden -- for what you've come to believe -- doesn't seem like the hugging type.
And yet, he's there, tucking his jaw atop your head and pinning you to his chest like he never wants to let go.
"You're safe with Liam," he murmurs against your hair, "I've given him strict orders to protect your life."
"He's not responsible for me," you mutter, "I can take care of myself--"
"You can barely hold a dagger," Xaden pulls back to look down at your face, eyebrows quirked up in that maddeningly attractive way of his, "I doubt you'll be able to kill anyone."
"Nobody said there had to be knives involved," you retort.
"Oh?" He smirks, "interesting."
You mumble out something along the lines of "stop making fun of me" before burying your face into his chest as emotion swells in your heart.
His arms tighten, lips finding the spot right atop your ear, "I'll see you on the other side."
You nod, not trusting your voice as you all but close your eyes and try to remember every crevice, every scent, every line of his body so that these memories can keep you company on nights when you feel like it gets a little too lonely.
For now, that will have to do.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
“Fuck it’s cold out here.”
It’s been no more than two hours since you’ve departed from the Riorson Manor, and needless to say the scrawny-looking cadet named Penn has been complaining ever since.
From what you'd gathered from Liam, he'd still been a fresh first-year who barely made the cut up the Gauntlet when they decided to fly out and join the rebellion. And while his values were all in the right place, Penn seemed like a spoilt child who still hadn't understood the gravity of the situation.
Either that, or he's an idiot.
"Will you stop complaining?" the other first-year who you suspect is named Abbigail, snaps at him. Her wild, unruly hair is practically untamed with the harsh winds blowing from the mountaintops and her face is half-covered with her knitted scarf, "it's bad enough we have to travel in this fucking storm without you whining like a baby."
"I would shut up but I can't feel my legs!" he hollers back from a few paces behind.
"You two shut up!" Garrick bellows. He whips around from his front position and sends them a glare so scary that even you duck behind Liam just in case he might burn you alive, "unless you want me to throw you off that cliff, which I will if you keep going!"
That does indeed shut them up.
"Didn't know he had it in him," is what you mutter behind Liam's back.
That causes the blonde to chuckle, "oh if only you'd seen him on mat. Everyone's afraid of him. I'd say some even more than Xaden."
That surprises you. Xaden is --if you don't know him -- someone that instills fear just by being present.
The trek is long and the road uneven. More often than not you find yourself stumbling across loose rocks and if not for Liam's steady hand that shoots out to catch you every single time, your body would've probably been rolled off that mountain already. The dragons are nowhere in sight, though Liam reassures you that they're circling the area and trying their best to lay low so as not to attract any attention from unwanted visitors.
You finally cross your first peak at around six in the evening before Garrick announces that you will be setting up camp for your first night. Liam helps you build your tent, a supportive and warm presence that bathes your side everywhere you go and for that you're glad, despite the fact that he feels more like a babysitter than a friend. Multiple times you've apologised only for him to shake his head and tell you that he'd do anything for Xaden, and if that means protecting you, then so be it.
"Besides," Liam flashes you that dimpled grin that would make any girl swoon, "you're good company. Wouldn't have it any other way."
The next day is just as long. Tedious and slow. Penn rolls his ankle the wrong way during the first hour and you lose some time on foot while bandaging him and wrapping his injured limb in a healing balm made of mint and fresh aloe. That takes away your lunch break, with Garrick passing along some snacks that will keep you fuelled with strict orders that if you stop you'll be cooked meat.
But it's on the third night that you encounter your first problem.
It's already night time when you spot a flicker of a flame shining in the distance, a dot against the blank canvas of black. Garrick stiffens, causing everyone else to pause behind him.
He holds out a steady hand, eyes glued on the piece of flame shining like a beacon.
"Is that someone from the previous squad?" Penn whispers.
"Don't know," Liam murmurs back, "but they'd be stupid to light something in the dark like that."
"What if it's an ambush?" you mutter.
Liam throws you a glance, "not impossible."
"Liam, stay here with the squad," Garrick's eyes stay glued on the flicker of light, "I'll go see what that is."
"Got it."
You hold your breath, chest tightening with anxiety as you watch Garrick's form dissolve into the depths of the dark mountainside. Your heart beats like a hummingbird and you swear everyone can hear it, clamping your hands by your sides to stop them from shaking.
For once, it seems everyone is on the same side. Even loudmouthed Penn seems subdued as you all wait with bated breath.
And then, Garrick's voice breaks through the night.
"Run!"
All hell breaks loose.
You barely have time to register anything when Liam's arm snatches you against him. He tugs and you follow in a scrambling heap of tangled legs as he sprints for it. You follow, barely able to keep up with his long strides as bushes and leaves whack you across your shoulders and face.
Liam rounds the rocky edge and ducks through an opening, dragging you with him as a flurry of footsteps echo from behind. He finds a crevice and doesn’t hesitate to shove you into the hole so that you tumble straight into the rocky darkness before he follows suit, as do Penn and Abbigail. You hear Garrick yell out, followed by a dragon’s roar as a searing burst of flame projects through the midnight air and you cringe back, feeling Liam move in front of you in an attempt to shield you from whatever incoming enemy.
Finally, you spot Garrick’s frame as he slides through the opening. He grunts, grabbing hold of a huge piece of rock before jamming it into the hole and swathing you all in the dark.
“What was that?” Penn’s voice echoes from your right side, trembling with the aftermath of adrenaline and fear.
Your own heart is beating a hundred miles an hour, and you wince when a light suddenly blooms into the cave. It’s Garrick, holding up a conjured mage light from his magic.
“Think it was an injured wyvern,” he says, “the dragons sensed it. But there were no venin in the vicinity, which is weird considering everything.”
“That’s not possible,” Liam says from beside you. You notice he still as a protective arm in front of your body, “the wyvern can’t survive without the venin.”
“It was injured. Looks like it was left to die,” Garrick rubs at his jaw thoughtfully, “anyway, I asked my dragon to relay the message to the other groups. If there’s an injured wyvern around, that means they’re not too far. And if they get wind of this…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. It’s clear what might happen if the venin find their trial.
Fear, jet cold and icy, runs down the back of your spine and makes a grab for your throat, squeezing tight.
“So do we wait here? We’re losing precious time,” says Penn.
“Until the dragons say it’s clear,” Garrick replies, “we do not move.”
“But what if they find us?” Asks Abbigail, fear laced in her tone.
“They won’t,” Garrick says firmly, “we just need to wait it out. The next squad is not far off anyway. They can give us reinforcements if needed.”
The wait is long, and dark, and suffocating. You’re not a fan of the dark, and definitely not a fan of cramped spaces. But tiredness takes over and soon you find yourself drifting off until a hand shakes you awake a few hours later.
You realize, with a furious blush, that you’ve been snoring onto Liam’s back all this time. You straighten and splutter out, “I’m—so sorry!—“
“It’s okay,” he grins, “just don’t tell Riorson or he might actually kill me.”
You blush even more and he laughs before motioning you towards the opening.
The coast is clear and the squad resumes their trek. You push through silently despite the fact that your legs are literally screaming in protest. Abbigail is a little more vocal about her fatigue, complaining and moaning every time Garrick says “just a little more.”
It takes you another two days before you finally reach the edge of the mountain range and by then the air has warmed somewhat into a tropical breeze as you look out over the top peak and take in the silent magnificence of the landscape that splays beyond your vision, a colourful painting of green and brown and orange, a stark contrast to the snow-ridden peaks you've been seeing up till now.
It feels like summer, and already you can feel yourself relax amidst the low-hanging clouds drifting through the sky in pink-tinted hues.
"Well," Garrick's eyes are sweeping over the landscape as he poises his hands along his hips, "I guess we shall call that home."
Home.
You look back at the mountain range, the sea of trees, and a knot tightens in your stomach.
It doesn't feel like home yet. But it will have to do.
Xaden doesn't believe in second chances until he meets you.
genre: slowburn, fluff, suggestive content, mentions of death, violence and abuse. Reader is a Healer.
a/n: Happens after the fight at Resson. Don't come after me. I love Xaden and Violet and this is just for shits and giggles so if you don't like it please just ignore it. Also, let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! This one's gonna be quite a long one <3
part one | part two
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
Broken heart. That’s the only thing that hurts.
Surely it must be that.
Because that’s all he can feel.
Xaden Riorson stares out into the beautiful green valley, the lush lands of Navarre filling up his peripheral in shades of green and brown and orange. Navarre has always been magnificent to set eyes upon, had always been a land filled with crackling magic that he can taste in the air. If one had to describe this land, they would simply not find the words, for this landscape was impossible to describe with words. So many times people have tried, and yet no one has ever been able to capture it the way Xaden believes it to be true.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because the love of his life is gone. And he wishes to be gone too.
Do not dwell in your grief, Shadow Wielder.
Sgaeyl’s lush tone is a caress against the back of his mind. A soothing lullaby that makes him tilt his head up to the sky.
You are grieving just as much as I am, he replies.
Yes, but unfortunately I have someone to take care of, she huffs gently, the sound non-committal, barely aggressive. Totally unlike Sgaeyl if he has to be honest, she needs me.
How is she?
She does not want to talk to anyone. Has been hiding inside the Vale ever since.
Understandable.
Yes, Sgaeyl chortles once more, but I feel like it is high time I drag her out.
It’s only been three weeks, his lips curl up slightly.
Precisely my point, Shadow Wielder.
Her presence leaves his bond like the softest shadows giving way to sunlight and Xaden lets out a soft sigh, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head up to the bright blue sky. A few dragons are flying overhead, the sight surprisingly peaceful amidst the tormented waves of his heart.
It’s been three weeks since he’s seen Violet die in his arms. And yet, he still cannot fathom it, cannot believe that it is real. He must be dreaming; wrapped up in a horrible nightmare that seems to last forever. That’s what he hopes this is anyway. But every step forward, every injury that twinges at his movement makes him realize that this, indeed, is reality.
And that he’s still alive, somehow, even despite it all. That his dragon had made it, no matter how broken she was.
“Hey, they’re ready.”
He turns to find a red-eyed Dain with his arms crossed over his chest and looking ashen grey. His lips were turned down into a firm line and even at this distance Xaden can spot the bruises under his eyes.
Dain lifts a brow, “are you coming or what?”
It takes him a moment. But Xaden finally hauls himself up from his spot, dusting off his pants as he looks at the brunette.
“So?” He asks gruffly.
Dain’s eyebrows dip into a frown, “well, I suppose that’s the best they could do for her.”
“Meaning?” Xaden prods as he strides past, not glancing back to check whether Dain is following. The crunch of his boots join him in the muddy courtyard.
“That Violet would’ve hated all the fuss.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of Xaden’s lips despite it all, “you’re right,” he croaked out, “she would’ve hated it.”
It hadn't been in his plans to bury the love of his life so early on. He imagined a wedding, living in his birthplace with her to rule by his side, having a myriad of children and learning how to let his heart love again after so long, after years of hiding and painfully facing the people that have hurt him and called him a monster.
Violet was the one that had chosen him, for who he was. Not for who he had been before, not for who he will be. But for what she saw in front of her eyes.
"And he'd lost her. It's like a curse, to still be living on this earth after she's gone, like Malek is laughing his face, scolding him and scoffing at his stupidity. Like, really? Did Xaden really think that he had a chance at a happy ending?
"Hey," Dain's voice brings him back to reality. He feels a warmth of a hand landing on his shoulder and stiffens automatically.
"It'll pass," says the brunette. He sounds less certain than he ever did, and for once Xaden doesn't feel like fighting with him, "it will hurt. But it will pass."
Bullshit, is what Xaden wants to say.
Because how in the world will it pass when every step he takes, every waking moment is haunted by Violet's absence?
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
... 3 MONTHS LATER ...
"You again?"
You don't even try to mask the surprise in your voice at this point. There stands the raven-haired man with the multitude of tattoos and the dark, onyx eyes that makes you want to grab your things and make a run for your life with one mere glance.
That's probably the third time this week that he's made his appearance at the Healer's Quadrant, and fuck knows you're tired of having to patch him up only for him to go and play swords so that he could re-open them once more, wasting all of your efforts in the process.
The dark-haired Rider steps in, dark gaze flickering past the empty beds as if assessing the area, before he finally makes his way towards an empty bed. You sigh, following after him and grabbing onto one of your first-aid kits on the way as you watch him settle onto the hard mattress without so much as a sound.
A man of such strength, and yet, looks like he's been broken from the inside out.
He doesn't speak. Doesn't bother acknowledging you. You've come to terms with his rudeness, but it still irks you, that he can waltz in here and ask for your services without batting an eye.
"So," you plop the first-aid kit atop the bed table next to him and cross your arms over your chest, giving him a once-over, "show me. What is it this time?"
The dark-haired rider flicks his gaze towards your face, a brief moment of assessment passes through his eyes. He then reaches for his tunic and in one swift movement, tugs it over his head.
You gasp.
There's blood everywhere.
On his neck. Along his collarbones. Slathered down his chest that you can barely make out where the wound starts and ends. You gape at him for a full five seconds. And then, your mouth snaps shut and you shake your head incredulously.
"What--" you stop yourself. What good will it do to ask him if he barely acknowledges you? "Gods, why in the world would you do this to yourself?"
You don't wait for him to respond before getting to work on his injury, not even flinching under his dark stare. He's been doing that a lot ever since he started coming here more frequently; staring you down as if he wants to make sure you know what you're doing, silently monitoring your progress and judging your skills.
It's almost like he has a lot to say. But doesn't.
And you want to ask. Except...he's a rider.
And riders...well, they always have secrets.
Secrets that you prefer not to know.
His gash is big this time, bigger than you've ever seen it to be. It runs all the way from his right shoulder blade down to the middle of his chest, almost like someone had slashed at him with a knife. You take your time to clean it up, wiping down the blood and disinfecting the wound as best as you can with some alcohol. At some point, you have him bite down onto a towel as you start sowing the skin closed and he grits his teeth under your ministrations, grunting with every poke of needle that pierces through skin.
“Sorry,” you mutter out when he swallows up what you feel might be a groan of pain. You’re not unfamiliar with its sensation and nod your head towards the bottle of whisky on the nightstand.
He does as told, swiping up the bottle with his good arm and taking a huge gulp.
Finishing up the last of the stitches, you cut off the rest of the thread and straighten up all while trying to avoid his very naked chest. The scent of blood is almost nauseating that you have to turn away.
“Right,” you feel awkward, his dark eyes are unsettling. They cause goosebumps to rise up along your arms and you continue on in a blunder, “no training for you until the stitches are out. It’s going to take a week unless you come in for mending. But Nolon’s a bit busy at the moment.”
“What’s his earliest slot?”
Your eyes snap up in surprise.
You’ve never actually heard him and his voice takes you by surprise. Rich, gravelly. With a depth that sends a fuzzy feeling down to your stomach.
“Uhm,” you can’t help but stammer when he’s looking at you with those deep, infinite onyx eyes, “early morning, I suppose. He’s up at five.”
“Fine,” the rider straightens up, grabbing ahold of his tunic while striding towards the entrance. He calls out over hos shoulder, “tell him not to be late.”
“Wait—“ you follow after him, “I need a name.”
And that’s when he pauses by the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder with furrowed brows and you swear you spot the slightest curve of his lips.
“Tell him,” he says, “it’s for Xaden Riorson.”
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
“You need to find another hobby other than getting yourself beaten up.”
You let out an annoyed sigh as you swipe at his brow. Once again, this rider — Xaden Riorson— is here so that you can patch up his wounds and honestly, it’s starting to get a little infuriating.
Xaden lets out a sound between a huff and a laugh, and you take it as progress. Between the two of you, he hasn’t bothered speaking to you again. But that doesn’t deter you from telling him off when you can.
This time it’s his face. Bruised and battered in so many places that you can’t count that he looks like a walking artwork. Not that he seems to mind though. On the contrary, it’s almost like he revels in the fact that he hurts himself, as if he does it on purpose just to fall victim to the pain. As if it’s the only way he can feel alive.
Not that you’ve asked. You’ve healed too many riders to know that asking questions is not something that you can do. Not with him, not when they’re always so filled with secrets like they’re the ones solely responsible for the success of Basgiath and the powering of the wards.
Pompus jackasses, that’s what your friend Kaede would say.
Finally clean of all the blood splattered over his face, you dab some healing ointment onto a cotton paid and gently dab it along his cheek, the bridge of his nose, all the way down to his jawline where you can still see the scrape of a wound.
Xaden hisses, his beautiful face turning away on impulse.
You tut, “don’t move.”
He tenses, but does as he’s told until you are finished.
You let out a soft breath as you pull back and throw away your cotton pads, “alright. You’re done,” tiredness lines your voice. It’s been a rough week and you’re inclined to dump yourself in your bed for the rest of the weekend, “I’d hold off on sparring for now.”
You pause then, eyes flickering back to his and trying not to gaze at his beautiful, broad set of shoulders, the muscles cording and rippling whenever his arm bunches.
“But what I say doesn’t matter…does it?”
His dark eyes lift to yours.
Something in his jaw locks. He averts his gaze.
“Look,” a soft sigh escapes your lips as you proceed to disinfect your tools, “I don’t know why you’d want to do all this—“ you motion towards his body then, “—to yourself. But it’s not helping.”
He stays quiet.
“And this is my quadrant. It’s my duty to mend anyone who walks through these doors,” you continue, “but you’re doing this to yourself on purpose. And I can’t just keep mending you.”
Xaden’s eyes lock back onto yours.
You flinch. Look down.
Because dear gods, he is terrifying.
Slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey, he stands and it’s only then that you notice how tall he is, how imposing. Because you keep on craning your neck and— bless Malek, what in god’s name is this man made of?
He takes one step towards you.
Then another.
And another.
Until you’re forced to look up into his eyes and all breath ceases you at the intensity in his dark pools of onyx.
When he speaks next, his voice is rough and deep, striking a chord through your tummy.
“Do you know who I am?”
You blink, “uhm—no?”
You wonder if it’s your imagination that plays tricks on you— the way the corner of his lips curl up to the side.
Not a smile. But close enough.
“I’m not going to repeat myself,” he leans in close, so close that you lurch back on instinct. Dark, black onyx glimmers with gold as they clash with your brown ones, “stay away from me.”
You swallow. Clamp your lips together but hold his gaze in defiance, “you’re the one coming to me,” your voice falters at the coldness in his eyes, “…if I remember correctly.”
He makes a sound, low in his throat, like he can’t quite believe you, before swivelling around and striding out the door without another word. You’re still clutching at your medicine, the vials clustered against your chest, and let out an exasperated huff.
What a jackass, you can’t help but think to yourself.
And you’re stupid enough to mend his every whim, just because he’s got a cute face.
He doesn’t come back for the rest of the week, which is good because you’ve seen enough of him to last you a lifetime. The weekend finally comes around and you take this moment to scurry out into the courtyard on Saturday afternoon, enjoying the way the summer breeze cools off your sweat-slicked skin while munching on some fruit you’d carried out from your dining hall.
That’s when you see them. The riders.
They’re dresses in all black as usual, like bands of shadows moving across the field with the kind of silent confidence only reserved towards their kind. You huff and look away, but glance back in realization that you know one of them.
It’s Xaden, in all his six foot four glory, striding through the courtyard and looking pissed as hell.
The conversation increases to distinct voices as they approach and you quickly turn your face away, proceeding to stuff your face to distract yourself from the fact that you’re not technically supposed to be eavesdropping on whatever they say.
But to be true, you were here before them. So surely they should be the ones moving, right?
“—cannot just abandon them. We’ve worked too hard for this,” one of them is talking. He’s smaller in build, but still as impressive, with young features and a trimmed beard along his jawline, “we must find another way.”
“You’re being very loud Bodhi,” the other one, with the broader shoulders and an easy smile, quips up, “need a microphone?”
The younger one, Bodhi, just scowls at his friend, “we’re far from the Riders. No one will understand anyway.”
“That doesn’t mean you can scream it at the top of your lungs—“
“I wasn’t screaming—“
“Both of you shut up,” Xaden finally snaps.
You flinch from where you sit, sneaking a raisin into your mouth and hoping against hope that he walks straight past you.
He does, and you wait with bated breath until the three figures disappear behind the stone bridge that will lead them back to the Rider’s Quadrant before finally allowing yourself to collapse against your picnic mat, heart galloping so fast you swear you can feel yourself having a heart attack.
Gods. Whoever he is that Xaden Riorson, you decide that he’s not good news and that you should stay away from him. As far as you possibly can.
Alas though, it seems like Malek is out for your soul today, for as the evening sun slowly slips away beneath the shadows of the castle, you’re about to pack up your things when you feel a restraining pull against your arm.
You look down, letting out a sharp yelp upon noticing that there’s a tendril of black halting your movements.
What in Malek’s name—
“I thought I told you to stay away.”
His voice prickles with anger. The kind that rumbles through him, causes your breath to stutter in a gasp.
You turn your head— very slowly— until your eyes skid up to find Xaden leaning against one of the trees.
You tug on your arm but the tendril of black is more resistant, weaving around your entire elbow, “let me go,” you try to sound firm.
Xaden pushes off the tree in one swift motion before closing the gap between your bodies. His eyes are hard and steely as they search your features for any kind of tell that you’re lying.
“You’re going to tell me exactly what you heard,” he murmurs softly, “and I’ll consider letting you go unscathed.”
“I’m not bound by your rules,” you stammer out, heart banging wildly inside your chest, “you cannot just order me around—“
The shadows surge up and make a grab at your neck. You yelp as it tightens around your throat, eyes widening with panic.
“I can,” warning lines his tone, “so speak.”
“I didn’t hear anything I swear,” you stutter through words, helplessly fighting against the shadows pinning you in place, “I just— I was having a picnic and I saw you guys coming from the forest. That’s all, I didn’t hear anything of substance. And—And anyway, I wouldn’t even understand half of what you’re saying—“
The vines crawl up your nape and tighten even more, causing you to gasp out as fear trickles through you.
You struggle desperately as tears line your eyes, “please please, I promise I’m not lying, I—“
And then, the shadows fall away.
You crumble to your knees and gasp for breath, chest heaving as logic and reason make it back to you like finally breaking through cold icy waters after being deprived of oxygen. You don’t notice Xaden approaching until you spot his booted feet just mere meters from yours and you quickly shoot, stumbling and falling onto your backside as you do so.
How pathetic. You wish for the ground to swallow you up right there and then.
“Why are you out here alone?”
Your eyes snap up to his face, taking note of the rigid line of his jaw.
You swallow thickly and measure your words carefully, “I have some…time off.”
You realize how lame it sounds that you’re out here alone, enjoying what you call a picnic when it’s basically just you and your sandwich. And from the cocked brow that Xaden gives you, it’s clear he’s thinking of the same thing.
“Alone?” He echoes.
“Alone, yes.”
A pause. Then, his eyes narrow.
“Why?”
You blink up at him, slowly stumbling to your feet as you do so, “what do you mean— why?”
Keeping hold of his onyx eyes, you don’t fail to miss the flash of pity surging through his gaze. You quickly look away, a rock forming in your throat at the pathetic picture you probably paint for him.
“Don’t think that the Riders’ quadrant is the only place they call hell,” is what you finally murmur out after a long, prolonged silence, “the Healer’s quadrant is not as nice as it seems to be.”
“I never said that.” He said, tone clipped.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
For a second, you spot the surprise on his face. That quickly disintegrates into forced neutrality as he replies, “it sound suspicious, is all.”
You can’t help the exasperated sigh that escapes, “honestly, can you just give me a break? Are all riders such dicks?”
The corner of his mouth tugs upward, “apologies, on behalf of the rider’s quadrant.”
“I’m not here to kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you huff, “otherwise I would’ve done it already.”
He hums, cocks his head, “fair point.”
“So…am I off the hook?”
“For now.”
“For now?” You frown, “what does that mean?”
“It means I’m still keeping an eye on you,” he steps back then, throwing a hand up in a casual wave as he turns away, “don’t make me regret it.”
“Regret what?” Annoyance bristles through you as you call after him.
His next set of words send a chill down your spine.
“Not killing you.”
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
“You did not say that to him.”
You’re halfway through spearing your chicken with a knife while your one and only friend, Kaede, looks at you like you’ve just told him you’d set the riders’ quadrant on fire.
“What?” You frown at the way he’s looking at you, all horrified eyes and a look of utter disbelief in his eyes, “he was annoying.”
“Tala, do you even know who this man is?” Kaede’s eyes are as wide as saucers, which keep on growing bigger and bigger with every word that leaves her mouth, “he’s Xaden Riorson. Doesn’t that ring a bell?”
Should it?
“Fen Riorson’s son?!” Kaede waves his fork around with barely restrained frustration, “the one who practically brought war to Basgiath?! He led the Rebellion?!”
It doesn’t make sense at first.
Until it does.
The pieces fall into place and you suck a breath as panic barrels into you without warning.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Fen Riorson ‘s son.
You’ve been insulting Fen Riorson’s son.
“And if that isn’t enough to scare you away, this guy is practically bonded to one of the most ferocious dragons Navarre has ever seen,” Kaede continues in a flurry of words, “you cannot just casually address him— scratch that, just don’t talk to him full stop unless you want to be charred to bits.”
There are countless rumours regarding the youngest Riorson and you’ve heard of too many to count ever since your conscription. But it hadn’t clicked back then, that the rider with a broken heart and moping around the Healers Quadrant would be the same merciless, flesh-killing vagabond that would be spoken of in hushed murmurs down the corridor.
But the dark eyes. The cold, clipped tone in which he spoke. The way he held himself, like a weapon and as though ready for any surprise attack. As though he was born to kill.
A shiver runs up your spine as dread slowly curls into your stomach.
“Oh my god,” Kaede is looking at you like you’ve grown an additional head, eyes wide, “oh my god,” he breathes and starts fanning himself as he shakes his head, “you—you didn’t have a clue, did you?”
You bite your lip, trying your best to force your dinner down even though you feel like it might come right back up at this rate.
"Stay the hell away from that guy, Tala," Kaede tuts, "he literally screams danger."
You hum in response, ducking your head and hoping against hope that Xaden Riorson doesn’t appear before you ever again after that last encounter.
Alas, for some unknown reason, he seems to turn up at the exact time your shift starts. You see him standing the double oak doors and quickly slip behind one of the makeshift curtains for privacy, motioning for one of your classmates to take him instead with the excuse that you need to re-arrange the medicine box.
But she comes to fetch you ten minutes later in the storage room.
“That rider is looking for you, Tala,” your classmate, Ariel, says as she props open the door.
Your grip tightens on the bottles in your arms, “why?” You mutter aloud more to yourself than to her.
She shrugs, “only Malek knows. But he’s got a nasty bruise on his lip. It’s split open.”
You all but storm back into the Healer’s room with barely restrained anger only to spot the said Rider decked in his flight leathers still, his onyx eyes finding yours like he’s been waiting for you all along.
“You’re avoiding me,” he states when you come close enough to hear. His face is a cold, impassive mask that makes you want to run for the hills.
You swallow thickly and avert your eyes, focusing on the wound instead, “I was busy. Someone else could’ve tended to your wound.”
It takes a long moment for him to answer. His eyes are so intense they practically bear holes through your face, “I don’t trust anyone.”
You blink in surprise, “and you trust me? After what you’ve done to me in the courtyard?”
Amusement curls at the corner of his lips and something in his gaze lightens, “had to make sure you weren’t bluffing.”
Anger simmers through your stomach, but you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as you set about fussing over his injury. Before he has time to process, press the cotton pad filled with disinfectant to his split lip.
Xaden tenses but makes no noise, though it’s clear that it hurts as much as it should. Satisfaction curls through you at his lack of response, glad that it’s gotten him to shut up at least.
You hate people like him. Who walk around with all the power, knowing that others fear him just because of his goddamn name.
You hate people like him, who believe that everyone owes him the truth just because.
It’s not until you’re almost done with his wound that Xaden speaks. By then, most people have left the Ward in favour of grabbing dinner, leaving you alone with Navarre’s most impressive warrior and your fingers are shaking as you force yourself to finish up as quickly as possible.
“You’re afraid of me.”
He says it like a statement. Not a question.
You freeze underneath his stare. Hating how your heart does a small flutter at the intensity in his eyes.
“No I’m not,” you let out a small laugh, trying your best not to sound shaky, “why would you say that?”
He sends you a look that says he’s not convinced, “is there another reason why you sent someone else to clean my wound?”
“Like I said— I was busy. Packing up the medicine.”
“And yet, you look like you’re ready to bolt.”
Your eyes snap up to his and flinch. Your heart drops to your stomach at the cold, calculating way his features are set in stone.
You’re literally seconds away from bolting.
“Why—“ you bite at the inside of your cheek and forced your hands to keep going, to not let yourself fall apart underneath his stony countenance, “why are you doing this to me?”
Your voice is shaky. It gives away to the fear you feel but you can’t help it. You are scared of him. Because these hands can kill you. Can practically rip your throat apart if he wanted to.
You stumble back on impulse but you realise you can’t go any further when there’s a shadow curling around the back of your calf.
The hold is firm. Not tight, but it keeps you there and your horrified eyes go back up to Xaden as you try to squirm against whatever magic trick he’s doing.
“What— let me go,” your hands go up to try anything, but shadows are there too, gripping your wrists and caging you on the spot. Fear curdles your stomach like spilt milk, “what are you doing?!”
Xaden still sits. He leans forward, hands clasping together as his elbows press against his knees. He’s searching your face, it’s clear he’s trying to figure out whether you’re still against him or on his team.
“I’m having a hard time,” he says it low, slowly so that you hear every word. His tenor is laced with danger, the kind that makes you want to shrivel, “believing that you told me the truth back then.”
“What?! No! I told you the truth!”
“And yet you avoid me.”
“Because you scare me!”
The words roll off your tongue before you can stop them. He looks at you with mild surprise, your wide, terrified eyes meeting his as dread coils in your stomach.
Fuck. You’re fucked.
Cooked for good.
He’s going to feed you to his dragon.
He’s going to burn you to ash.
Oh who are you kidding? One twist of this weird dark vine thing around your neck and snap it in half.
You’d be dead in a heartbeat.
And then, just when you think he might pulverize you with a flick of his fingers—
The shadows fall away.
You gasp.
Fall to your knees, chest heaving from the aftermath of this near-death incident. It takes you every ounce of self-restraint not to throw up on Xaden’s boots.
He leans down so that you’re face to face with him, dark eyes locked on yours like he can’t quite figure you out. Like he’s trying to read you.
“I’m not the one you should be scared of,” he says coldly, “I don’t know what you’ve heard. About me, who I am. And truthfully, I don’t give a damn. But you will trust me when I say this—“
“Trust you?” You gasp for breath, heave and stammer. Sweaty strands of hair stick to your cheeks, your lip. You forcefully brush them away, “trust you? When all you do is—is threaten me?”
“Yes,” he answers flatly, “because you don’t want to know what’s outside these walls.”
He doesn’t give you time to reply, already straightening and walking out from where he’d come from. You wait for his footsteps to recede until there’s nothing but the empty walls that ring with silence, and that’s when you slowly get to your feet and try not to let your fear consume you whole, shaky legs and all.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
What is wrong with him?
That's all that's been running through Xaden's mind the moment he's left you behind, gasping and reeling, on the Healer Quadrant's floor. He strides forward without looking back, calling for his shadows to mask his footsteps so that he blends into the night and does not stop, not until he reaches the Rider's Quadrant, all the way to his room.
It's only when he locks his door and seals it with a silent locking spell that he falls back against its surface, letting out a staggered breath that he's been holding all along.
Why is he being like this?
She torments you, Sgaeyl's lazy drawl curls around his bond, a midnight shadow shimmering past his closed lids, why is that so, Shadow Wielder?
"I can't read her," he whispers, jaw clenching at the thought.
Maybe there is a reason for that, Sgaeyl answers.
What if she's a traitor? Or a spy? Xaden's thoughts reel to a stop as panic takes over, what if she's one of them?
She is too clueless, too human to be even considered a worthy opponent, Sgaeyl huffs as though the idea is laughable, she can barely stand on her own two feet.
Something’s off, Xaden tells his dragon.
You are overthinking it.
You underestimate my instincts.
She is just a girl. A naive, stupid girl.
And what if she's not? He walks over to his window and peers out into the darkness. With no one in sight and only the lamps shining over the courtyard, the place almost looks peaceful. A pang of sorrow washes through his heart at the memory of the blissful nights he'd spend by Violet's side.
He would give anything to bring her back.
Gods, he'd sacrifice himself to Malek if that's all that it took.
But life unfortunately does not work that way. And he's left to suffer alone. Maybe it's fate, it's to atone for all the sins he's done. After all, he's not a hero. Just someone who wants to make things right despite being branded evil.
And yet, he would’ve spilled all of his secrets, just because he can’t seem to read you. Just because whenever he tries to probe your mind all he gets is a massive brick wall that seems unsurmountable.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he gets a whiff of your emotions whenever they’re strong enough to overwhelm your control. But most times, most times it’s as though he’s talking to an invisible wall.
And that frustrates him to no end.
So preoccupied he is with his own mind that he doesn’t hear the soft knock on his door. Until Garrick’s voice echoes from the other side:
“You in there, Riorson?”
Xaden’s head tilts up. A moment later, he unlocks the door to find the other young man sporting an expression he cannot quite place.
“What is it?” Xaden asks roughly.
Garrick pushes past him and enters the room, hand carding through his hair as he does, “there’s been an attack from venin. Another neighboring village close to our borders.”
Xaden instantly straightens, alert, “how many dead?”
“Don’t know yet. The Fliers didn’t reach in time. Village was already in ruins when they got there," Garrick presses his lips together to draw a thin line, "they need more weapons. It's the only way."
"And how do you suggest we do that when we're already stealing as much as we can?" Xaden snaps, "You saw what happened at Resson. They know we're up to something. They just don't know what."
"So we're just going to let them die? Is that what we were doing all this time? Is this the reason we're risking our lives to smuggle weapons out?" Garrick's voice rises and Xaden clenches his jaw in response, "we need to get away from here, Xaden. I say we sneak out and disappear before they even realise it."
"They're going to send me away soon," the dark-haired shadow wielder leans back against his desk, his muscles aching from the tiredness of sparring for three whole hours before this. He rubs at his jaw in thought, "they're watching me very closely. I cannot move against them. Not right now."
"So then?" desperation lines his friend's voice, "what do we do?"
Xaden settles his dark eyes over his friend and his tone suggests that whatever he says is final, "we lay low. I'll scout for information once I'm sent to the outpost. For now, don't do anything that might attract attention."
Garrick is clearly not convinced, but who is he to fight his leader when all Xaden has done was for the good of his people?
It's only when his friend leaves with a soft grumble of approval that Xaden finally allows himself to breathe. He washes away the grime and dirt from his earlier training before collapsing onto his bed, trying not to think too much about the missing warmth that used to welcome him in the form of his lover.
Do not blame yourself, Sgaeyl murmurs from the other end of the bond, go to sleep, shadow-wielder. You'll need it.
He isn't the type to listen to his dragon. Under any normal circumstances, Xaden would find himself pacing his bedroom floor as he tries to piece together solutions and strategies the next few moves.
But he finds he cannot find the energy to. Or maybe that isn't it. There's been something off with him ever since Violet's death and he's pretty certain it's his broken heart.
And so he closes his eyes and allows the shadow to wrap him up in its arms.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
A month goes by. Then two. Then three.
Before you know it, you've placed Xaden Riorson at the back of your mind and hoped that he wouldn't appear before you again like a nightmare you'd rather forget.
Soon enough the weather turns cold, the air crisp with the north winds as fall takes its place. The trees turn beautiful shades of orange and yellow and russet brown, the foliage transforming the land into an array of warm colours that always manages to catch your breath. You barely get glimpses of it though, in-between study sessions, theory courses and being on shift at the Healers' Quadrant for Infantry and Riders, there is barely any time to rest, the urgency of having Healers deployed all along Navarre a rumour that only seems to expand tenfold as the weeks go on.
You're dispatched to one of the outposts of Samara as part of your Healer Theory module, in order to shadow the third-years that are currently stationed there, and it is no surprise that you have no other choice to get to that outpost other than on the back of a dragon. That is, unless you want to take the travel route which takes more than enough time for the entire outpost to be torched to pieces before your arrival.
Needless to say, the dragons make you want to run for it. That, or pee your pants.
"Don't worry," one of the riders whose face seems eerily familiar, steps forward with an easy smile, "they won't bite. Unless we ask them too. Or if you piss them off."
"No eye contact," says another blonde rider, "don't squirm. Don't move until we tell you to, unless you want to be charred for this night's dinner."
You swear you can feel your heart pound when the familiar-looking rider steps towards you, an arm outstretched in a friendly gesture, "Come on then," his voice is deep and rich, like that of gravel, and it's quite the torture how handsome he is when the beast that huffs behind him is more than ten meters tall and has teeth as big as your entire body.
You stretch out a shaky hand, eyes darting to the ground and gluing there the entire time he helps you climb the scales. They are smooth and warm under your touch, not a sensation that you had expected. You reach the top seat and the rider practically hauls himself up with the ease of a monkey before reaching out for your hand.
You take it, breath stuttering when he hauls you up like you weigh nothing before instructing you to sit right behind him, hands locked around his waist.
"Hold on tight. You don't want to fall off," he says, sneaking a peek at you from behind his shoulder with another grin, "my name's Garrick Tavis. This is Chradh. He's usually nice, though I doubt he likes strangers."
You can't help but flinch when you feel the dragon rumble a growl from deep inside its belly.
Garrick tips his head back in laughter, "I'm joking. He's telling me off for frightening you."
And with a final wink, his dragon launches into the sky.
Your scream is lost within the winds that howl through your ears and on impulse you just hold onto Garrick for dear life. Your arms are an iron grip that don't cease, not even when you finally spot Samara from the distance.
He helps you down like a gentleman, holding onto your hand and grabbing your waist to lift you from his dragon and settling you on solid ground.
You blush, stumbling back while you mumble out, "th--thank you."
"Pleasure's all mine," he grins with sparkling eyes, "what's your name again? Sorry, I didn't even ask."
"Tala Huang," you mumble out. You can still hear your heart pounding inside your ribcage, and you're surprised he cannot hear it too.
"Well, it was nice to fly with you, Tala Huang."
It isn't until evening time, after you're all showered and glowing from the warmth of the baths, settled into the Healer's common room while you wait for your shift to begin, that you come face to face with none other than the one person you were trying so hard to avoid.
You practically jolt up from your seat, eyes wide, "wh--what are you doing here?"
Xaden cocks a brow and god does he know it makes him hot. Your face flames as he strides in, dark brows furrowed as his eyes look you up and down like he's not quite sure what to do with you here.
You back up unconsciously, the back of your knees hitting the soft mattress. Words dry up at the back of your throat.
He cocks his head to the side, "I'll have you know that I was the one dispatched to Samara."
"You're--" your brain reels with shock at that information, "you're a graduate? You--You've been here all this time?"
"Why?" he takes a step closer, "miss me?" his lips curl up into a smirk.
You frown and hope he can't spot your soft blush, "no."
Turning away to busy your hands with the medicine box, you wait for him to sit atop one of the beds before treading over to him with more reluctance than necessary.
"So, what do you need?" you ask while taking out your disinfectant and finding your cotton pads. A mere habit now, one that you've developed because of him.
Xaden's eyes are still on you, flickering across your features as though trying to read you.
Then, he turns away slowly. Almost hesitant as he lifts the edge of his shirt to show you his back.
You gasp at the huge, gaping wound sizzling with blood. It's ghastly, like a creature has chomped onto his skin and wrenched it away. And it must hurt like hell, surely.
"What in Malek's name..." your words trail off as your eyes find his face. But his is set in stone, jaw ticking and body tense.
"Don't ask," he grumbles.
You take his advice and get to work, the silence enveloping you like a gentle hum as the wind— muffled by the windowpanes — echoes through the stone walls.
It’s impossible to to admire the said rider when he’s sitting right in front of you; his chest is broader than most men you’ve seen, not to forget that he’a built like a goddamn fortress. Every single muscle in him cords and bunches with every movement, like a sinuous dance that makes your mouth water. You breathe out through your nose and grip the cotton pads a little tighter as you clean around his wound, trying not to blatantly stare at his abs despite the fact that they’re right there.
You’re not immune to men, and you’re not all that innocent either. Throughout your first-year it was safe to say that you had a flirtation going on with one of the cadets from Infantry. But that had soon turned to dust the moment he’d told you he hadn’t wanted any kids and that women should stay in the kitchens where they belonged, just like his mother had. After all, you’re here for the long ride, not for a vacation hookup, as amazing as it sounds. That, and the fact that you did not work your ass off just to be stuck home while your husband is out making a career for himself.
With all the Healer preparation exams, the late nights, the continuous shifts in the Infirmary, you’d practically closed yourself off to any romantic adventures lest you failed to pass your exams.
But by gods, just one glance in Xaden’s direction makes your insides turn to mush.
“Like something you see?”
You’re so caught up in your own head that you don’t realize you’re staring blankly at the said six-pack in question, until his voice snaps you back to reality.
Heat blazes through your cheeks. You whip your head away, focusing on treating his wound as you curse at yourself inwardly, “you wish, Riorson.” You mutter.
“I didn’t know Healers were dispatched before graduation,” Xaden shifts to the side so that you have better access to his wound.
You grab another cotton pad and soak it up with healing medicine; a crushed mixture of natural ingredients that speed up the healing process and would dry it off, “it’s part of our term grade. We shadow graduates and receive hands-on training,” you spare him a glance then, “but this is the first time they’ve sent someone this far.”
He hums, “are you the only one dispatched here?”
“To Samara, yes.”
When your eyes flit up next, they lock on his own. You notice, for the first time, that his pupils are dark, flecked with golden.
“This is Navarre’s cruelest outpost,” Xaden searches your eyes with that same, poised mask that makes you want to shrivel up, “why would they send you here, if not to die?”
The word death reverberates through you and you flinch back on impulse, “what? What are you talking about?”
“We're practically on Poromiel's border, making us the primary target for our enemies," something that looks like half-amusement flickers across Xaden's features, "did they not tell you that before you volunteered?"
"I did not volunteer," you try not to let the panic take over, instead focusing on dressing his wound and putting on a plaster so that it won't get infected. Your hands are shaking at this point, and it's definitely not from the cold, "I was assigned to it without choice."
He doesn't say anything. But he doesn't have to. It's as clear as day that being stationed here is literally like a guillotine hanging over your head. You might die tonight. Or tomorrow. Or in the days to come.
"Stay away from the guard towers," Xaden speaks, his voice somehow softer. Or maybe it's just your imagination, though you do flinch when his gold-flecked dark eyes meet yours next, "lay low and don't bring any attention to yourselves. The riders here are not like the ones in Basgiath. They're..." he presses his lips so tight they form a thin line, "they won't hesitate to kill you if they think you're a nuisance. Just stay inside the Healer's quarters as much as possible, unless you have specific reason to be out."
You blink at him, "why..." you hesitate, not knowing exactly what to say. This is the rider that had practically threatened to end your life and now, he's being all protective? "why are you telling me this?"
His brow lifts in that very seductive way of his, the corner of his kips curling up, as though amused by your display of confusion and nervousness.
"Do you want to die?" he asks.
"No."
"Then do as I say."
Smartass, is what you want to yell. But you don't. What if he's the one that kills you for being out of line. You clamp your lips together and finally draw back, motioning towards his abdomen, "you're all set," you say in a grumble, "I would tell you not to spar, but you won't listen anyway, so what's the point?"
"Feisty," he smirks, "didn't know you had it in you."
"Oh shut up Riorson," you roll your eyes, move away and start to pack the medicine bottles, "and don't let it get into contact with water. if you have to clean it, come see me," you say over your shoulder.
You almost yelp when you feel the warmth of his breath along the back of your head.
You freeze, eyes widening as you realise that he's standing millimetres from you and could practically thrust a knife into your chest and be done with it.
And when he speaks next, his tenor practically rumbles through the walls in a vibration that has your skin sizzling.
"I never asked for your name."
"Uhm..." you scramble for a response and have half a mind to lie about it, but decide that maybe it might bite back at you later, "Tala," you murmur out with a defeated sigh, "Tala Huang."
You don't have to look at him to know that there's another growing smirk on his face when he says, "try not to get yourself killed, Tala Huang."
He's gone before you can turn around.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, gazing at the emptiness that now surrounds you. Funny. When Xaden was here, his presence had filled the entire room and you'd felt safe. Now, with the cold walls and the soft howling wind your only companions, the Healers Quarters isn't looking the most friendly.
Great, and now I'm becoming used to him, you mutter inwardly to yourself.
That is definitely something you don't want to get accustomed with. Because, for all you know, Xaden Riorson is a monster.
A very handsome monster.
But a monster nevertheless.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
Xaden's life soon becomes routine at Samara, whether he likes it or not.
He spends the early morning inside the sparring gym training with whoever is available at the moment, faces and names that he doesn't quite know yet recognises all too well by the shapes of their blows and their signet abilities manifesting on the mat. Then, he grabs a quick breakfast before heading out into his first patrol of the morning. He flies all the way till mid-afternoon, sometimes more, rotating around the perimeter until his superiors are satisfied with his work and dismiss him for the night. He then either eats his dinner inside his room, entertained with none other than his dragon that exchanges comments and pleasantries as he wolfs down his food, or finds himself searching for any kind of rooftop upon which he will sit and watch the night sky unfolding before his very eyes.
Sometimes. Just sometimes, he'll tread down to the Healing Quarters and allow his shadows to reach for you. Gently. Out of sight. But still there.
It's merely his amusement. His curiosity, at the incredible innocence that seems to drip from your countenance. You're a walking rabbit into a lion's angry den and you don't even realise it. Your wide eyes are always filled with the fear of being eaten alive and the only time Xaden sees you actually comfortable in your skin is when you have a medicine box in your hand, or when you're diligently stitching up someone.
And that's fascinating. Because despite the shy, reserved nature that is you, the girl that keeps to herself and doesn't usually speak her mind, is a quiet confidence as you work through horrible wounds, burns, scars that can traumatise literally anyone in this Outpost. But not you. Never you.
The contradiction is a miracle. And one that fascinates the said raven-haired shadow-wielder.
That, and the fact that he can't read you no matter how much he tries.
So he settles for watching over you from afar. Reading into your mannerisms, understanding every tick, every tell that you have; like chewing on your lip whenever you're afraid of saying something. Walking with your eyes downcast like you fear anyone that might approach you. Scratching your jawline when you're in deep thought. You're always ready to help, so eager in your movements that sometimes you get clumsy. And that small, humanistic aspect renders you...what? Cute? Adorable? Sure, that can work. As adorable as a five-year old kid at a Carnival fair.
That's what Xaden tells himself. You're like a sister. A sister that he can't see as anything more.
Hell, he's still not over Violet. He will never be.
Because he's the famous Xaden Riorson and because you're you, he doesn't want people to notice someone as defenceless as you are. And so, sends out his shadows to do whatever he cannot. For instance, hiding behind the doors during your night shifts and allowing his shadows to support your feet whenever he senses that you're tired, or letting the darkness accompany you back to your room until you're safe and locked away. You don't take notice, or maybe you don't even know that this is him. Maybe you can feel something different, something more than just the air. But somehow, your inability to recognise his power makes you even more...endearing. In a way.
You are getting soft for this girl, Sgaeyl chuffs at him when he meets her along the tower's border one morning.
Nonsense, Xaden replies flatly as he climbs up her midnight scales and settles along her back. Sgaeyl lets out a grunt, launching into the air a beat later as her wings expand to catch the morning drift.
Then what is it with your little escapades down to the Healers' room? Why are you so insistent on keeping her safe?
She's defenceless. I'm just doing my job.
And who told you to do that for her? Last I heard, you were not responsible for anyone but yourself, shadow-wielder. Do not forget why you are here, why the Marked ones depend on your survival.
He clenches his teeth together, leaning to the side when his dragon suddenly banks left, "you don't need to remind me," he snaps.
Sgaeyl is right. He doesn't need any more distractions. The civilians around the border are getting attacked and the wards are slowly failing with every day that passes. Now is not the time to be looking for any sexual escapades in the form of any kind; rider or healer or infantry alike.
But when he finds another rider trying to get his hands on you a few nights later, all those thoughts go straight down the drain.
He's gotten you pinned to the cold stone wall of the corridor, practically caging you with one leg lodged between your thighs and his hands glued to your hips. It would've made for a romantic picture of two lovers meeting in the middle of the night, if not for the whimpers and the helpless "please don't" that escapes your lips at intervals as he tries to litter your skin with marks and bruises.
Xaden steps out of the dark, his shadows curling around him in a threatening manner.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
His words come out as a growl. Raspy and menacing. Filled with danger.
The rider freezes in mid-action and from where Xaden stands he can see the tears caking your cheeks.
That makes him want to tear this fucker's throat apart.
"Oh hey Riorson," the rider, a graduate a few years above him whose known as Clence Killig, has the audacity to send him a sickeningly sweet smile, "look what I found all alone in the Healer's room. Nice, ey?"
"Get your hands off her," Xaden snarls. He steps closer.
"whoa hey, we can share. Bet you need a bit of release yourself, after what happened with--"
"I said," Xaden punctuates every word, "Hands. off."
A beat passes. Then two.
Xaden holds Clence’s gaze. His own features a hard stone mask.
Finally, Clence releases you from his grasp. You stumble to the floor, catching yourself with your hands as you heave in ragged, relieved breaths.
“Leave,” Xaden growls.
Clence doesn’t need to be told twice, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath as he disappears down the corridor.
Xaden is at your side in an instant, arms gripping your elbows to pull you up.
His touch is gentle, unlike the tone of his voice, “are you okay?”
You nod, though don’t trust yourself to speak.
Pulling you up with minimal effort, the rider ensures you’re on your feet before he asks if you can walk back to your room. You say yes, though no sooner have you taken a step that you’re stumbling face first into the cold cobblestone beneath.
Shit. That hurts like a bitch.
“Need a little help?”
You scowl at the ground, hating that you can practically hear the amusement in his tone. Quickly pushing yourself up to your feet while ignoring him, you force your shaky legs forward as his chuckle echoes through the corridor, all the way up to your room.
He follows you. Not far behind, but far enough that it gives you space to breathe. His eyes locked on your dark silhouette, his shadows seem to have a mind of their own as their curl over the walls around you almost protectively. The thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t interrupted the scene earlier flashes through his mind and disgust reels in his stomach. He curls his fists and clamps them in by his sides as the dark bond with Sgaeyl resonates with her small growl.
Get a grip, shadow-wielder. You are not here to play hero.
Thank you for your wonderful contribution.
She chuffs in what sounds to be annoyance. A second later, the bond dissipates with her absence. She’s probably gone to sleep. Or feed on sheep.
Xaden only comes to a stop when you swivel around just outside your doorway, “are you—following me?”
“No,” Xaden states.
“Then…” you make a shooing motion and his eyebrow quirks up. Really? You’re acting like he’s a horse. Or worse, a pest, “you can go now.”
He snorts, "thanks for the dismissal."
"I did not--" you purse your lips, the sight surprisingly adorable as your eyes narrow up at him into a glare, "look, thank you. For tonight. But I'm fine now."
Xaden can definitely take your words as fact and walk away.
He can definitely try to pass this off as an accident, some kind of weird coincidence that he'd been roaming the halls at the same time that you got attacked. That this will probably never happen again, especially when he's fucking Xaden Riorson and everybody is scared of him.
There's no way that rider will mess with you ever again, unless he wants a good punch in his face to wake him the hell up.
And you've practically dismissed him. Technically, he has all the right to walk away. Right now.
He can.
But his eyes catch your lips.
They wobble.
As if you're holding on.
Your eyes flicker past him. Filled with uncertainty. Fear.
Xaden's resolve breaks.
He doesn't hesitate. Pushes past you despite the overflow of protests from your lips about what the fuck is he doing but he strides into your room without remorse before sending you a look that might cause anyone to shrivel under his gaze.
In all honesty, you do flinch back like he's burnt you.
When you speak next, your words are barely above a murmur, "what are you doing?"
"You're clearly not fine," Xaden states matter-of-factly. He finds your closet, opening it up to pull out the spare duvet and pillow that every room has, and starts to lay it out next to your bed.
"What--Yes I am. I'm fine, see?!" you wave your arms about in growing concern of what he's currently doing, eyes flitting back and forth between him and the now spread-out blanket, "honestly--what are you doing?! And this is--this isn't even allowed! They said--"
"Fuck what they say," Xaden cuts you off, looking up to lock eyes with you and when you take note of the silent anger etched onto his face, words die in the back of your throat, "do you want to stay here alone and risk getting taken advantage of? Just tell me the word Tala, and I'll be gone."
His admission causes something to tug in your heart. You just look at him, jaw parting as you blink. What in the world is he saying?
"Why..." you find your voice after a few beats of silence, "why are you doing this?"
I wish I knew, is what goes through Xaden's head.
This is a dangerous game you're playing, boy. Sgaeyl warns.
I'm not leaving her defenceless, Xaden snaps back.
His jaw ticks, tongue poking at his left cheek, "a Healer getting killed is not on top of my list of priorities at the moment."
"Who says you won't attack me in my sleep?"
"Smart. I'll give you that," he smirks, "if I'd wanted to, you'd already be dead."
True. That doesn't make it any easier.
Seeing you won't relent, the shadow-wielder lets out another annoyed breath, "I'll be out before you wake up. You won't even know I'm gone," then, sensing as if that's not enough, he quickly unsheathes the four daggers hidden at his thighs and throws them to the ground before you. They clatter onto the stone floor and make you wince, the noise bouncing off the walls of the room. Too loud in the small space.
"These are my daggers," he meets your petrified eyes and softens slightly, "riders win them through sparring. The more daggers, the better the rider. We usually sleep with them as a precaution, mostly from other riders," he releases a soft breath, "you keep them, if it makes you feel any better."
“Me?” You echo, “keep your…daggers?”
Amusement flickers across his lips, “yes. So that you’re sure I don’t kill you in your sleep.”
He watches your chest heave. Once. Twice in small rapid succession.
You blink at him, press your lips together as the silence envelopes the room. In the distance, the softest howl of a dragon is heard.
After what finally feels like eternity, you slowly bend down and— keeping your gaze on his— gather up his daggers against your chest.
His chest tightens.
He’s never seen anyone hold his daggers this way.
And that… is surprisingly cute.
He blinks, looks away before he finds himself in deeper troubled waters. What is he even thinking?
“Fine,” you tilt your chin in defiance, a contrast to the fear reflected in your maroon pupils, "only for tonight. But you stay--" you point a shaky hand to the duvet that serves as a mattress pushed against the windowpane overlooking the outpost, "you stay in your corner. Or that dagger's going to end up where it doesn't belong."
"Are you threatening me?" he can't help but let out a chuckle. He shakes his head, "relax, cadet. I'll stay on my side of the room."
You mumble something incomprehensible under your breath but it seems that his words satisfy you, for you quickly disappear into your private bathroom as Xaden tries to get as comfortable as possible with his single-layer mattress that doesn't even count as a mattress in the first place.
You are being an idiot, states Sgaeyl like she is reprimanding a five-year-old dragon. He can practically see her roll her eyes at him, you are wasting your energy on a girl that does not deserve any of it.
Maybe I am, Xaden curls up on his side to stare at the stone wall, but leaving her alone does not feel right. Even for me.
You could've just warded the place, Sgaeyl retorts.
That's true. He's not going to deny that. Instead he stays quiet.
He hears you shuffle back in, your footsteps hesitant and padded, like you've changed out of your work shoes for something comfier. Maybe slippers. He wonders briefly if your sleepwear is mismatched, whether you wear a nightgown or opt for large t-shirts and shorts. Riders usually sleep with their riding tunic, sometimes with their armour in an attempt of protection. He remembers all too well the nights Violet would roll around in her own dragon vest and something akin to guilt curls up inside his stomach.
Violet. He wonders how she'd feel about him sleeping on a stranger's floor.
Tensing upon hearing your footsteps approach, he closes his eyes and tries to lay still, a semblance of sleep, just to see what you do.
There's silence. You're probably watching him, probably gaging his every move, his alliance. What his actions mean to you.
And then, something heavy and warm settles across his body.
It's warm. And comfortable. It makes him want to bury his nose into it because goddamnit it's so soft he wants to let out a sigh of bliss.
But he holds completely still, waiting. Wondering what the hell you're doing.
Your fingers are icy when they reach for the edge of the covers you've settled across Xaden's body, and you make sure not to brush them against him as you tuck the blanket a little more firmly against the rider's sides.
A moment later, he hears you retreat. A weight settles upon the bed and a few beats later, the lights go out.
Xaden has grown to be a weapon. To be used for killing, violence, for everything that is dark and cold and lonely. Growing up had been harsh, the scars lining his back is good enough evidence of that, and the responsibility of the marked ones' safety pushes down on his shoulders every single day he wakes. He doesn't do kindness, doesn't want to have anything to do with it. He's made of steel and violence, of destruction and efficiency, a cold river that never shows its true facade.
And yet, the cold-blooded shadow-wielder can't help but feel his heart soften, at your small act of kindness.
Because to him, it speaks volumes.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
It doesn't surprise you the next day when you go back to being practical strangers. Xaden barely acknowledges you, and it's probably for the best, considering that relationships between each district quadrant are highly discouraged for the mere sake that each quadrant believed it to be better than its counterparts.
But you still remember waking up the morning after, groggy and eyelids heavy with sleep, before realising that the blanket you'd thrown around his figure last night was now curled around you in a cozy cocoon. You still remember blushing furiously at the idea of Xaden Riorson tucking you in like you're something worth keeping safe before stepping out to resume his deadly rider duties, a stark contrast to the boy who slept inside your room.
Nevertheless, you realise soon that for him, that night had been a small blip. A tiny bump in his otherwise successful dark rider reputation. God knows he wouldn't want to destroy that when every rider, infantry or healer alike skitters away from him wherever he moves, like a shark through water. And you're content on keeping it that way, a mere escapade that if you pinch yourself hard enough you'd think it had to be a dream. Or a nightmare.
The next time you see him is during one particular sparring battle that had been organised a weekend after the incident. The riders somehow enjoy tearing each other apart like it's an itch they can't quite scratch unless they see blood and missing teeth flying over the arena. You were assigned in case of any medical emergencies that were to happen, and that's when you truly got to see how riders fight.
Because they don't fight like any normal humans. They don't fight to defend, to be safe, to win.
They fight like they want to kill.
You stop watching after the third--or is it the fourth?-- opponent is kicked back into the steel fence that lines the sparring area, flinching back on instinct as your hands curl into fists, hidden in your lap.
One of your healer mates -- you believe her name is Peyton-- notices, leans over to whisper, "are you alright?"
"I'm fine," you say through gritted teeth.
"It's always a bit gruesome to watch," Peyton says. Her eyes, golden amber flecked with emerald, sparkle with what you want to say is not excitement, but is, "but I find it quite fascinating. It's definitely not for the weak hearted."
"You can say that," you're about to throw up your breakfast. How does she look so normal?
"Don't worry. You get used to it," she replies just as one of the men slumps in defeat, his wrist tapping the mat hard.
"Look," she prods your shoulder once more and points towards the sidelines, "I think Riorson is up next."
Sure enough, she's right. There he stands, chest bare in all its glory, tattoo marks winding up his neck and down his back as his arms clench and unclench as though he's mentally preparing himself for what's to come. He is built like a god and you knew that, having patched him up more times than you could count in your healer career. But with the dim lights of the arena shining on ever sinuous curve and toned muscle of his body, it's hard not to stare. You swear you're drooling.
His eyes catch yours.
You look down, a burst of heat coiling through your chest as butterflies flutter in your stomach.
Gods. You hope he hasn't noticed that you've been staring.
Next to you, Peyton lets out a loud, dramatic sigh, "Oh my gods," her eyes glimmer with longing as she allows her chin to rest atop her palm, "he looks absolutely delicious."
Absolutely delicious is right.
Absolutely terrifying is --also-- right.
Because the way he moves, the way his eyes track his opponent like a well-trained wolf about to go for the kill, the speed at which his body contorts and skids and avoids blows like he's actually made out of water, is like a shadow that you cannot catch no matter how fast you try to be. That, but the grace with which he dances along his opponent has you gasping and holding your breath. Wanting more. Like a performance that you don't want to end.
He's beautiful and so, so terrible at the same time. Like a beautiful nightmare come to life.
He wins easily, and just as he exits the arena, you swear you spot him glancing back at you, the beginning of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
A few days go by, and you bump into him one early morning. The entire outpost is still asleep and, unable to keep dozing off due to the horrible nightmare about your recent abuser that had pinned you in the corridor, you decide to head out early to catch the tiniest glimmer of the sunrise.
You are more than careful as you find one of the staircases leading up the tower, fallen snow and ice crunching under your boots as you make your way up the turret and slide through the opening. You balance yourself quite steadily, holding on to the edge of the wall as you find a nice spot on which to sit.
You plop down with a loud sigh, tilting your head up to watch the sky painted in hues of midnight purple to pink.
"You're not supposed to be up here, cadet."
Your head snaps up.
You see him, a mere shadow in the darkness, standing a few meters away.
"Are you insane?!" is what falls out of your mouth first as you take in the closeness of his feet to the edge, "what are you doing?! Get off there!"
Xaden lets out a huff that sounds more like a chuckle but does as he's told, jumping off the ledge and joining you on the wall, "you didn't answer my question."
"What? Oh--" you stumble over your words, unsure what you can say, "I was...taking some air."
"At five in the morning?"
"Yes. Why not?" you scowl at him, "and--you're here, aren't you? Doing the same thing?"
"Fair point," he sits more comfortable and dangles his legs over the tower, "but I'm here to check up on Sgaeyl. Unless you have a dragon that you need tending to."
"Pardon? I--" The word dragon registers in your mind a little too late, because no sooner does panic slam into you and you yelp in terror, "e--excuse me?!"
You spot a humongous shape moving in the dark, scales glinting like moonlight, and you can't help but scream, feet slipping as your first instinct is to get the hell away from it as possible--
But you lose your footing and practically teeter, gasping out a, "No!" as you feel your body rocking back with gravity towards the ground--
A hand shoots out and snatches you right back--
You crash into Xaden's chest headfirst, his other arm locking you around the middle as you all but tumble into a breathless heap against the wall edge.
"You--" Xaden breathes out raggedly, "--have the worst--" he takes a choked breath, "-- instincts."
But you're not focused on him. Not on the warmth of his chest against your cheek. Not on his body practically glued to yours.
No.
You're focused on the giant, golden serpent eyes that watch you.
Prey.
You're like prey.
The dragon's head is huge. Massive in comparison to your height, practically half the size of the turret. You can't even imagine how tall or long its body is, though it being shrouded in darkness does not help.
The dragon chuffs and hot, steaming air blows against your face.
Jesus. It can practically incinerate you.
But it won't, right?
Not when you're practically hanging onto Xaden for dear life.
"It's--It's not going to eat me, is it?" you can't help but whisper, words stuttering on your lips and your heart beating like it has wings.
You feel Xaden's warm breath against your temple, "no," amusement lines his tone, "Sgaeyl isn't particularly fond of human flesh. She does, however, torch them."
"T--To--Torch them?" bile rises at the back of your throat.
The said dragon lets out another huff of steam and water sprinkles along your face. You squirm and plaster yourself against the taller rider like your life depends on it. Because it does.
"Play nice," he tells Sgaeyl, "it's probably the second time she's seen a dragon this close."
Sgaeyl's chest rumbles and you flinch back, not caring that you’re practically cuddled into Xaden as you eye the dragon’s set of glimmering scales. Up close, it ressembles more of a shimmering ocean and dare you say, it is absolutely mesmerizing.
As though sensing your gaze, Sgaeyl’s golden eyes settles on your own. It’s almost like a challenge, the way she stares you down unflinchingly as though you might be the unwanted distraction that needs to be taken away from her rider.
And then, just like that, the dragon’s features soften. She turns away, her long neck almost brushing against you as she settles against the edge of the wall.
If you extend your arm, you can almost touch her.
“What—What is she doing?” You croak out to Xaden, your words barely above a whisper.
“Nothing that concerns you, it seems,” it is then — when Xaden’s arm slowly loosens around your frame — that you take note of the way you’ve been pressed up against him all this time. You’re quick to scurry out of his arms and you’re glad that the cold is enough to cool the heat flushing your cheeks bright red.
“I—probably need to get back,” your hand scrambles for something to hold and you decide to grip the wall edge despite the rock digging into your palm, “thank you. You know— for not— well, I guess burning me to ashes. Or feeding me to your dragon.”
You’re off before he can say anything and Xaden merely gazes after you with a grin threatening to tug at the corners of his lips. That is until Sgaeyl’s giant form turns to face him with what looks to be disapproval.
I guess I should’ve seen it coming, her words echo through the bond link, she looks like she could be eaten in one bite.
“Don’t even think of it,” Xaden mutters. Behind his dragon, the smallest glimmers of gold pierces through the landscape to welcome the dawn.
What exactly do you find so fascinating about her? And why in God’s name do you trust her now when she hasn’t done anything to earn it?
Disapproval rolls of every tense line of her body in waves but the shadow-wielder merely leans back against the edge and lifts one shoulder in a shrug.
She’s too fucking gullible to be considered a threat, he says simply,
Oh really? That’s not what you said a few months ago.
You seem to hate her.
Shadow-wielder, I have lived for centuries. When you live for that long, you learn to trust when it’s clear to you that betrayal is not a possibility. Not when nothing was proven.
Do you trust me? Xaden’s jaw ticks.
Sgaeyl hesitates, yes. I do. Unfortunately.
Well, I trust her, Xaden says, so you will too.
He just hopes that he isn’t wrong on this account.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
The next time you find the said shadow-wielder, he's sitting atop the roof before you, legs swinging into nothingness and face etched with a faraway look in his eyes. The sight is devastatingly beautiful, like he's a god carved out of marble, and your fingers twitch with the desire to run your hands through those dark strands that fall across his face, until he senses your approach and cocks his head towards you.
You jump, startled, "hi." you say lamely.
"Are you spying on me?"
"No," you say through flushed cheeks, glad that it's still dark out so that he can't see and --
And what? Make fun of you for it?
No. Xaden would use it as bait. Or as a way to get something out of the situation.
You tiptoe the rest of the way in silence so as not to disturb in peace, plopping down just a few meters away as the wind picks up and swirls through your hair, catching at your cheek as it does.
It is always so much more pleasant to watch the sunrise without the constant pressure of having people depend on you. These were the rare times of solitude that you had for yourself, and you weren't about to give that up. Not even for the grumpy Riorson.
"Can't sleep?" Xaden murmurs.
Your eyes narrow to his in surprise, "no actually. I usually wake up at this time."
"How so?"
He's being chatty today. You decide to entertain him, “I guess I’m not used to this place yet. And it’s colder than Basgiath.”
He gazes down at you with a look you cannot quite read, which prompts you to ask a, “what?”
He looks away, “where do you come from?”
His question perplexes you for a minute, “I’m from a small village next to Callydyr. Pretty isolated, we don’t get much company.”
When Xaden stays silent, you ask, “why?”
He avoids your question and asks another, “why become a Healer?”
“Why not?”
His dark eyes are steely. As if demanding a better answer than a rhetorical question.
You sigh, “my mother was a healer. Showed me pretty much everything I know about it. I guess I just wanted to be like her,” you let out a small laugh, “it’s a stupid reason, and not an honorable one. Not like you riders—“
“I wasn’t given a choice.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, “right.” You croak, “sorry.“
“Not your fault,” Xaden leans back and you catch a glimpse of muscles lining up his forearm. You swallow thickly, heat permeating your skin as you look away.
“Anyway,” you try to change the subject, “how was it? Where you grew up?”
You think that maybe you’ve struck a chord too close to home. But Xaden surprises you by answering, “most Marked kids were put in foster homes. Wasn’t great, but it was manageable. As long as we recited what they wanted to hear, they left us alone.”
“Was it hard? Living without your parents?” You murmur hesitantly, tilting your head towards him.
He dips his head in a singular nod but does not say anything more.
There are parameters with him, you soon learn. Depending on his mood, he is either open to light discussion until it falls into territory he’d rather ignore, and that’s when he closes off like a brick wall. Or he’s straight up in a foul mood and refuses to speak even a word. You’d tried numerous times when you spot him in a permanent dark cloud, once even losing your temper when he’d snapped at you for something completely irrelevant.
“Gods Riorson, you are incorrigible when you’re like this,” you finally snap in growing irritation because goddamnit you’re not his babysitter. In fact, you might just have called yourself his friend, if not for the defensive way he keeps his walls up with you.
“You want a two-way honest conversation? Then stop acting like a baby every time I bring up something you don’t wanna talk about,” you continue on in a flow of anger, “and if you don’t wanna know, then stop asking me questions about myself then expect me not to ask you the same.”
Since then, he’s been a little more responsive to your advances. Though it’s clear that sometimes his grumpy ass cannot be fucked. But the fact that he is even trying for your sake is somewhat of a miracle, so you don’t complain.
“I wouldn’t get too close to him,” Peyton once tells you during your shift. You’re currently wiping down the medical counters as she puts away the medication, “he had a girlfriend, you know. Like, a serious relationship.”
“Wait—really?” You frown. It’s somehow surprising to think of Xaden as a serious relationship type of guy.
“Yeah. Apparently their dragons were mates. The relationship was strong, almost like they were mates in a way. But then…”
“Then what?”
“She got killed during battle in Resson,” Peyton shakes her head, “a pretty bad kill, apparently. He never got over it."
Oh.
It feels like a slap to your face.
For some reason, the notion of Xaden being so intensely attached to another woman has your stomach churning like you've eaten something bad for breakfast. No wonder he's so cold, so ruthless, so uncaring towards every single person he interacts with. His heart got broken once. He's definitely not going to try that again.
It makes it hard to look at him in the face after that. You can't seem to hold his eyes for more than a heartbeat and though you sense that he knows something must be off, he doesn't comment on it. Because he doesn't have to care. You're just someone he comes to when he needs patching up. Nothing more, nothing less.
So you do the only thing you can; busy yourself within the Healer’s room. Thank god for the piling number of injured people, for that keeps your distracted thoughts at bay as you focus on doing your job right instead.
Peyton chatters by your side as the days go by. She teaches you everything about the Outpost; the secret passageways, the extra food that would be stored in the kitchens once lights go out, the flowers at the back in a small alleyway right beside the Outpost wall— the one that faces the mountains and is actually off limits to you.
But peace never lasts long in a place like Samara. You’re jostled awake a few nights after by one of the Healers stating that enemies have breached your territory. You don’t hesitate, flinging yourself out of your bed and scurrying out— shoeless feet and all — towards the closest exit you know of.
You hear snarls and growls and clanging metal that suggests people are fighting but you don’t dare look, not when your heart feels like it might fall out of your chest, not even when a scream pierces through the turret and makes your own heart plummet like stone.
“Come on Tala! Quicker!” You can hear and make out Peyton’s figure by the doorway, a dark silhouette in contrast to the blinding light of the moon overhead.
But no sooner have you reached that a sharp talon strikes her from behind. She falls, her eyes still wide with terror as a scream tears past your throat, “Peyton!”
You throw yourself onto the open doorway, the wind and rain battering at your face as you gaze down in horror at Peyton’s lifeless body a few meters down.
“No,” you whimper out, lips trembling and backing away from the edge, “no…no, no, no.”
And that’s when you hear it, the softest hiss. A menace that causes a terrifying shiver down your spine. The man steps out from the swaths of darkness, eyes tinged with red and skin ashen grey, gnarly fingers curled in on themselves.
He’s filled with magic. The kind of magic that you can feel — from the bottom of your gut — is not of the good kind.
You back away, step by step, a silent prayer echoing through your head, “st—stay away from me,” you croak pathetically.
The man just laughs and keeps striding towards you like he doesn’t care. You keep moving back until you’re left with nothing but the stone wall at your back. You’re trapped with nowhere else to go, and he knows it.
“Please,” you can’t help but let out a broken whimper, “please don’t—“
Your words break off as the man’s arm shoots out to grab at your throat. You shriek and try to bat him away, but his hold is made of iron as you shamelessly squirm in growing panic that this is it.
You might die here.
No.
You will die here.
“Look at you, so weak. So pathetic,” the man hisses.
Everything stops for a second when his hand crushes your throat.
You gasp, eyes blinking as black starts to swarm—
And then, his hand’s gone.
You fall to your knees and gasp like your life depends on it, practically heaving your insides out as a figure steps out of the shadows and doesn’t hesitate to slice the man’s throat with one, smooth arc of his arm.
It’s Xaden.
Of course it’s him.
You’re still trying to reign in some oxygen when he strides over to your crouched form and bends down to face you.
His eyes are branded with a mixture of panic and anger, totally at odds with the gentle way he asks, “are you hurt?”
You shake your head no, not trusting your voice when your lips are practically trembling.
“Come on,” he tugs you up, grabbing onto your elbow before making his way out of the tower, the shadows blending the two of you into the wall as more cries and dragon howls slice through the night that reverberates through your ears, a terrible nightmare come to life.
You don’t even recall half of the journey out of the tower, only that Xaden manages to get you out onto the field before he practically throws you up onto Sgaeyl’s back and joins on a moment later. And then, you’re airborne, flying through the thick cloudy sky and leaving the mess of fire and ash behind as what’s left of Samara is destroyed by the remaining creatures you can’t even start to name.
All you know is that whatever you’ve seen that night is not human.
At some point you feel your lids press together, feel your head roll forward as sleep threatens to overtake you only to be nudged awake by the shadow-wielder.
“Eyes open,” he says, though his tone is tinged with barely concealed amusement, “we’re almost there.”
“Where are you bringing me?” You try to turn your head to look up at him, but can only see part of his chiseled jawline, “what happened? What are they? These—creatures?”
You notice the tension in his jaw, “Wyvern.”
“What’s a—wyvern?” The word sounds oddly familiar on your tongue. You’ve heard of that name before—
Wyvern.
“Wait,” realisation is an ice-bucket piercing straight into your skin, “you mean— the creatures from the fables?”
Xaden spares you a glance, “you catch on quick.”
Is that surprise and a little bit of pride you hear in his tone?
“Wyvern don’t exist,” you gape at him, “they’re—they’re like fairytales. Only meant to scare children—“
Xaden cuts you off, “they’re real.”
“But—“
“But nothing,” he snaps, “you’re not supposed to know this. Gods know what they’d do to you if they knew you were involved,” he tips his head forward, “we’re almost there,” he says, “I’ll tell you everything— when we land.”
You don’t argue. You find it’s easier when it concerns Xaden.
A few hours later and you've set foot into another house that looks by far like the grandest manor you've ever stepped foot into. It's dark marble floors are spotlessly clean and the victorian columns lining the centre rotunda reach for the skyline, an impressive architectural feat that you can't help but admire as you all but stumble after Xaden down one of the long-winded corridors.
He reaches a door ornate with a gold bangle and twists the knob open without hesitation. Inside, the room is simple enough; grand, without seeming too pretentious. With a grand bed and grey covers and too many pillows to count.
"You can stay here for the night," Xaden says without sparing you a glance, "lock your door. Don't let anyone in."
"Wait--" you reach for his arm, hand dropping to your side when he turns to you with that cold, impassive face that would've made you shut your mouth and run away if it were any other time.
But this is not like any other time. And Xaden has proved time and time again that despite what he wants people to believe -- that he's a soulless, merciless weapon used for the kill -- he is nothing but a man with a good heart that seems to have been disappointed too many times to count.
So you don't look away when those onyx storms lock on yours, glistening with golden flecks of emotions that causes something to stir in your lower belly.
"Where--" the words catch in your throat, "where are you going?"
He turns his body halfway towards you, swallowing up the whole doorway with his figure, "to my room?" he cocks his head like its a question.
"I--" you bite down so hard on your lip you can taste the metallic tang of blood, "well, I don't--can I--"
Xaden merely waits. Expression like stone. His gaze intense.
Your heart shudders as you force the words out before you can chicken out, "can you--stayhereplease?"
He stills.
You search his eyes. And then blink down.
What are you even thinking?
He's a rider. A merciless one at that, he doesn't do weaknesses, probably hates them with his entire gut. The woman he fell in love with, she was the one he'd bear his soul to, she was strong and bold and fierce and just as ruthless as he was. Not like you.
Never like you.
Why would he throw away his comfort just for the sake of making you feel safe?
"You want me--" he repeats low in his throat, keeping his eyes glued on your face as though to search for any kind of misunderstanding, "to stay with you?"
"Yes," you reply quickly, and then add, "please."
There's a beat of silence.
You don't dare look at him, don't even dare breathe as you wait for him to turn you down and walk away because he doesn't owe you anything. Not after just saving your life.
Warm hands reach for your shoulders.
Xaden moves you out of the way. He brushes past your figure into the room. For the second time, you watch in a mixture of surprise and a rush of gratefulness as he rummages through the drawers of the closet in the far corner. He pulls out a spare blanket and a pillow that he throws onto the battered couch resting on the opposite side, right beside the bed and wordlessly starts unbuttoning his flight jacket.
Your cheeks can't help but burn at the notion that this man has done more for you than anyone has ever done in your lifetime.
"Take a picture. It'll last longer."
Your eyes snap away from him as his words cut through you like ice.
You stammer out a soft, "thank you" before scurrying towards the washroom, glad that you have the distraction of running water to ease the anxious knots now forming in your stomach.
Xaden merely watches, brow cocked and head tilted, a smile curving along his lips as your figure disappears through the door. It's not like he wants to find anything amusing. On the contrary, whatever has happened at the outpost has shaken him to his very core and now that you're here, there's a lot of questions he has to answer; about him, about this place, about how his secrets will either make or break your trust.
Why don't you take a picture? Sgaeyl huffs, if you keep staring at her like that, you might scorch her to death.
Her voice is a reminder to keep moving. He fluffs the pillows and settles on the ground. In the distance, he hears the softest squeak of the bath running. She's scared. It's a normal reaction. She is not a warrior.
You baby her too much, Sgaeyl snarls in a clear display of anger, she needs to know how to stand on her own two feet without you coddling her.
I'm not coddling her, he scowls at the opposite wall.
Keep telling yourself that, Shadow-wielder. But I see past your mask. You can lie to anyone but me.
And then, the bond goes silent. As though Sgaeyl has shut the doors in his face.
Xaden lets out a breath and runs a hand along his face. His muscles are aching from the flight and the remnants of battle, and still he can only think about the moment you might've died in front of his eyes if he hadn't been there on time.
Because he knows, deep down in his heart where there's a small cage of unspoken feelings that rattle through his chest like an echo of a reminder, that Sgaeyl is right. He is soft on you. Too soft, despite the fact that he can't even read your mind, read your intentions.
But the genuine fear in your eyes. The rush of gratefulness that swam through your face the moment you spotted him, like he was your saviour, your superhero. He cannot just ignore it.
People lie all the time. He's a master at it, deception and feigning nonchalance are his strong suit. But not you. You wear your heart on your sleeve, your face displayed like an open book, and that somehow makes Xaden want to protect you, to ensure that nothing-- no one -- can touch you.
And that thought is the single reason as to why he should stay the hell away from you.
Not just for his sake. But yours.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
a/n: thanks for reading! next part will be up soon! <3
The Lost Sister Masterlist (semi completed series)
Synopsis:
Xaden is regarded as an only child, a perception formed due to the widely accepted belief that his beloved sister, Ophelia, tragically 'died' amidst the chaos of the Rebellion. Unknown to them all Ophelia survived and has been so close this entire time. The architect behind this elaborate scheme is none other than General Melgren. The stern and strategic General has been stealthily overseeing her movements, training and ensuring her safety. The revelation of her existence is dramatically unveiled on the day of conscription, a day that will forever change the course of their lives.
Garrick Tavis x OC
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13 ❤️
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20 ❤️
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 26
Part 27
Part 28
Part 29
Part 30
Part 31
Part 32 ❤️
Part 33
Part 34
Part 35 ❤️
Part 36
Part 37
Part 38
Part 39
Part 40
Bonus Chapters - Garrick POV
Shovel Talk
Thank you to everyone that has read this and inspired me to keep writing this. I literally didn't see this going past Part 1, as it was a way to get an idea that had formed into my head out. And now here we are all these parts later! Thank you so much for reading and enjoying this.
At this stage this series is on a break. I am unsure if I will come back to complete this as my Black Dahlia series is now my main focus.
Y/n and Ridoc are twins, with him being older by 6 minutes. They grew up in coastal village named Ceaelyn in the Morraine Province of the continent. Due to the fact that their parents were highly absent, Y/n and Ridoc were raised by people in their village. They were the heart and soul of Ceaelyn. Once they got of age, they decided to join the riders quadrant. Their father, initially desagreed (as did most of the village), but seeing as they were so bent on going, helped them train little by little so that they could at least survive those first months.
Basgaith
First Impressions
A Scent of Trouble
Eyes Up, Gamlyn
Focus, Wingleader
Mutual Distractions
The Light Wielder
Gonna do something about it?
Soft Spot
Sweet and Pretty
Not just Vanity
Charmed
Charming her
We Were Rebels
Aretia
Domesticated
You are who I worship
Oh dear twin...
Smitten
Utterly Divine
Well, Who is she? | And who is he?
Girl's night
A Cultured Duchess | The Necklace
The Importance of Light and Hope
Homesick
Ceaelyan First
Duchess of the People
Missions gone Wrong
My one and only
Light of Mine
Bliss
Renovations
Beach Weekend
A Very Loved Wife
And a Very Traumatized Twin
Ridoc's Revenge
The Girl's Reward
Her Birthday
His Birthday
Just Pure Love
Stressful Situations
Incorrect Quotes
Author's Note: Hello! This entire story is ALREADY WRITTEN. I literally wrote it little by little as I was doing my midterms and finals as a way to destress and to survive my Onyx Storm hangover, mainly for me, using my name as an OC. Then as I finished it and I was like damn, this could actually be something people could enjoy. It fluctuates from canon a lot so don't expect it to be precisely like the books. I will be updating little by little. Since it quite literally finished you guys might get various chapters a day.
Summary: Anon Request: It seems your partners have a secret they aren't willing to share. Between that and their continual use of their bond, you begin to feel like a spectator in your own relationship. But jealousy ensues when you don't play the game by their rules.
A/N: Onyx Storm Spoilers! This takes place in the first part of OS, so you've been warned. Depression, Worthlessness, and ANGST.
Word Count: 7.7k
So...this is the first time I've ever written for a poly couple, so be gentle with me.
To say things were strained, would be an understatement. Since the battle of Basgiath, you couldn’t help but feel like the third wheel. Suddenly rendered either replaceable or just not worth the time in general, at least that’s how it looked from your eyes.
You knew they were keeping secrets, and you couldn’t help the way you felt iced out of your own relationship. Violet was always trying to redirect conversations. Xaden, on the other hand, said less than ten words to you one day.
You went from feeling like you had the world with them both, to feeling like you weren’t worth the dirt on your own boots.
It’s then you found yourself walking into the hall to find Xaden and Violet standing outside the doors of the meeting with the cadre. Watching from the shadows, your eyes dart between the two as they clearly have one of their now, all too common, telepathic conversations.
The feelings of envy and unworthiness wrap around your heart and squeeze. How many times were you going to watch them have their own secrets while you stood on the outside? Were they ever going to realize how much it hurt to watch them continue in their own cocoon? You thought you had discussed this, that the last fight would’ve gotten through to them, but apparently it did nothing.
“Hey, are you going to wait with Xaden?” Garrick asks as he steps up beside you though his own eyes are on the aforementioned man.
“No.” The word is sharp, there is no room to mistake that anger is bleeding through your tone.
“Why n-“ Garrick’s words are cut short as you turn abruptly and walk back towards the dormitories.
As you turned, you caught the glimpse of Xaden’s eyes and by the shadow that snakes around your wrist, you know for certain he saw you. But instead of falling back to him as you would normally, you shake off the shadow and continue your march.
The force of the winter chill slaps across your face as you emerge into the courtyard, but you don’t feel the freezing temperature. Instead, the ice seems to slide across your heart, the organ hardening against the coming hurt that you can feel in your soul.
It’s not surprising. You’ve never felt like someone who belonged, especially not in the powerful world of the two people you called yours. But now, the same people that had pledged that you would never be left out have clamored in on themselves tucking you neatly outside of the everchanging pace of their lives.
‘You are powerful in your own right. Do not let their silence diminish you.’ Rion bursts into your thoughts, a calm wave shooting through your shared bond.
A sad, tired smile crawls across your face as you make it to your room at Basgiath. Your dragon always the one to bolster you when you felt yourself slipping. You shut the door and lock it, not interested in another range of excuses from the two people who have been your respite.
As you fall into bed, you let the comfort of the familiar room fall around you. If nothing stays constant in this world, the bare necessities at the war college have become an unlikely consolation. Falling into the sheets, you look back at the door, as much as you’ve tried not to guard your heart, you find yourself unwilling to compromise any longer.
Dragging yourself back up, you take a deep breath and let it calm you. Unsure if either of them will even come looking, you choose to move forward anyway. Holding up your hand you let Rion’s magic flow through you, shaping the strands into thin moveable pieces. Ward weaving had come oddly naturally to you, something you’d worked on in secret along with your signet.
Pulling every piece into place, you solidified your wards so that only you could enter, effectively blocking out a list of people that had become comfortable with walking in and out of your room. You knew you should feel sad, but a part of you was relieved that you would finally have a place that was solely your own.
As you laid back down in bed, you only focused on the worn stone of the ceiling. Emotion that had been clouding all day pushed to the side in favor of the sleep that was beckoning you. Eyes beginning to drift shut, you thought you heard a knock on the door. Remembered somewhere in the back of your mind that Violet had wanted you with her tonight for something regarding the wards, but instead of letting the thought fester, you let the heavy hand of sleep claim you.
______________
“Where the hell were you? And what did you do with the wards on your door?” The snarl in Xaden’s voice does nothing to draw down the walls that you’ve been building.
“Xaden.” Violet hisses through her teeth giving him a warning look. They hold each other’s stare a beat longer before his eyes soften and look back towards you.
“It doesn’t matter where I was.” You shoot back, your own anger bouncing as you watch the scene unfold.
“Y/N.” Violet tries to soothe as she comes up to you, her hand grabbing for yours. You let her take it, fingers intertwining and let the familiarity of the gesture soothe the hottest part of your anger.
“You should’ve been there to help last night.” Xaden voice is still terse, a warning showing through that you weren’t where you were supposed to be.
“Yes, and I’m sorry I forgot.” You state as you reinforce your shields. It was hard enough when Xaden’s second signet was revealed for both you and Violet. But with their penchant for silent discussion, you guard your thoughts even more.
“It seems she didn’t need my particular brand of expertise anyway. From what Ridoc told me, everything went according to plan.” The words are flat as you continue to glare at Xaden.
He must see something in your face, because soon enough he’s pulling you forward with your other hand and wrapping his arms around you.
“I don’t know how to fix whatever’s going on if you don’t let me in.” Xaden whispers into your hair as you feel Violet’s head come to rest on your shoulder.
“There’s nothing to fix.” You reply letting yourself deflate. You know what he’s inferring, he wants you to drop your shields enough to gather your intentions, so that he can correct whatever’s amiss.
You can’t explain it, but for some reason, you don’t. There’s something larger going on and you’re tired of being on the outside looking in. If you know either of them as well as you think you do, you can hear the conversation of ‘it’s only for your protection’ shining through every single outcome.
‘They underestimate you because you don’t show them your power.’ Rion comments as you let your own thoughts drown out the comfort both of them are trying to give.
‘Well maybe if they showed more interest or explained their plans, I would show them what they haven’t noticed.’ You volley back, though the terse attitude isn’t for your dragon.
Your thoughts are pulled back to the present as you feel the ghost of Xaden’s lips at your temple. The gesture meant to be soothing and reassuring, but you’re unsure of who its really for the tension in his shoulders still coiled like a spring. Violet turns your face towards her own and her lips meet yours in a featherlight gesture. It’s almost as if you can feel the way they hold back, the secrets becoming an impenetrable force between you.
Before Xaden deigns to let you go, he whispers for only you to hear. “Fix your wards. I need to be able to know you’re safe.”
The words are meant to quiet, to put a balm to the ache of the wound that is festering between you, but it does nothing but push you further. If either of them wanted you safe they wouldn’t be holding back whatever it is that they can’t seem to say.
______________
You wrap your arms around Violet as your lips ghost across her shoulder before you pull the buttons of her flight jacket closed. Ever since Xaden’s assignment as Professor, you had spent most nights in her bed, both of you finding solace in each other with the absence of Xaden.
You wish you could say that this change had settled your heart and the way you felt iced out of your relationship, but then you would be lying to yourself. Each day since the news of her departure with Xaden to Anca, you had been deciding on a plan of how you would get some distance of your own.
Nothing permanent, just something for you to have some space that you otherwise never seemed to get with either one of them lurking and keeping tabs on you. Neither one would admit it, but they were unnerved by the small ways in which you had begun to pull back. Though between Xaden’s new duties as the Duke of Tyrrendor and Violet’s constant review of the books available regarding venin and the irids, there wasn’t much time for intimacy of any kind these days.
“I wish you were coming with us.” The words are quiet as Violet turns to face you.
“I know, but I’ll be fine. You just need to worry about you and Xaden making it back safe.”
“Considering we don’t know how many venin are lurking the halls of Basgiath, I’d garner to say we both need to worry about you too.” Each word is sincere and you can see the concern etched in her brow as she searches your eyes.
Your hand comes up to her face and you let your thumb trace over the lines to try and soothe the worry.
“Just come back safely.” The words escape your mouth quietly as you step closer to her.
As you lean in, you let your heart deflate a little knowing that when she returns, you hopefully won’t be in Basgiath. Your lips clash in a kiss that for you is a goodbye, one that leeches nothing but bittersweet emotion. You hear Violet sigh as she melts towards you as your tongue gently swipes along the curve of her bottom lip.
When you finally pull back, there’s no mistaking the flush to Violet’s cheek and the swell of her kiss bruised lips.
“Xaden is going to be upset he won’t get to give you a proper goodbye.” Violet muses as she pushes back a strand of hair from your face.
A small smile curls your lips as you take in the all too familiar warmth that settles between you. It’s the feeling that you will hold onto as you step away from the girl in front of you.
“I’ll be there to see you both off.” You say as you grab your pack before turning Violet’s door.
Before you can even stride forward the door swings back and the aforementioned man is standing in front of you. Eyes slightly wild and hair untamed, he looks as though he had just sprinted through the halls of the dormitories.
“I hope you didn’t think I’d be leaving without a proper goodbye.” Xaden’s words were as hot as the fire in his eyes as he glided towards you.
As he pulled you closer, you reinforced your shields, not wanting him to get any insight into your plans for the day. Your words however, were nothing if not a sultry reply to his.
“Well Professor Riorson. I thought it was against the Code of Conduct for a professor and student to be seen together.”
“Fuck the Code of Conduct. The both of you are my code and I’ll manage that however I see fit.” His words cut off as his mouth crashes down on yours, arms snaking around your waist pulling your body taut against his own.
The kiss is just like Xaden, an all-consuming fire that will burn everything that dares to stand in his way. It’s impossible not to get swept away in the tide of his kisses, each curve of his lips igniting a fire that never truly banks.
You aren’t trying to get swept back into the working hum of your relationship with them, but with their imminent departure and you having to stay back, it seems both of them are keenly aware of the divide now.
Xaden’s lips begin to slow to a languid pace and you feel one of his arms leave your waist as he drags Violet towards you. Your head turns as you bring a hand to cup Violet’s face and kiss her hard, the fire that Xaden struck humming a crescendo through your blood.
As the fire begins to flutter out, you step back. You can only imagine the image you paint. Face flushed, lips swollen from repeated kisses, a self-satisfied smirk curving your lips.
But with each step further from them, the cold that has been spreading through your relationship returns like the gusts of winter before a snowstorm.
“It’s probably time to get you both down to the flight field.” You say as you let a sad smile lilt your lips.
Xaden crosses to you again, pulling you in with one arm.
“I don’t like leaving you behind.” You look up and watch as Xaden’s throat works, the ever-present tick in his jaw showcasing his distaste for the situation.
“You’ll have Violet, my darling. You’ll be just fine.” You say calmly even with your shields raised firmly in place.
“I need you both.” He says as he steps back and surveys you both now standing directly in front of him.
“You have us.” Violet replies, though there’s a twinkle in her eye that is reserved only for Xaden.
Without another word Xaden turns and strides out the door before either you or Violet move. You know it’s so the constant eyes of General Aetos don’t have anything to report, but it doesn’t make the sting any less.
Trying not to ruminate, you turn to Violet, expression serious.
“Take care of him.” The words are meant to be nothing more than an ask, to hold the man who has been left to many times from breaking when he realizes what you’ve done once they return. That is until you see Violet’s face and the confusion that has been lingering settles on your brow again.
Violet searches your face, as if she’s looking for a tell that you’re aware of something in what you’ve just said that she didn’t know. Though when she shakes her head at you, you realize that whatever she is concerned about, you clearly are none the wiser.
“We’ll take care of each other. But, you need to stick close to Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen, or someone from the squad.” She says as you both begin to walk towards the flight field.
“I’ll take care of myself.” You reply obstinately. It isn’t as though your life is tied to anyone else’s.
Violet gives you a knowing smile as you finally reach the flight field. After one last kiss, she turns and mounts Tairn. Then your attention shifts as you watch Xaden mount Sgaeyl without looking back. Though as the ghost of a touch skims across your face, you know that Xaden is more than aware of your presence.
You stand there as everyone gathers and watch them rise, soon enough fading into the distance of flight.
Turning on your heels, you set your destination to the third floor and start the quest to get some much needed space for yourself.
__________
“I don’t need Riorson breathing down my neck the minute they get back.” Dain grumbles as he continues to mull over your ask, eyes averted to his desk.
“I’m not asking you to explain anything.” You reply as you try to reason with him. “All the information will be given to both Xaden and Violet. I’m just requesting a transfer to a different squad, not asking to leave the continent.”
Dain scoffs at your response, giving you a look that says he knows exactly what will happen when Xaden and Violet return.
“Xaden is a Second Lieutenant, Professor, and Duke. He’ll have plenty to worry about without having to deal with me or you. And besides, Violet has her squad. Sure, they’ve welcomed me, but that wasn’t the squad I started with, so there’s no harm in leaving.” You aren’t sure if there is a way you’re going to convince Dain without begging and pleading, so instead you try to appeal to the side of disappointment and regret that you know still eats at him.
“Look Dain, I need some space.” You level all the seriousness you can muster to the man in front of you. “You know Violet better than anyone here. And I know you’ve seen the rollercoaster of a relationship that we’ve all had. This is me needing some space.”
“I’m not leaving them or shutting them out entirely. But, a relationship is not anything if there’s nothing but secrets between you. I’m tired of standing on the outside of their mated dragon’s bond. I just need a moment to breathe.” You don’t dare speak of the lingering thought that something bigger is at play that they haven’t revealed.
There must be something to the plea in your voice because Dain exhales as if he’s coming to terms with the repercussions he’s going to have to face.
“Fine. But if Riorson buries me for this, I’m coming back to haunt you.” Dain exhales as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
You give Dain a sharp nod before walking out his door. Satisfaction coils in your gut as you descend the stairs of the dormitories and return to your own room.
Grabbing your pack, you swing it over your arms and take a breath knowing that in less than a day you will be in Aretia and away from the cloying suffocation of Basgiath.
__________
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Garrick’s voice reaches you, breathless from running as you walk the final steps to Rion’s foreleg.
“I’m going to Aretia with my squad as runes class dictates.” You throw over your shoulder not stopping to talk to your most likely assigned protector.
Before you can make it two more steps, the familiar large hand clamps your shoulder and spins you around. Hazel eyes burning with annoyance. You huff in indignation at the thought that Garrick has anything to be annoyed about.
“Your squad isn’t in Aretia for this rotation. I just spoke with Imogen, and you aren’t due to go for another six weeks.” Garrick’s eyes narrow on yours as if waiting for you to defy him.
“That is the Iron Squad’s rotation for Aretia, yes.” You say drawing it out for your own satisfaction. “I’m not on that squad any longer, Professor.”
Shock flares in Garrick’s eyes, though his hand still hasn’t left your shoulder.
“What the hell are you talking about? You were assigned to that squad in the beginning of the year. Both Xaden and Violet were adamant about that.”
A wry chuckle leaves your mouth. “Yes, well, neither one of them are here, are they?”
“Besides, between all of Xaden’s duties and Violet’s search for the Irids, I don’t think they’ll have time to miss me.” You try pulling out of Garrick’s grip, but his hand is unyielding.
“Is this some kind of stunt for attention?” That question has Rion’s head turning, a warning growl rumbling through her chest. Meanwhile your own eyes darken at the accusation, anger flaring hotly in your orbs and under your skin.
“I’m not looking for anyone’s attention, Tavis. Least of all Xaden or Violet’s.” Your tone grows darker as the anger begins to course through your veins. “In fact, I’d love exactly the opposite. I want to be left alone. Iced out, like the rest of you and your fucking group have been doing since the Battle of Basgiath.”
Now its Garrick’s turn for his eyes to flare in shock. His reaction confirms every suspicion you’ve had since the morning after the battle. It’s that disbelief that makes him drop his hand, retreating a few steps as if he suddenly is unsure of exactly what to do.
You step towards Rion and out of the reach of his grasp, but you won’t leave without a few parting words.
“I know that there’s a secret. Something only a few of you are worthy enough to know. I guess I figured since I was a partner to the two that are seeming to be in the thick of it, the love they have for me would warrant me deserving of their confidence. Instead, I get to watch as the five of you move pieces on a chess board that I didn’t even know we were playing.” Your words gain momentum and ferocity as weeks of rotting emotions begin to wear away at you.
“When they return and inevitably ask you what the fuck happened, you can relay this message. I don’t need their protection, or anyone else’s. If they can’t or won’t trust me with everything, then I’ll do them a favor and make myself scarce.”
You don’t bother to wait for a reply as you mount Rion and settle into her familiar scales.
‘This will only be fuel to the fire of the already overly dramatic shadow wielder.’ Rion muses though you don’t miss the amusement that laces every word.
‘Then let him be dramatic. Doesn’t mean I have to be a part of it.’ You reply back, not with anger or ferocity, just the certainty that you’ve made the best decision for yourself.
As Rion lifts from the ground, you take a deep breath and settle in, letting the heaviness of Basgiath and the last few months there rise from your shoulders. You have no doubt the next few weeks will be messy, but for some reason, you can’t find it within yourself to care.
__________
“Where are Xaden and Violet?” Is the first question out of Brennan’s mouth as you move into the Assembly Chambers at Riorson House.
“You know damn well where they are.” You spit shaking your head at the automatic question anytime you step into a room. “I’m not here to discuss them. I’m here to be assigned a room for the duration of the runes stay for my squad.”
Brennan’s eyebrows rise at your response, clearly caught off guard. “What do you mean assigned a room. I’ve been more than reprimanded a few times from our tempestuous Duke that you and Violet remain in his quarters while in Aretia.”
“Yes, well, circumstances have changed.” You can tell that Brennan has a million questions, that he wants to pry into what is really going on, but you refuse to let him get more. “I’m just here to be assigned a room, nothing more, nothing less. So let’s skip the relationship twenty questions.”
Brennan continues to hesitate far longer than appropriate, but the wall that you’ve built around asking anything further must be enough to get him to move on. Scrunching his eyebrows and shaking his head, he pulls a book from the stack upon the table before looking back up.
“Let me look over everything and I’ll let you know by lunch time today.” He replies as his fingers begin skimming through the book.
You don’t bother acknowledging him and turn on your heels, moving towards the familiar classroom where you let your mind settle into the calming hum of your magic.
__________
“So, when were you going to share your wealth of knowledge with the rest of us?” Elliott asks as he drifts closer to the chair you’ve set yourself on.
You let the small chuckle leave you as you lean towards him. The well-known rhythm settling in between you and your original squad.
“All you had to do was ask.” You snark back, but you can’t help the smile of comfort that twists your lips.
“Hard to do when someone has made themselves scarce since becoming a couple with the highest profile riders in the quadrant.” Samira retorts giving you one of her knowing looks.
You can’t help the snort that leaves you, though if in humor or derision, you’re unsure.
“Come on. Who needs us when they have the arm of the Duke of Tyrrendor and the ear of the continent famous lighting wielder.” Though the words are meant in jest, the reminder of the power laden relationship you are a part of sours something in your stomach.
You don’t let the feelings that are still festering show on your face as you laugh along with Elliott and Samira. Both have welcomed you back into the squad with more than welcoming arms and its clear to you that their friendship has blossomed without your presence. There is a twinge of jealousy, but something on your face must show because soon enough Elliott’s arm is over your shoulders and pulling you closer.
“You know you can tell us anything right.” Elliott’s voice is quiet as his hold tightens in comfort. “No matter what, we are still a squad, a family, no matter if your name is written in the same block or not.”
You give him a small smile and lean into the comfort. You knew that leaving Basgiath and the two people you love wouldn’t be simple, but it’s this space that you needed to feel like you weren’t just an outsider looking in.
“Thank you both. I knew when I requested the transfer from Dain that I would be welcomed back, but it’s even better knowing that it really is true.” A quirk of an eyebrow is all you get from both of them before the conversation changes.
It finally feels like you can breathe without someone constantly looking over your shoulder. It isn’t that you ever minded the fierce protectiveness of Xaden or Violet, but its refreshing to know that there’s no unspoken communication or secrets laden between the two people in front of you.
As the night wears on, you let the heat of the hearth and the warmth of the bond with the two people in front of you warm the part of your heart that had begun to grow cold. You know it’s just a matter of time before you must answer for your decision and face whatever consequences that may arrive, but for now you let the smile settle on your face as your head rests on Elliott’s shoulder.
___________
Two nights later a rough pounding on your door draws you awake. Your eyes blink blearily as you try to banish the sleep from your eyes.
Groaning as you slowly rise from the bed, limbs still heavily laden with sleep. Seconds later, there’s no doubt now who is on the other side of the door. Your hand barely crosses the frame before Xaden is grabbing you and pulling himself into the room.
“Couldn’t this have waited till morning.” Your voice rasps as you try to clear the last remaining dregs of sleep. It’s obvious to Xaden that you haven’t raised his eyes, because if you had, he knows you would’ve never asked that question.
Xaden doesn’t speak, your arm still gripped in his and it’s his tightening grip that finally has your eyes meeting his. As soon as you meet the familiar eyes, you blink a few times, sure that you must be dreaming.
Is the color of his eyes different?
Surely it must just be the lighting, you blink several times again finally clearing past the haze. Now it isn’t the color you focus on, but the swarming emotions that seem to be mounting by the second.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” The words sound like they’ve been scraped from Xaden’s soul, fractured and haunted in a way you’ve never heard before.
But it’s that emotion that has your own defenses lifting, each wall being reinforced with the might of your own anger. You tear your arm away and take several steps back, taking the much needed space you want from the man in front of you.
A humorless laugh leaves your lips as you watch the look in his eyes turn even wilder. You take him in, jacket askew, hair sticking up as though he can’t keep his hands out of it and the sight is almost comical. His fists tighten at his sides making his knuckles turn white, his jaw ticking in concealed irritation.
You don’t say anything as you stare back at him. You knew that you didn’t have much time, but you never thought he would come busting through the door like a man possessed. And for what?
You look to the hall, fully expecting Violet to waltz in behind, her own eyes burning in fury, but it seems you are only graced with one of them tonight.
“Well?” He seethes as his eyes continue to roam over your figure.
“Well, what?” You spit back with equal agitation.
He scoffs as he takes a step towards you, but the minute he moves, you step back. It’s that one step that has him faltering, and in all your time, you’ve never seen Xaden Riorson falter. Suddenly the wildness in his eyes turns to panic, an emotion you’ve only ever seen on his face in the form of battle when you or Violet were injured.
He swallows thickly as he tries to recover himself, now seemingly unsure of what exactly to do.
“Why did you request a transfer back to your old squad?” The words are quieter now, almost as if he’s lost the wildness he had when entering the room.
You scoff as your face turns toward the ground. “If you have to ask, maybe you haven’t been paying attention, your Grace.”
The title slips off your lips in a sneer, the term sounding more like a curse than a pleasantry.
“You need to come back to Basgiath with me, so we can talk with Violet. The three of us have things to discuss.” His tone is meant to be comforting, but all it does is stoke the embers of your anger.
“What? So, I can watch as the both of you talk to each other and leave me out of it? So, you can scrape me raw by knowing my every thought but leave me questioning both of yours?” The words hit exactly where you were aiming as you watch his face falter.
“Precisely.” You snap back as you stand at your door with your hand gesturing for him to leave. “If you want to talk when my squad is back at Basgiath, then fine. But I’m not leaving until my stint in Aretia is complete. If you want to keep secrets, then be my guest, but it doesn’t mean that I must be part of the equation any longer.”
Surprised, Xaden takes the few steps to stand outside your door. The hurt in his eyes shines as he looks back at you. You can see it in the tense set of his limbs that he’s desperate to reach out, but each word of your challenge has landed squarely. Instead of folding into him, you close the door and effectively shut down any communication.
‘Sgaeyl is not happy with your words.’ Rion muses sleepily as if she was also aroused from her slumber.
‘Yes, well, I’m not happy with being kept in the dark like a child either.’ You snark back, though the amusement continues to rise through your bond.
‘Though she commends you for fire. Seems the shadow wielder is not currently in her good graces.’ You are momentarily shocked with Rion’s words, never in your life did you think you’d warrant pride from Sgaeyl let alone when Xaden somehow disappointed her.
‘I appreciate her commendation, but at this point, I just want to get some sleep and ignore that the last twenty minutes even happened.’ You yawn mentally as you settle back into your bed.
A few months ago, the confrontation with Xaden would’ve kept you up all night, but with the way things have been, you find yourself drifting soon enough. It’s during that drift that you miss the shadows that wrap around your form as if they can’t stand to have any space from you. You snuggle further into the blankets, and they wrap themselves tightly to your form. Although there is a pulse that stirs behind them that says their master is fighting a war that he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep up.
__________
The next morning you enter the dining hall, and it would be impossible to miss the Duke of Tyrrendor who has seemed to take to lording over the entire room. You do your best to ignore him completely and walk to your squad with breakfast in hand.
The minute you sit down, you scoot closer to Elliott, determined to ignore Xaden’s presence altogether.
“I love you and all, but did you just sign my death warrant?” Elliott whispers into your ear as his eyes seem to drift in the direction of Xaden.
You lean in even more conspiratorially, your voice a whisper. “Of course not. He’s just being an ass.”
“An ass that looks like he’s one breath away from eating me for breakfast.” Elliott replies while his eyes turn back to yours.
At that point you can’t help the laugh that tumbles out at the absurdity of the entire situation. The laugh surprises even you considering you don’t think you’ve heard the sound since the last time you were in Aretia and still part of your original squad.
It’s then you feel the pulse of shadow that tightens around your wrist. You look down with an eyebrow cocked and pull up your sleeve causing the shadow that was resting there to disappear. You turn to Xaden, only warning shining in your eyes, but his eyes don’t even meet yours, instead they are focused solely on Elliott’s hand that now rests across your shoulder.
“Come on.” Your words are irritated as you move to get up. “Let’s go to the kitchens. Natasha more than likely has something better waiting there.”
As you walk away, you can feel Xaden’s stare boring into you, but you refuse to turn around.
_____________
‘I’m not ready to go back. Can’t we just stay in Aretia?’ You whine to Rion as you walk towards the flight field.
‘Are you wanting to stay because you like it here or because you don’t want to finally have to answer for your decision?’
You groan and scrunch your nose as you make it to Rion’s foreleg.
‘You’re supposed to be on my side, you know.’ Rion’s amused chuff slides into your mind.
‘I am on your side and so is Sgaeyl. You’d be surprised all those who are.’ Your eyes narrow as you look at the back of Rion’s head.
‘Why do I feel like you know something?’
‘Oh, I do. Sgaeyl was more forthcoming without her mate in tow during the shadow wielders visit.’ The rawness of Rion’s voice now has you on edge.
‘Are you going to share what you learned?’
Something in Rion’s tone changes as she looks back towards you in her seat.
‘If it’s something that challenges your safety in any way, then you will know all.’
The cryptic message does nothing to soothe the concern that continues to grow in your gut. The secret they’re clearly hiding is something bigger than anything you could’ve expected and you aren’t sure if it will be the final strike to your relationship or something to bond you closer.
___________
Somehow, you’re lucky enough to arrive back at Basgiath while Violet’s squad is in signet sparring class. You take the boon Zinhal has granted and walk straight back to your quarters.
As soon as you’re done showering, there’s a knock at your door. You face hardens as you open the door, but it begins to soften the minute the person on the other side registers.
“Elliott, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, just thought we could hang out.” He says with a shrug and you extend your hand, pulling him into the space. Though the minute he’s in, you look back at your door quizzically as the magic of your wards seems to pull differently than before.
You don’t know how long has passed as you both have chatted about the last year, between crossing the parapet and fighting venin, the last eighteen months have been a whirlwind.
You are both laughing, your head rested in his lap when the door to your room suddenly swings open. Both startling in surprise, the emotion is short lived when you see who is on the other side.
Xaden and Violet stand there as if you’ve just caved in their entire world. Meanwhile, you can’t keep the irritation off your face.
“That’s why the wards felt different when I pulled Elliott through.” You mutter to no one in particular as you look back at your partners.
Elliott sensing the tension begins to rise and head for the door.
“I’ll talk to you later.” He murmurs as he brings you in for a hug. “Don’t forget you deserve to be heard too.”
The words are quiet, but you have no doubt that Violet and Xaden heard them as you watch their shoulders tense in response.
“I’ll see you later.” You give Elliott one last squeeze before you let him go. You watch as he scoots out the door, careful not to get too close to the two livid forms standing just outside your door.
“Starlight.” Xaden starts as he marches into the room, all commanding presence and bravado. Your brow quirks at the interruption, not used to Xaden calling your personal nickname since gaining his professorship.
Violet doesn’t even try with placating before she’s in front of your face.
“Why did you switch squads and disappear to Aretia? Do you know how worried we were when we got back and you were nowhere to be found?” Violet’s anxiety is obvious as she paces in front of you.
Xaden however has made it his mission to get as close to you as possible, as if he doesn’t touch you soon, you may just float away. You don’t let either of them get too close as you stand your ground, your own stare hardening.
“There was no reason for me to be pulled from my original squad. We all know that.” Your eyes drift back and forth between the two. “The whole reason you both orchestrated that last year was so you’d have someone to keep an eye on me when Violet had to go to Samara.”
The silence settles heavily as the weight of your words begins to take shape.
“Is it because you’re interested in Achinson?” Xaden’s words cut through the haze and you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out.
“So that’s why both of you are here, because you’re jealous and think that I’m leaving you for Elliott?” You laugh out, though the sarcasm in your voice is thick.
“You’ve both been skirting around me since the battle here and I’m tired. So instead, I try to find people that are here for just me and now you want to come to me because you’re jealous? As if I didn’t warrant the same attention before?” You let the exhaustion leech through your voice, the mixture between that and sadness settling heavy on your shoulders. But you aren’t done saying your peace yet.
“You both sit here and talk mind to mind, and I watch you do it. At this point I don’t even know if it is a cognizant thing you’re doing to keep me out or you’re just so focused on each other you can’t see me standing there.”
“Of course we see you.” Violet blurts out as Xaden grabs your waist and plasters you to his chest no longer able to maintain his distance. “The entire time we were in Anca we were both worried about what could be happening here.”
You feel Xaden’s grip tighten on your waist as Violet’s hand comes up to grip your face. You know if you wanted to, you could let yourself sink into the comfort. To go back to the happiness that you told yourself was forever as you each pledged yourselves to one another.
“You say that, but its hard to feel that way when it feels like there is something hanging over our heads and I’m the only one who doesn’t know it.” Violet’s eyes flare as her hand falls back to her side. It’s that shock that lets you know that you’ve hit the heart of the problem cleanly.
“We are just trying to protect you.” The volume of Violet’s voice has ratcheted up higher than you’ve ever heard it. Conviction and fury lacing through every word, as if she proves it loudly enough you’ll understand its for your own good.
“I’m not in love with the both of you for your fucking protection!” Your own tone rises in response, not willing to concede any ground.
“And that is why we love you. We know you can take care of yourself, but this isn’t something we’re keeping from you lightly.” Xaden’s words are meant to soothe, just like his face that nuzzles in your hair.
Needing space to process your thoughts, you pull yourself out of his hold and towards the door.
“Protection in the name of ignorance is no protection – it’s a death sentence. I would’ve thought that the last year and a half would’ve shown you both that, but clearly you’re both still so absorbed in each other you haven’t pulled your heads far enough away to notice.” You bristle as their insinuation of protection still prickles across your skin.
A cynical huff leaves your mouth as another thought tugs to the forefront of your mind. “Especially you Violet. Or are your actions more justified than Dain trying to shield you from the trials of the quadrant? It isn’t either of your jobs to decide what I can and cannot handle. That’s not fucking love – its control.”
She rears back in surprise, not expecting you to bite. Xaden steps further in front of her and you snarl at the insinuation that you’d ever hurt her, considering you are the one with an aching wound living in your chest.
“So you can keep your fucking protection, you can live in your mind to mind bond, but don’t expect me to play a part in either. You can either love me like you’re supposed to or let me go.”
You turn away, not interested in ‘I’m sorry’ or hurt faces. If they want to keep their secrets and depend on only each other, there’s no room for you. The thought settles heavy on your shoulders, but you refuse to let them see you break. Refuse to be the one to show the weakness that they clearly don’t need as part of their growing dynamic, their growing secrets. Though it hasn’t escaped you that you’re the only one in Xaden’s precious circle that warrants being left out.
Shadows try to bar the door, and they are successful for a beat until you tap into the light of your magic. Each flicker burning through the darkness.
You may not be as powerful as your lighting wielding partner, but she hasn’t been around to see the ways in which you’ve honed your power. A skill that you’ve only shared with Ridoc as you’ve both trained together.
You hear the surprised gasp as you turn the knob of the door, but you have no room in your heart to relish in your pride for yourself. The sting of betrayal festering too brightly to be smothered by a softer emotion.
“Until both of you are willing to come clean with all the fucking secrets, stay away. If you think I can’t handle them, then you never trusted me in the first place. And you don’t get to show up here just because you are fucking jealous to try and explain yourselves.” You throw your words over your shoulder as you continue your stride towards the flight field.
The sting of their silence is still there as Rion comes into view, but without a word, you mount, and she launches immediately. You don’t miss the two figures that run out onto the flight field or the way the shadows surge in an effort to bring you back, but your light lands like a shield around you, a glistening cocoon that keeps each shadow at bay.
The steady beat of wings is the thing that draws your attention and you turn to see familiar sapphire scales glint in the moonlight. You scowl and look toward Sgaeyl’s seat, but the minute you realize that there’s no Xaden, your irritation turns to curiosity.
‘What is Sgaeyl doing?’ You question as the beautiful blue glides under Rion’s wing.
‘She is showing her rider that he has chosen the wrong path. That she stands with you and everything you have laid out before your mates.’ Your eyes turn and your whole body tenses as Sgaeyl’s eyes meet your own.
You always thought you’d see the ruthlessness that lays in Xaden’s stare, but instead there’s a deep sense of knowing, an odd comfort considering her reputation.
‘Your mates will have to decide if they want this relationship and if they do, how to win you back.’ Rion’s words are tense, showing the restraint in her tone. ‘I will not let them keep this from you forever and if they choose to, I will break the oath I’ve sworn and tell you. You will not be alone, and this secret will come to the light.’
You lean into the saddle and let the rush of the wind in your ears quiet your thoughts. As much as you want to push, to yell, to scream, there is no point if the two people you love most in this world will not trust you with the truth.
So instead, you gaze to the spring sky above you let your stare rest on the twinkling stars. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring or if Xaden and Violet will trust you with their secrets. But here among the vastness of the stars, you shake off the restraints of their silence and just feel.
Request: Darling....can I request a fic of xaden ....where the reader is her sister and he and other marked ones don't like her due to some reason...but then she's a goddamn badass and yeah make it angsty as hell(I don't know if this makes sense)
Pairings: Xaden Riorson x sister!reader, Marked ones x Reader, sort of Sawyer x fem!Reader
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: IRON FLAME SPOILERS, cannon accurate violence, targeted hated, cursing, life threats, past deaths, misdirected hatred and grief, bad parenting.
A/N: This is where my mind went with this request! Hopefully you all enjoy it ❤️
~~~~~~~~~~~
The weight of the guilt clung to you like a second skin, thick and suffocating. A burden and weight that seems to be placed rather unfairly onto your shoulders. As each and every step through the halls of Basgiath War College was met with narrowed eyes, cold glares, and the ever-present whispers that followed like a specter.
It didn’t matter who you passed in the halls. It didn’t matter when. Didn’t matter who you sat with in class or in the dining hall. The other cadets in your year would see the swirling dark tattoo on your left arm and lift their noses at you. While other marked ones would do the very same thing.
They didn’t trust you.
No one trusted you.
He didn’t trust you.
Xaden Riorson had made sure of that.
Your older brother—the only family you had left—had turned his back on you the moment you arrived at the college when you were old enough. His expression carved from stone, his voice sharp enough to cut. You had known it would be difficult. You had expected anger, the frustration, even the resentment.
But this? This was something worse.
You wasn’t just unwanted. You were avoided. You were the enemy. To everyone.
“Stay the hell out of my way.”
His voice was ice, cutting through the tension between them like a blade. And cut through you like shards.
You had found him in the training yard, surrounded by the Marked Ones in his squad, his second-in-command Garrick, your old friend, leaning against a post while Bodhi, your cousin, didn’t even look at you. While Imogen crossed her arms, regarding her with a mixture of distrust and disdain.
But ever so determined, you lifted your chin. It had been almost two months since you had gotten there. Almost two months and he still refused to even give you two minutes of his time. And yet you refusing to shrink under their scrutiny. “I’m not your enemy, Xaden. I’m your sister. You’d think after six years you’d know that. I’m not here to cause trouble, I’m here to,”
He scoffed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?” Interrupting your sentence
That had hurt. Had it been too late? You could feel your stomach twisted. You had prepared herself for hostility, but hearing it aloud—from him—still hurt. Hurt more than expected. That was your brother.
But in that moment you had never more like a stranger.
Garrick sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, it’s not personal—”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Xaden cut in, his jaw clenched. He took a step toward you, his voice lowering to something dangerous. “Because of you, our father is dead. Because of you, our mother walked away from us. Had you just been a little more helpful, things wouldn’t be this fucking difficult,” he said. His voice filled with pure distain, pure hatred and anger.
His words hit like a punch to the ribs.
You had only been fourteen years old, just barely understanding what was even happening when their father was executed for his rebellion along with the other leaders. You had stood there, frozen, tears streaming down her face while Xaden held her hand so tightly it hurt.
But it was your mother who shattered everything.
It had been before the rebellion. Years before. Right after Xaden’s birthday. She had tucked you both in at bed that night. Told you both how much she loved you. Kissed you both so lovingly and softly. And the next morning?
Gone.
No note. No explanation. Just a home that felt empty and wrong.
Xaden had never forgiven her for that. Neither had you.
And now, surrounded by the people who would die for him, who would follow him into battle without hesitation, he made sure they all knew where she stood.
“She can’t be trusted,” he had told them. “Keep your distance.”
And they had listened.
The isolation was suffocating.
It was a permanent weight in you chest that was always threatening your mind constantly.
You were used to whispers, but the silence was worse. The Marked Ones didn’t speak to you unless necessary. They didn’t train with you. If you tried to spar, they found someone else. If you sat down at a table, they left.
Even the others followed their lead.
Even your squad. They put up with you when they had to. But that was it.
Sawyer was the only one who seemed indifferent, watching her with something like curiosity rather than outright hatred. At least she had him. Sawyer was sweet.
But Xaden?
Xaden didn’t look at you at all.
And that was worse than all of it.
It was months past, presentation and threshing was just around the corner—or just over the gauntlet.
The Gauntlet loomed in the distance above them, an unforgiving structure of swinging beams, crumbling platforms, and gaps that seemed impossible to cross.
Failure meant death.
And you weren’t about to fail.
The morning of the run, whispers followed her as she strapped on her training leathers. Echoed whispers surrounded them around the dining hall and through the halls out side.
“She’ll fall.”
“She won’t even make it halfway.”
“She should’ve never been allowed here in the first place.”
“She won’t make it past threshing.”
“Let’s hope not.”
You ignored them.
You had to.
You couldn’t allow those thoughts to take over. You couldn’t let them be right.
All the odds were against you. Abandoned and ignored by your brother. Ignored and shunned by your family from a decision that you truly had no part of. It wasn’t your fault. In the big grand scheme of things, it was not your fault. But that didn’t matter.
Because in their minds, and in Xaden’s, it was your fault. Everything. Was. Your. Fault.
And that guilt? That unfair burden? That would always remain as long as Xaden blamed you for everything.
It had been months now after parapet. Threshing was in a few weeks. Presentation. But first was the Gauntlet.
Xaden stood at the top with Garrick, arms crossed as he surveyed the cadets. If he heard the murmurs, he didn’t acknowledge them. His dark eyes narrowing down the course at his wing as the other sections and squads prepared to do their practice runs before the timed trials.
Practicing for when threshing was finally around. The test for a chance to prove themselves worthy. Worthy enough to make it past presentation, they’d need all these skills. To ride your dragons. If you made it that far, at least.
The course was grueling. Designed to push cadets past their limits. Designed with dragons in mind for each obstacle. Designed to weed out the weak ones.
And so here you were. Standing in the front of the line for your squad, just behind Sawyer. First squad was finishing up ahead of you. The first few competitors barely made it over the first swinging bridge before slipping to their deaths. Others hesitated at the crumbling stones, losing precious time.
Then it was time for your squad. Sawyer went first, his agility unmatched as he maneuvered through the course with a speed no one could match. It was probably because he had done this before.
Sawyer was a repeat, as you had learned. He had gone through all this last year.
Then it was your turn.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, but you shoved the nerves down. You didn’t have the luxury of fear. You couldn’t afford to feel. Not now. Not in front of the rest of your Squad, the
As the signal to begin echoed through the training grounds, you launched yourself forward with unwavering resolve.
The first obstacle, a towering vertical wall, stood as an imposing sentinel. Without hesitation, you sprinted toward it, you steps light and measured. Utilizing your momentum, you leaped, you fingers gripping the edge with practiced precision. With a controlled pull, she swung her leg over and descended smoothly, barely pausing before advancing to the next challenge.
The rotating wheel loomed ahead, a notorious obstacle that had bested many cadets. Timing her approach, you synchronized your movements with the wheel’s rotations. With a swift, calculated jump, you grasped a handle and swung yourself to the other side, landing in a crouch before springing forward without losing momentum.
A series of balance beams awaited, each narrowing mean. You navigated the beams with grace. Your arms subtly adjusting to maintain equilibrium. Your focus was absolute, gaze fixed ahead, blocking out the murmurs of onlookers and the weight of expectations.
Next came the rope climb. Seizing the coarse rope, you ascended hand over hand, you movements fluid and efficient. Reaching the summit, you tapped the marker and descended in controlled slides, your feet touching the ground with barely a sound.
The next challenge, the chimney climb, required both strength and strategy. Positioning yourself between the narrow walls, you used opposing pressure to “walk” upward, your movements steady and controlled.
The final challenge was the huge steep wall. The one to run up, the challenge that simulates climbing up the dragon leg to ride. And just above it was where your brother was.
Taking a deep breath, you backed up. Backing up as far as she possibly could. This was where she proved them all wrong. And then. Suddenly, you bolted forward. Using all the strength she had, she spent it into and bolted up the wall. Your feet pressed against the wall as you pushed yourself up and up and up until your hand reached the lip of the curve.
With all the strength you had left, you pulled yourself over the edge. Your body was pulled over with the last bit of your strength as finally your right leg got pulled over. And a soft click of the stop watch sounded in your ears.
A stunned silence fell over the crowd as you finished hauling yourself over the edge.
Garrick’s voiced cleared before he read your time aloud.
Second place.
Second place.
Only second to Sawyer.
The silence stretched, heavy and stunned, before someone let out a low whistle. And then some hushed mumbling.
You got to your feet before you turned, locking eyes with Xaden. Onyx eyes, locking with onyx eyes. Sweat dripping down your skin.
For the first time since you had arrived, he was looking at you.
Really looking at you.
And for a moment—a single, fleeting moment—you saw something crack in his expression. Something uncertain. Looking like you big brother again. But there was something else.
You were seven, close to complete eight, when your mother's contract with your father ended and she left.
Fen Riorson was a busy man, so it was Xaden who really looked after you.
He was just ten but he was already responsible.
While your father was planning strategies, Xaden was braiding your hair for you to sleep so it wouldn't be so tangled the next morning.
Not that your father wasn't present in your life, he always had time to read you a story to sleep and give you a goodnight kiss - despite little Xaden saying that he was already a grown boy.
When the rebellion fell and you were forced to watch your father's death, Xaden pulled you to his chest so you couldn't watch.
You took care of his injuries when Lilith Sorrengail made the cuts on his back.
That was the last time you saw him before you were separated.
Years later, there was he on the stairs of the Parapet, searching for your familiar face.
You saw him first and smiled wide, excited to see your brother.
You heard his talk with Violet before she walked on the Parapet, when it was your turn you raised an eyebrow at him.
"Did you have to scare the girl like that?"
"She's a Sorrengail."
"And?"
You held his gaze for a while before smiling.
"I missed you."
His face softened and he nodded, then you moved to cross the Parapet, which you did sucefully.
You didn't see him again 'till dinner time, and after you ate he pulled you to his room and hugged you tight.
You wouldn't have privacy to talk in the first years' room, since it was shared.
Xaden was so giant now compared to you that you maybe would need a chair to look at him without having a neckache.
"I missed you too." He pulled away to see you better. "You've grown up."
Not two seconds later Bodhi and Garrick came in and hugged you too, you find out your brother wasn't the only giant in your life.
Reunited again, the four of you spend hours talking 'till you couldn't keep your eyes open and they walked you to your room.
Now, guess whch squad were you in? Exactly, the Iron Squad.
Violet noticed the looks you and Xaden would share sometimes during classes, how close you and Bodhi were, the protective way Garrick would stand beside you when a cadet would mess with you for being a marked one.
She knew something was going on.
That night when she was hiding on the tree, she noticed how Xaden stood close to you.
After the others left, staying just the two of you, she leaned a bit more to hear better what you were saying.
"Are you sure it's gonna work? I'm afraid I can't cross the Gauntlet." You confessed, insecure.
"I could say you don't have to worry, that everything will be okay, but I'd be lying."
"Wow! I'm feeling way better now!" you said sarcastic.
"Let me finish. We still have time, so train hard." He gently held your cheeks and kissed your forehead. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks, Xaden." You hugged him. "Love you."
"Love you too."
Violet couldn't believe her eyes and ears.
The next day she was ranting everything to Rhiannon.
"Everything makes sense now! They're lovers!"
"How can you be sure? Maybe they're just friends."
"He doesn't seem the type that kisses a friend!"
Violet will never admit it, but she was jealous.
A few chapters later, she found out you were his sister in that snow scene.
"What about your girlfriend?" She asked.
"I don't have a girlfriend." He raised an eyebrow, the one with the scar.
"What about Y/N? Why else would you be around her so much? Why is she the only one you hug? Why would Bodhi and Garrick always look after her when you're not around? Why-"
"She's my sister."
And then the kiss of the year finally happened.
You started to see Violet around your brother more often since then, it took two seconds for you to make the connection.
"You like her." You teased.
"No."
"Don't lie to me."
When Rhiannon told you Violet thought you were Xaden's girlfriend you bent down laughing.
You were inseparable since then.
Ridoc and Sawyer were like the younger brothers you didn't know you wanted.
Rhiannon was the mom of the group.
Liam was like an older brother.
And everytime Violet came up with that look on her face you knew you just had to go with the flow.
That's how that family worked and you loved it.
Xaden was happy to see that the two women of his life got along.
If you ever get a date, be it with a boy or a girl, Xaden wants to meet them.
He knows he's not your dad but he's naturaly protective and wants to know who his sister is going out with, especially if you are already a thing.
If it is Garrick I can picture Xaden being like
"She's way younger than you!"
And Garrick being like
"She's the same age as Violet."
Xaden knew that very well, it's just too hard for him to accept that his little sis is not so little anymore.
The next day he comes to you all gruffy and crossed arms, barely believing what he's about to say
"Fine, you have my blessing to date him."
"We are dating for tree months now."
"Okay, so don't have my blessing!"
But deep down he's happy it's with his best friend bc he knows he'll take well care of you.
Dain tried a move on you once and let's just say things didn't go well.
Now skipping some chapters...
You were there when Liam died, you fell on your knees beside Violet and let the tears and the pain consume you.
It was the first time she had seen you actually sad, a big contrast to your usual happy nature.
During second year, you helped Vi with her research and promissed not to tell anything to your brother, even tho you knew his second signet would let him find out anyways.
Varrish didn't like you, what a surprise. But you didn't like him too so you were even.
You were glad that you could fly back to Aretia, you missed home. And better, your friends were going with you!
Needless to say you didn't like Catriona. You weren't so glad anymore when she and other fliers joined your squad.
In that cliff scene, you seriously considered to push her off the edge.
Before the battle at Basgiath, you hugged tight your squad.
"I love you guys so much."
"Aww, I knew you loved me!" Ridoc joked.
"We love you too." Rhiannon spoke, ignoring his comment.
And then Xaden, Bodhi and Garrick.
"Be safe, you tree."
"Same to you, shortie." Garrick messed up your hair.
After an intense battle, you watched relieved the wyvern fall from the sky.
Sure, you had your losses, Sawyer lost a leg, Xaden had become a venin, Violet lost her mother, lots and lots of riders died...
Summary: Innocent sibling teasing lead to heartbreak and a silence. Hoping to make amends, Hyacinth writes to the palace. Setting a promenade in the royal gardens in motion. [Series]
Without a proper knock the door opened. Gregory’s muscles tensed. Getting rid of the letters under the covers in an instant. Clearing his throat softly, hands folded in front of him. Hyacinth rolling her eyes at him. With little care, she invaded his personal space. Jumping onto the bed.
“Are you still sick?” She asked, kicking her feet, chin resting on her hands. “No!” Gregory replied, crossing his arms. Hyacinth pressed her lips together with a mischievous glance. “What are you hiding?” Tilting her head a bit.
“Nothing.” Gregory mumbled out, pulling the blanket a bit more to himself. Hyacinth curled up a devious smile. Removing her hands from under her chin to tackle the blanket. Diving her hands underneath. “Hyacinth!” Gregory called out, trying to keep her hands out.
Giggling, she searched around over the mattress. “Stop!” Gregory freaked out. Pulling a hand from underneath it by her wrist. When he reached for the other one, her hand dove back under. Laughing loudly. “Hyacinth! Stop!” He panicked. His sister called it out, snatching a few pages from underneath his blanket. Holding them proudly up.
Giggling, she rolled over. Gasping loud. “Dearest Gregory.” She read out loud. Having a slight laugh at it. “Hyacinth!” Gregory called out, reaching out for her. Hyacinth rolled out of bed, chuckling at the treasure she was holding. Reading a few lines out loud to her own amusement.
“Give it back!” Gregory demanded, holding his hand out to her. She just gasped more, turning to another page. “Give it back now!” His voice raged. Tensing his jaw, he had to take matters into his own hands. Pushing the covers away, he got out of bed. Rushing around the bed to her. “Hyacinth! Those are private!” He let out with one final warning.
“Are you in love brother?” She asked with pouty lips. The letters pressed to her chest. “Shut it!” Gregory yelled, grabbing for his letters. Hyacinth still held onto them. Clenching his jaw, Gregory pulled harder. Stumbling back onto the mattress. Moving his hand up to his face.
Eyes widening at half the papers he was holding. Jumping back up, seeing the other end in his sister’s hands. Shockingly she lowered her hand. Gregory blinked rapidly, suppressing an outburst. “Get out!” He shouted, snatching the papers from his sister. “I…I am sorry…”Hyacinth replied with a trembling lip. Never her intentions to ruin it. She only wanted a bit of fun with him.
“Out!” Gregory gave her a push. Too enraged to have her around. Hyacinth wiped a tear away. Running out of his room. Gregory exhaled deep at the torn pieces in his hands. Sinking to his knees, he held them close to his chest. Sniffling softly, chin lowered to his chest. There was another knock, making Gregory wipe his cheeks dry. “Mister Bridgerton…” John spoke, falling silent at the scenery.
“She…she tore them…” He cried out with a sob. John hastened to his side. “I’ll mend them…nothing is lost yet, Mister Bridgerton.” John soothed, slowly taking the letters from him. Helping him up by his arms. “C’mon mister Bridgerton.” Touching his forehead briefly. “You are feeling better.” Muttering to himself. John helped him get dressed. Tugging the letters safely away.
Hyacinth rushed to him upon his entry in the parlor. “I am truly sorry…” She apologized with her hands behind her back. Gregory simply brushed past her. Hyacinth turned to her mother with glossy eyes. Violet shaking her head to leave him be. Sniffling soft, she sought comfort with Eloise. Eloise was already holding her arms open to her. Gregory went to sit by the piano, pressing the same key depressingly.
“Gregory, I said I was sorry.” Hyacinth let out. Gregory turned to his mother. “Mother, will you tell her I do not accept any lousy apologies.” He said. Violet’s gaze going from her son to her daughter. Hyacinth crossed her arms. “I am right here! Talk to me!” She called out.
“Mother, will you please tell her I do not wish to speak to her.” Gregory completely ignored Hyacinth. Hyacinth jumped up with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry! Are you truly not going to speak to me?” Her voice raspy with emotions. Gregory turned his posture away with a shrug of his shoulders. Sobbing loudly, Hyacinth ran out.
Violet sighed defeated. “Was that truly necessary?” She asked, hands on her hips. “Was her tearing my letters really necessary?” Gregory responded stating his point. With a sarcastic glance, he gave his final word. Violet batting her gaze upwards with a deep exhale.
Hyacinth ran up to her room, pulling out papers from her desk. Blinking the tears away. Wiping a hand over the paper to dry any fallen stains on it. Taking ink, she began to write. Hoping it would grant her forgiveness for her foolish actions.
Hyacinth hated the silence. At every occasion her brother ignored her. Leaving her unable to utter one word without him leaving. The silent treatment was agonizing. Her eyes got glossy at the sudden sight of a beloved sister. “Francesca!” She called out, walking up to her with open arms.
Francesca chuckled surprisingly upon her sister’s hug. “Whatever is the matter, sister?” Stroking her sister’s head. “I’ve done something stupid and now Gregory won’t ever forgive me for it.” She spoke, rubbing her head against her sister's chest. “I’m sure it will pass.” Francesca answered, giving her back a good rub.
“I’m not so sure this time…” Hyacinth replied, lifting her head up. Both their heads turned upon Gregory’s arrival. “Francesca.” Gregory greeted. Barely giving Hyacinth a glance before heading for the sweets laid out. “See…” Hyacinth whispered to her.
Francesca pulled her in for a soothing hug. Heads turning once more when Mrs. Wilson entered. “A letter Ma’am.” She spoke with a curtsy at Francesca. “For…Gregory.” Averting her gaze to the young man.
Gregory nearly dropped the macron he was biting in. Quickly wiping his hands clean before receiving the letter. Shakily he opened it. Breathing satisfied. “It’s from Y/n.” He said. Francesca quirked her eyebrow cheekily up to Hyacinth. “Who is this Y/n?” She asked.
“I’m invited to the royal gardens.” He said out loud with slight shock. “Am I missing something?” Francesca questioned. Hyacinth kept her arms around her sister, smiling widely. Gregory lowered the letter with a glance. “She’s asked I forgive you.” He spoke. “I suppose this is your idea then?” Holding the letter up. Hyacinth gave him a faint smile. “I am truly sorry, Gregory…”
Gregory sighed loud, opening his arms to her. Hyacinth ran up to him, jumping into his arms. “Alright, you might not be entirely an annoyance.” Patting her on the head. “Is someone still going to explain to me who this Y/n is?” Francesca begged to know.
“The queen’s goddaughter.” Violet answered upon her entry. Francesca’s mouth dropping to a gawk. “I’ve been invited to the royal gardens. Y/n is feeling much better.” He said proudly to his mother. Francesca turned her head with a twinkling smile at her.
Gregory’s knee trembled almost the entire carriage ride. Violet curled up a smile, turning her head away from her son’s lovesickness. He moved to the edge of the seat, staring outside. The palace rising up on the horizon. “I’m coming Y/n.” Muttering under his breath. Almost too excitingly he got out of the carriage.
Apologizing to John for nearly knocking the door against his face. John moved a hand up, lowering his head with a smile. Gregory was a bit disappointed you weren’t waiting for him. Just Brimsley on the steps. Brimsley neared, bowing to them. “Mister Bridgerton, you are requested in the gardens.” He spoke, gesturing to the side.
Curling up a giddy smile, he took his leave. “Tea, Lady Bridgerton?" Brimsley offered. “Well, yes.” Violet answered, following him. The queen hurried Violet over to come join her. Violet confusingly came sitting by her side.
“Your majesty.” She began, blinking surprised at the sudden shush of her majesty. Queen Charlotte gestured somewhere in the front. Her goddaughter sitting by the fountain. Taking a cookie, she chuckled amusingly, settling in for the excitement when young Gregory came into sight.
“Y/n!” Gregory called out, hurrying over to you. You got up, meeting him half-way. Hands close to his chest. “Are you alright?” You asked. Gregory asked the same thing, holding you by your elbows. Both laughing quietly. Shyly he ran his fingers through his hair.
You gestured for him to follow you. Clearing his throat softly, he fell in your step. Hands behind his back. Admiring the gardens for a moment. “Have you forgiven your sister yet?” You asked. Gregory hummed loud. “Oh…uhm…yes…” Scratching his chin nervously.
Smiling, you revealed a folded package of letters. “This is for compensation.” Offering him the letters. Gregory gawked at the letters, then at you. Nodding you wanted him to accept it. Taking them, he pressed them briefly to his chest. “Miss Y/n, you are a God’s gift.” Complimented you for being so considerate.
Looking bashful away from his compliment. Gregory’s eyes wandered around. straying from you. Returning with a flower, handing it over to you. You gestured for Gregory to assist himself. Slightly parting his lips he let out a breath. Slowly moving his hand to your head. Tugging the flower behind your ear.
Swaying with your hips, you looked shyly down. Gregory cleared his throat, offering you his arm. “A true gentleman offers his lady an arm on a promenade.” He spoke. Chuckling softly, you accepted it. Strolling down the gravely path through the garden.
Straying further away out of sight of the palace. “Miss Y/n, I am truly sorry I caused you to be sick.” Gregory spoke. “That is alright, Gregory. I received lovely letters as a compromise.” Laying your head sweetly against his arm. Gregory grinning from ear to ear.
Gasping loud, you had a sudden thought. “I want to show you something.” Saying before pulling him along by his arm. Nearly tripping over his own feet to keep up. Running with you. You reached a hidden place, taking his hand before going under the archway. Gregory gasping in blissfulness at the beautiful scenery.
Flowers of all colours all around. A greenery paradise. By the thick oak tree hung a wooden swing. Self-made. Pulling Gregory with you to it. Taking the ropes in your hand, you sat down. “My mother and Godmother built it with the King.” You told him. Gregory came standing behind you, gently pushing you. Laughing as you felt like flying.
Slowly down, you patted the place beside you. Gregory came sitting with you, facing you. Swing gently rocking from the movement. Smiling, you gazed at him. Gregory smiling right back.
Getting lost in each other’s eyes. Gregory swallowed thickly. “Why do you always make it seem so easy?” He spoke. “What?” You answered with a smile. “Falling in love with you.” Gregory finished. Your lips parted with a slight shock. Gregory’s eyes lowering to your lips.
Taking another thick swallow. Your gaze wandered down too. Simultaneously leaning in. Nearing with anticipation. Smiling bashfully when Gregory lifted your hand up. Leaving a tender kiss on the back of your hand.
“I’ve always wanted to see the palace.” Gregory exclaimed, staring gawkingly at the window. His body wobbled with the movement of the carriage. “Only you can be this excited for a house, brother.” Eloise teased him. Pulling her glove higher up by the elbow.
Scrunching her nose at Hyacinth, who pressed her lips together to conceal a laugh. “Har Har.” Gregory responded dully with a soft roll of his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with having an interest in architecture.” He added, turning his posture more to them. “Did they teach you that at Eaton?” Hyacinth responded.
Gregory was about to comment on it, but kept quiet upon seeing the smirk on his sister's face. Knowing her well enough, she was teasing him once more. Slightly annoyed, he turned his posture away. Staring out of the window with grumpy mumbling. Eloise and Hyacinth snickering quietly.
“Hush.” Violet said, slapping her fan down near them. Putting a stop to their childish behavior. “I will see no such manners with the Queen. I only want to see your best manners first.” Violet made clear, looking at each of her children.
“Then you must first have them.” Gregory spoke with a sneer at his younger sister. Hyacinth gawking at his remark. Seeing how Violet let it slip. Shocked and annoyed, he received special treatment, she crossed her arms. Falling back into the seat.
Sitting un-lady-like, practically laying down. Violet gave her about a minute to soak in her own grumpy fit before casting one motherly scowl at her. Enough to make her straighten her posture and throw her irritations out of the window.
The horse and carriage throttled on cobble stone. Leaving the busy streets of Mayfair for the outskirts. Peaceful fields and meadows as far as the eye stretched. Hyacinth’s mood seemed to have completely changed.
Glued to the scenery of flowery fields. Whispering quietly all the flowers she recognized. Eloise retired to her novel, enjoying the bits of peace and quiet. Gregory dozed a bit off, feeling the soft breeze tickle his face.
He shot wide awake, spotting the palace at the horizon. Growing taller with each approach. Quickly he nudged Hyacinth who sat diagonally from him. She gasped loud, sticking her head out of the window. “Do be careful!” Violet called out with a sigh.
In wonder, Hyacinth admired the sun shining just above the highest tops. Leaving a warm glow on the stone walls. Even Eloise was tempted to look. Knowing if Benedict was here, he would’ve stopped the carriage just to paint it.
Excitement grew when the carriage rode up the pathway. Riding up to the front doors. Brimsley came down the few steps to greet them. Footman opening the carriage door. Violet got off first. Followed by her daughters, then Gregory. Brimsley bowed to him.
“I welcome you to the palace on behalf of the queen. She is very pleased you could come, Lady Bridgerton.” He spoke, keeping his hands neatly beside his body. “Well, it was a pleasure receiving her invitation.” Violet responded.
She had been rather surprised when receiving the invitation. Perhaps the queen wished for a familiar face with Lady Danbury’s departure. A close confident to gossip around like the older days. “And I am also honoured that my children were invited.” Violet quickly added.
Brimsley bowed his head at them. Gesturing for them to follow. Violet couldn’t stop herself but take a glorious glance at the interior. Clearing her throat, she quickly recollected herself. Children followed right behind her.
Brimsley led them into the meeting room where the queen was already seated. Her ladies in waiting standing by the side. A pomeranian sitting on the queen’s lap. “Lady Bridgerton and her children, your majesty.” Brimsley stopped before her with a bow. Moving aside for Lady Bridgerton and her children to bow or curtsy for her.
The queen raised her eyebrow at Eloise. “Heard anything interesting from your friend?” She asked. Eloise swallowed softly, knowing she was referring to Penelope. “I…I…I” Eloise started, looking nervously around. The queen’s brow only raising more in anticipation of hearing actual proper words.
“I’ve seen Gwen’s chaperone have quite the conversation with Theodore’s chaperone.” Hyacinth blurted out. Not taking much thought of it. The queen furrowed her brows at her. “Lady Woodhouse and Lord Dawe.” Hyacinth filled in. The queen’s expression subtly changed. Eloise and Violet shared a shocking glance when the queen patted the seat beside her.
Hyacinth ran over to it, sitting down. “Where did you see this?” The queen asked. “At my recital.” Hyacinth informed, looking lovingly at the dog. “Is Lord Dawe not a married man?” The queen tried to recall. Hyacinth hummed loud. “May I pet your dog?” Asking between the conversation. To everyone’s surprise, the queen offered her the pomeranian.
“Tell me all about it.” The queen let out with an amusing chuckle. Hyacinth began to flood the queen with her tales. Petting the dog whilst doing so. Violet and Eloise had joined. Receiving tea from Brimsley. Gregory remained standing up straight.
Taking a glance at the tower of pastries and desserts. Knowing the queen was occupied with his sister’s gossip. He glanced at Brimsley, pointing if it was alright. Brimsley nodded. Gregory rubbed his hands excitingly together before choosing some macrons.
Putting some quickly in his mouth, in case he shouldn’t have. He felt rather out of place what was allowed and what not. Going a bit around the table, he looked thoughtfully around what next pasty he was going to eat. His gaze went briefly upwards.
Eyes widening, staring back at a girl by the door. A girl trying to have a peek of the room. Upon seeing him, she darted away. Gregory stuffed the chocolate in his hand quickly in his mouth. Wiping his hands down his vest. Glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was paying attention to him.
When no one was, he subtly slipped out of the room, through the partly open door. Looking left and right to where the mystery girl could’ve gone. Exhaling loud when he saw her by the end of the hall, going into another room. Gregory went in pursuit.
Huffing and puffing quietly. “Wait…wait…” Gregory called out in a low tone. Not wanting to draw attention by shouting. Waving his hand out, he hoped to stop her. “Wait… please…” Begging with pants.
Hands gripping onto your skirt, it was lifted up for more running room. Gasping loud, you glanced over your shoulder. Eyes meeting up with the boy for a moment. Seeing him practically swoon in that split-second. Darting into another room, you hoped he would give up on his pursuit.
You merely wanted to look out of curiosity. You never imagined a chase. Glancing briefly to the side, you had to admit it was kind of exciting. In your distraction, you ran into a secluded room with no other escape way. Gasping loud as you had trapped yourself. “Wait!” Hearing loud on your tail.
Rushing up to the window, you pulled the curtain before you. Taking in hiding. Covering up your mouth to deafen out your loud breathing trying to steady once more. Entering footsteps made you squint your eyes closed for a moment. Gregory entered the room, catching his breath. Taking a quick sweep of the room. Snickering soft when he saw a pair of shoes come from underneath the curtains.
“I swore she came in here.” He said, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I must have lost her.” Speaking loudly. Quietly approaching the curtains. “A shame for I could’ve shared the macrons.” He went on. Hearing soft snickering come from behind the curtains. “I guess I must return.” He called out, pretending to walk away.
Stomping his feet in place. Staying quiet till it was your move. Anxiously you waited behind the curtain. Counting to ten to make sure he was far enough. Exhaling softly, you moved the curtain back. Only to gasp in shock at the presence before you.
"Hello, miss." Gregory spoke with a bow. “I thought you left.” You answered. “Tricked you.” He chuckled out. Softly bloating your cheeks, you didn’t like how he out-smarted you. “Gregory Bridgerton.” Introducing himself with a shyful smile. Taking a soft breath, you curtsied at him. “Y/n Y/l/n.”
“Were you invited by the queen as well?” Gregory asked. “My mother was with my sisters.” Adding. You started to move around the room as Gregory followed in step. “Why were you not with us in the room? Did you have to wait for the queen till our conversation was over?” Asking curiously as he had no idea how the queen managed her visitors.
“No.” You laughed out loud. “I do not require an invitation to see her majesty.” Replying to him. Fidgeting a bit with the fabric of your skirt. “You don’t?” Gregory exclaimed with curiosity.
Humming loud, you left the room. Gregory joined you on your stroll back to the meeting room. “I’m her goddaughter.” You informed him. Chuckling how he was gawking in disbelief at you. “From her majesty?” He blurted out. “Yes silly.” Replying with a soft tease.
“Why weren’t you with her?” Questioning why you were not joining, but sneakily taking a peek. “I…I…” Cheeks flushing with bashfulness, making you turn your head away. Gregory seemed to understand your struggles. Seeing the fidgeting and bashfulness. You were shy.
“My sister seems to be getting in favor with her majesty.” He spoke to change the subject. You breathed with ease, feeling a bit of the tension leave your shoulders now that the attention wasn’t focused on you anymore. “My godmother loves a good gossip. From what I heard, your sister can tell a few good one’s.” You responded.
Glancing from time to time at the passing paintings by the wall. The two of you neared the meeting room. Nervously you glanced inside, seeing how your godmother was still listening with eagerness at his sister’s tales.
Gregory came standing before you. Glancing from you to the room visible through the small gap. “I could take a few pastries for you if you like?” Gregory suggested. Getting your attention again with a raised eyebrow.
“Tell me what you adore and I’ll fetch it for you, miss Y/n.” Unable to keep his eyes from you. You laughed softly. Gregory chuckling along, wanting to bottle up your smile for eternity. “What do you like, Gregory?” You asked. His lips parted with a soft smile. “You.” Whispering quietly.
Queen Charlotte’s attention got briefly drawn away. Narrowing her eyes at the gap by the doors. Seeing you and mister Bridgerton laugh. A smile settled on her lips. Leaning back with comfort and a curious hum.
Request: Can you do a Mikaelson Family X Mikaelson!Reader X stiles stilinski please
You had moved to Beacon Hills before Scott became a werewolf, you honestly thought that the supernatural was never going to find you and that you would be able to just be a teen for a little bit before heading back to your rather dysfunctional family to continue on. That didn’t turn out the way that you wanted, it took them a couple of months to figure out who you were when Derek tried to make an alliance with you so that you wouldn’t end up helping Scott, unfortunately, he wasn’t very discreet about it and that meant that Scott and the gang found out about you.
You ended up becoming an ally to Scott but you weren’t a part of their pack, you didn’t feel like answering to what essentially was a 5 year old to you. “So wait what are you then?” Stiles asked as you denied Scott’s offer to be a part of the pack.
“I’m a vampire.” You answered.
“Vampire!?” Stiles answered as he took a step back, you looked at him and smirked.
“I don’t need to drink your blood and my bite isn’t poisonous to you.” You said as you pointed at each other people the sentence applied to.
“Are you serious?” Stiles asked.
“About?” You asked.
“Being a vampire.” He answered.
“Yes.” You answered, showing him your fangs. “See.”
“Are there other vampires around here?” Stiles asked.
“Umm, not that I’ve seen but don’t worry about that.” You said, “There’s a herb that you can take to make vampires a lot less scary.”
“What really?” Stiles asked.
“It’s called vervain, it doesn’t taste very nice but you can put it in a drink and as long as you drink it every day most of a vampire’s abilities will be useless against you.” You explained.
“Why are you telling us all of this?” Scott asked.
“Because I came here to be normal and it’s honestly been more trouble than my family is.” You answered. “So hopefully if you don’t think I’m a threat you’ll leave me alone.”
“Leave you alone?” Scott asked.
“Mmhm.” You hummed as you stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go.”
It turned out that you wanting to be normal was literally impossible in that town because that same year, you had to deal with a lot of crap that you really didn’t want to and even ended up saving Stiles life more times than you could count however the problem came with the assassins most of the were stirring clear of you but it was hard for you to leave the kids to deal with that problem themselves. You were sitting in Stiles’ room as you helped him map out the information that he had “aren’t you afraid of them?” He asked.
“Not really.” You answered honestly “there is only one way to kill me and honestly I think my family has that covered.”
“I thought you killed vampires with a stake to the heart.” Stiles frowned as he turned to you.
“No you kill normal vampires that way, you remember me saying I was one of the first vampires?” You asked, he nodded “that comes with its own perks.”
“So there’s a difference between vampires like you and other vampires?” He asked.
“Yeah, but there is my brother too.” You said as you smiled.
“Your brother?” He asked.
“The more volatile of the 4 brothers, his name is Klaus and he’s a hybrid.” You explained as you crossed your legs and Stiles wheeled his chair so that he was sitting in front of you.
“Hybrid?” He asked.
“He was born a werewolf and then he was turned into a vampire.” You answered.
“Wait doesn’t that make you a vampire.” He explained and you looked at him and sighed before launching into the story of your family and how you were turned into a vampire in the first place.
A couple of days later you were sitting supposed to be taking an exam at school but it all turned out to be some kind of a scam by one of the other assassins, you and Stiles were the only ones that were still able to function as humans and so you were keeping an eye on everyone but more than anything you were watching the man that you thought was the assassin and you were proved right when he cornered Stiles and held a gun to his head, it took you two seconds to make the decision the snap his neck “You weren’t there before.” Stiles frowned and you looked at the guy on the floor.
“Yeah well, I wasn’t going to let him kill you.” You rolled your eyes as you pushed him towards the vault “don’t you have friends to save?”
“Oh yeah!” Stiles ran off and you shook your head watching him go.
Everything had finally seemed to calm down in Beacon Hills and of course, you were loving being a normal teenager and that was when things seemed to take a turn for the worst when Elijah came to find you, you were coming back from being out with the rest of the pack and he was in your living room “you seem to be doing well for yourself.” He said as he looked up from the book that he had been looking over.
“I am.” You answered “what are you doing here?”
“I’m here because there are rumors of something bad traveling here.” He said “so it’s time for you to go.”
“You don’t get to decide when I leave.” You grumbled. “I’ll be fine here on my own.”
“These people may have something that could kill you.” Elijah warned.
“Everything could figure out the way to kill me but I like it here, I’m staying here.” You informed him and you walked into the kitchen getting a bag of blood from the fridge.
“(Y/N).” Elijah warned and you looked at him again.
“If I can not make you leave will you promise to be careful?” He asked.
“I promise.” You nodded, he nodded and then he was gone again. You looked at where he was sitting and sighed, something was coming you didn’t intend on saying anything to the others you wanted them to enjoy the piece that they had.
Pairing: Mikael M. x Heretic!Black!Reader, Platonic!Mikaelsons x Heretic!Reader
Warnings: Fluff, Protective!Mikael, Soft!Mikael
Summary: Elena and Co. learn that the Mikaelson's parents are very protective
A/N: I had an idea and ran with it.
Elena let out a scream when a knife flew pass her head and into a werewolf while both Elijah and Klaus looked unfazed. Damon was shocked seeing the wolf drop, it was suppose to be a meeting between Elena and the Originals about letting the human live a normal life. That was until a group of wolves attacked them. Both Elijah and Klaus were vervain and wolfbane while Damon was tied down with vervain ropes and the wolves trying to take Elena to have leverage against Klaus.
"I suggest you let my boys go." Your voice reached their ears, both Elena and Damon was surprised to see you standing in the doorway. You were a 900+ year old vampire and both Elijah's and Klaus's overly protective stepmother.
"Your boys?" The leader wolf questioned looking you over. You looked non-threatening but the two Originals knew better as Mikael wouldn't had married you for no reason.
You were just a Queen's handmaiden back in 1190 when you met the Mikaelsons. You were a woman that had no time for nonsense and Mikael was an over protective father who kinda fell in love again. Mikael had grew overly protective after Freya's death and even more after Henrik's which annoyed Esther seeing Mikael hover over their children.
"Yes. The two Originals." You said as Elena was surprised while Elijah and Klaus groaned if you were in Mystic Falls so was Mikael.
"Look I can care less about a baby vampire and doppelganger. So hand..." You were cut off by a werewolf wrapping a hand around your thoat. Which didn't last long as the wolf fell over dead.
"Do not touch my wife and let my sons go." Mikael growled hand covered in blood. You sighed as much as you loved your husband, you wish he would ease up on your children. You walked over to Elijah and Klaus freeing the two and Elena watched how soft you treated the two.
"Mother....there was no need to bring father." Elijah groaned just laying his head in your lap too tired to fight the vervain in his system.
"Sorry darling but he followed. You know how your father is." You say softly running your fingers though Elijah's hair relaxing the vampire. Klaus also leaned against you feeling just as tired.
Mikael had done everything for his children. Making sure they feed, making sure Esther doesn't find them, always taking on whatever pain they could face. You knew how much of a brute Mikael was before his first born but now.
'The world seemed to stop whenever I first held each of them. I knew I would do anything for them.' Was what Mikael told you when you first asked about his past. Mikael dropped the body and was by you three right away worry settling over his face as he began to look over Klaus since he seemed worst.
"Niklaus? Are you alright? What do you need?"
"For...you to...not baby me." Klaus growled weakly pushing Mikael away. It was always Klaus, Kol, and Rebekah that got of Mikael's over protectiveness. Mikael was unimpressed by Klaus as he lifted the hybrid laying him on the couch.
"I'm sorry....but who are these people?!" Damon asked seeing Elijah being practically being cuddled by you while Mikael rubbed Klaus's back still worried about the hybrid.
"This is our mother Y/N and father Mikael. They have followed me to Mystic Falls no doubt." Elijah said weakly wrapping his arms around your waist groaning in pain. Elena frowned confused as Damon was surprised.
"I thought the Original witch was your mother?"
"Birth mother but no mother of ours due to the whole trying to murder us thing." Klaus huffed feeling a little better and Mikael went to get your sons some blood. Damon couldn't believe what he was seeing both Originals being babied by you. It was odd to Damon since it was clear you were a younger vampire than the Originals, yet here they were treating you like their mother.
"Mother, why have you came?" Elijah asked looking up at you feeling you run your fingers though his hair.
"Your father wanted to help Niklaus and to bring the family together." You said softly looking worried as Elijah closed his eyes. Mikael returned with blood bags and handed you one to feed Elijah. Both Damon and Elena watched surprised and unsure on what to do.
--
Mikael was angry for one Esther was alive and two the witch treated you like you were nothing but some maid. Of course the siblings watched their father grow more angry with Esther after passing comment the witch made about you. Esther glared at you seeing you sitting with Finn just talking. Since being undaggered Finn hanged around you just like Elijah, both were mama boys.
"I have a announcement." Esther said making herself known to her family ignoring how Mikael glared at her. Everyone looked at the witch unaware of her plan.
"I have decided that we should have a ball. As a family we should show that we mean no harm."
"That means I can take mother shopping!" Rebekah squealed happily standing up and Esther smiled.
"I would love that Rebekah."
"I said mother not you Esther." Rebekah said taking your hand dragging you out of the room with Finn following after. Esther left in a huff angry as in the witch's eyes you stole her family.
--
"Stop messing with your tie love." You say softly fixing your husband's tie looking up at the Viking. Mikael huffed kissing your forehead letting you fix his tie.
"I worry Esther is hiding something." Mikael says moving a hand along your curves. The dress you wore was a deep red and backless, it had a beaded bust and flowy skirt prefect for dancing.
"No worries my love. If she is we will protect the children." You say looping your arm though Mikael's walking out to the ball. You looked out seeing your children with their dates while Esther looked down at everyone.
"Ma, I want you to meet Bonnie. Bonnie my mother Y/N and father Mikael." Kol says smiling as Bonnie shook your hand. You saw how happy Kol looked with the young witch.
"I hope my darling son has been a gentleman."
"Oh...he has ma'am." Bonnie says following your eye sight up to Esther then looked at you seeing you wink at her. Bonnie caught on to your signs to keep an eye out for Esther and it didn't help that the Original witch met with Elena.
--
Murder, Esther wanted to kill her family and was going to do it by linking them together. You couldn't stop it due to the stronger witch taking you out first. Finn pressed a cool clothe to your forehead worry written all over his face.
"How is mother?" Elijah asked walking into the bedroom suit jacket gone along with his tie. You layed in your bed in the thinnest nightgown you owned under just a sheet.
"Weak....she can't keep down blood. How's father?" Finn said sounding tired since he was the one up with you the most other than Elijah.
"Niklaus and Kol had been trying to stop him from rampaging though the town. Rebekah is getting answers from Elena."
"Babies....my sweet boys...if I..." You rasped out making them jump and Finn wiped the sweat from your face.
"Shhhh mother. You will be fine, save your strength. Bonnie will fix this." Elijah says softly brushing your hair from your face. You smiled weakly watching your boys clean up around your room.
--
"I broke the link but as for curing Y/N ...it'll take longer." Bonnie tells Klaus frowning before diving into her grimoire. Klaus looked at Kol worried that Bonnie was over working herself and looked into getting another witch. While Mikael was with Elijah and Finn taking care of Esther.
"How are you feeling mama?" Rebekah asked opening a window to air out the room. You smiled weakly at Rebekah feeling her lay next to you holding your hand.
"A bit better my sweet girl." You whispered breathing slowly making Rebekah frown. You felt your daughter press closer and you knew she was worried.
"I'll be okay, love." You say softly running your fingers though Rebekah's hair relaxing and she began to fall asleep.
--
You woke startled feeling Finn at your back and noticed your other children also in the bed. You felt better and smiled feeling Elijah mumbled in his sleep pressing his face into your abdomen. Klaus was behind Rebekah who was still pressed against your side while Kol was piled onto Elijah.
"They wanted to stay with you." Mikael says leaning over kissing your forehead making you smile.
"Understandable. Where is Esther?" You asked reaching for Mikael's hand feeling happy lacing your fingers with his.
"Dead and hopefully she stays dead." Mikael says rubbing your hand and you both just relaxed watching the siblings sleep. You both just wanted to enjoy the quiet before they woke up.
"Should we tell them?" You asked feeling the siblings press closer squeezing you. Mikael chuckled kissing your hand before looking at your abdomen.
Klaus Mikaelson!Father X Reader Winchester Brothers X Reader
Word Count: 420
Requested: Anon
Request: Can you do a supernatural/the originals crossover with the reader as klaus’ daughter
The Winchester had come to New Orleans because of something that had been published about the freak weather incident, it could have been nothing but they had to check, most hunter avoid New Orleans because of the reputation for the supernatural happenings in the French Quarter, they hadn’t expected to be faced with the Mikaelson Family but when they realised that they were dealing with the family of Original Vampires they decided that what happened it was not a coincidence.
They asked around and found out that they were living in a large house in the French Quarter “they live here?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, there’s the girl, she lives there.” They pointed over at a girl that was crossing the road and you looked over for a second and then your eyes widened in shock, Dean and Sam realised who you were and walked over.
“(Y/N)?” Dean asked.
“Hi.” You waved.
“What are you doing here?” He asked and you shrugged.
“Visiting my family.” You answered.
“The Mikaelsons?” Dean asked.
“Yes…” You nodded. “Have they done something?” You asked.
“No, not yet.” Sam answered, “we want to talk to them though.”
“I don’t know if that is a good idea right now.” You said truthfully.
“Why is that?” Dean asked.
“Dad is a bit crazy right now.” You answered truthfully.
“Dad?” He asked and you nodded.
“Klaus.” You said.
“The Hybrid?” Sam asked and you nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Dean asked.
“It wasn’t important then.” You answered and Dean raised an eyebrow.
“It wasn’t important?” He asked.
“No, it really wasn’t.” You nodded.
“(Y/N) love mind telling me why you’re talking to a pair of hunters.” Your Dad asked walking up behind you.
“You remember you let me leave for a little bit to go see the places I wanted to?” You asked and he nodded. “Well, I failed to tell you that I ran into a few hunters and well they didn’t kill me.”
“These are the hunters?” Your Dad asked.
“They aren’t here to hurt anyone.” You said. “Well anyone of us.”
“And why are you here?” Your Dad asked.
“Freak storm ring a bell?” Dean asked.
“Can’t say it does.” Your Dad answered and you rolled your eyes.
“Dad.” You warned and he only smirked.
“You have 3 days to complete your investigation before you have to leave my city.” Your Dad said before looking at you. “Stay away from them.”
“Dad-”
“Stay away.” He warned and you nodded, you sighed before waving to both of them and leaving.
Actual Request: “Could you do an imagine where reader is jealous of Hayley because of the pregnancy. The readers always loved Klaus so when she finds out, she shits her humanity off so Klaus is worried and asks Elijah for help as the reader always listens to him and she realizes she’s better off with Elijah than Klaus.”
“Strange news, love.” You hear Klaus’ voice and a silly smile appears on your face. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Enlighten me.” you challenge him and there it is: that famous devilish smile.
“It turns out I’m becoming a father. Do you think it’s a little bit early? Being a father at the age of 1000-and-something?”
“What?” is the only question you dare to ask. You’ve been with Klaus over a hundred years and been in love with him for almost fifty years. And now, he’s having a child from… someone else?
“You heard me, love,” he says. “Pack your things, we are going to stay in New Orleans for awhile.”
He doesn’t even see your misery. He always refuses to see your feelings. And now…
“Who?” is your second question.
“Does it matter?” Klaus asks and packs his books and other stuff. Then he stops, sees the look on your face and he seems impatient. “Well, do you remember Hayley? The wolf girl who-”
“Helped you about Katherine, yes, I know her.” you complete his sentence. That idiotic wolf girl? She’s gonna be the mother of the man you loved’s child? “Congratulations Nik.” you say. He smiles and bows like an actor.
You go to New Orleans with him and live in the compound that Elijah found. Even he seems excited about the baby and the girl. How did Klaus do that? How? Can’t he see you at all? Are you just an invisible plaything for him? That massive pain will kill you, you are afraid. You can manage to handle it properly at all. Your brain is fuzzy and everything seems meaningless… All he wants from you is a soldier without feelings.
Soldier without feelings…
Here’s your answer, you think. That’s the solution of the pain. You can shut your heart down… Oh my, such a sweet idea. Now you understand how drug addicts feel like… And you shut it. Your humanity. Just in a few seconds, you feel all the pain at once and then… Nothing.
Warnings: Fluff, Soft Mikaelsons, Jealous Hayley, child abuse, Klaus and Kol murdering abusive parents
A/N: many ideas came to me
Soulmates was something everyone had both lover or platonic a heart tattoo that glowed red for lover and pink for platonic but for the Mikaelsons it was a mix with the platonic pink being brighter than the red. And they found their soulmate in you, a thirteen year old girl, and they quickly learned how clinging and touched starved you were.
"God if I have to deal one more hug from the girl." Klaus huffed annoyed as Elijah just turned a page in his book unlike Kol, Klaus both Elijah and Rebekah encouraged your affections for them.
"Niklaus, Y/N is a every an affectionate person. She is our soulmate we should cherish her."
"Hayley seemed annoyed that you humor our little soulmate with affection."
"Well I care not for how Hayley feels about me caring for our little one." Elijah said closing his book as Klaus perk up the scent of blood reached their noses and went out seeing Rebekah with Kol already in front of you.
"I just got hurt in gymnastics today Kol." You say as the vampire that was normally annoyed with your affections was looking over your wrist where your soul mark was.
"Really? Because it looks like someone tried cutting off your heart."
"N..n...no." You squeaked as Elijah came scooping you up taking you to the den and they noticed the bruises on your thighs of what looked like someone tried holding you down. Elijah began cleaning your wound then wrapped it up seeing how you flush when he kissed it.
"Now love, you aren't lying to us are you?"
"No....I'm not." You said not looking at Klaus as Rebekah pulled you into a hug rubbing your back as Elijah crouched down in front of you.
"Little one, you are our soulmate and we vowed to protect you." Elijah said kissing your hand when you broke down tears falling down your face.
"Mom wanted to cut my soul heart off...my step-father held me down....mom hates the fact I found you guys."
"Since dad left mom for his soulmate....mom and step-father had been.....hurting me."
"I didn't tell mom.....but she found out from Hayley since they both are in the same wolf pack." You hiccupped as Elijah pulled you into his arms as Klaus and Kol growled ready to kill them. Rebekah went to draw you a warm bath to calm you.
"Shhh we've got you."
Once cleaned you were in bed with Elijah unaware of Klaus and Kol leaving to see your mother and step-father. Elijah was reading to you softly while rubbing your back and Rebekah had joined you both.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door - Only this and nothing more.” " Elijah read getting onto the second poem, your favorite of Edgar Allan Poe's.
"She is asleep." Rebekah whispered as Elijah moved the book, an orignal copy of Poe's book given to Elijah personally from the writer, the vampire smiled softly seeing your sleeping face and pressed a kiss on your head.
"Where is Kol and Niklaus?"
"To have a talk with her mother."
"By talk you mean harm." Elijah said quietly smirking knowing that as much as Klaus and Kol complain about you, the two cared deeply for you.
"You know our brothers too well." Rebekah said cuddling you as Elijah turned off the lamp and settled in bed falling asleep also.
"Klaus! Kol!" You jumped hearing Hayley shouting as Elijah looked up from making you breakfast while you were finishing up your history paper.
"Elijah where are your brothers?" Hayley growled glared making you slip off your stool moving behind Elijah scared. Elijah narrowed his eyes at Hayley letting you grip his shirt.
"I haven't got a clue. But watch your tone with me little wolf." Elijah said as Hayley froze having never heard such a low commanding tone come from Elijah seeing you pressing closer to Elijah.
"Elijah.....I..." Hayley was cut off when Klaus and Kol came walking in look proud about something. You peeked out from behind Elijah seeing them as Elijah raised an eyebrow.
"What did you do?"
"Our little wolf will be living with us."
"Nik killed her step-father as a lesson and her mother won't be a problem." Kol says as Elijah sighed while you smiled moving hugging them both.
"Thank you."
"You guys can't threaten my wolves!" Hayley growled eyes flashing yellow as Elijah took you moving you away as Klaus held Hayley by her thoat.
"Your wolf was hurting our soulmate which she said you knew was happening but didn't stop."
"It wasn't my problem!" Hayley growled pushing Klaus off glaring once freed as Klaus growled lowly when Elijah cleared his throat.
"Hayley you are scaring our little wolf." Elijah said lowly as you were hiding behind him as Kol soften walking over holding his arms out smiling when you rushed into them.
"I need to go. Keep the small weak wolf, the pack has no need for her." Hayley said walking out as they heard you sniffle as Kol frowned and Elijah stopping Klaus from going after Hayley.
"How about a movie day?"
"Y....y...yeah." You said squeaking when Lol lifted you up as Elijah sent a text to Rebekah and Klaus followed after Kol. For the rest of the day you were cuddled up with your soulmates watching movies and when Freya came home to find you and Rebekah asleep on Elijah as Kol was asleep on your back and Klaus asleep on a chair. Freya smiled happy that her siblings were happy with their soulmate as she covered you all with blankets letting you all sleep.
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