First Kiss (FW Boys x Reader)
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Thank you @empyreanevents for the border!
Summary: Our first kisses went a little like this…
Authors Note: Just a fun little take on how I imagine the FW boys would have their first kisses. No major warnings below, but some mentions of injuries. Enjoy!
Xaden is distracted when it happens.
His focus is locked on the wyvern in front of him, Sgaeyl banking hard, shadows tearing through the air as he lines up his strike. He doesn’t see the second one until it’s almost too late.
You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.
You break formation away from your patrol partner and drive your dragon straight at it.
Your dragon hits true, claws and teeth snarling as it stops the wyvern in its flight path. It shrieks and veers away from you — but not before it lashes out.
A talon catches your arm.
White-hot pain rips through you as your dragon roars, banking away hard. You barely keep your seat, blood slicking down your forearm, but you stay upright as your dragon strikes again.
The ambush ends minutes later.
Five dead wyvern. No casualties.
Xaden doesn’t look at anything except you the moment you land.
“What the hell was that?” He snaps.
You blink. “What was what?”
“You broke formation,” he says, jaw tight. “You took a risk you didn’t need to take, I had it covered.”
You frowned. “I handled it.”
“That wasn’t your call to make.”
“It absolutely was,” you shoot back. “You were a bit preoccupied. I wasn’t going to sit there and watch it kill you.”
His jaw clenches. “You got hurt.”
“It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.”
“Why are you yelling at me like I’m a first-year?” You shoot back, pulling off your gloves. “You were about to be flanked. I did what I had to do.”
He steps closer to you in two strides, eyes dark. “You shouldn’t have intervened.”
Xaden almost bristles, his eyes darkening as he eyes the blood steadily dripping down your finger tips from the cut on your arm.
“You don’t get to trade your life for mine,” he says.
You laugh, sharp. “Funny, because I don’t remember agreeing to that rule.”
People move around you. There’s noise everywhere. But somehow it still feels like it’s just the two of you.
He looks…not just angry. Shaken.
“No I wasn’t,” you say. “I made a calculated choice. One that worked.”
“You don’t get to make those choices about me.”
“Why?” You challenge. “Because you’re Xaden Riorson? Or because you’ve decided you’re the only one who’s allowed to be in danger?”
That’s what finally gets you.
You laugh, sharp and bitter. “Right. Of course. This again.”
“Isn’t it?” You step closer. “Because you’ve been doing this for months, Xaden. Hot and cold. One day you act like you care. The next you can barely look at me. And now suddenly you’re worried again?”
Your voice shakes despite yourself.
“What am I to you? A liability? A distraction?”
His eyes darken. “That’s not—“
“No,” you cut in. “You don’t get to dodge it this time. Because today I chose you. And I’d do it again.”
You swallow. “So if I’m nothing, just say it.”
Your chest tightens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” You shake your head. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to pretend anymore. I get it. This—“ you gesture between you. “—is nothing. It’s always been nothing.”
“That’s not true,” he says lowly.
“Then prove it,” you snap. “Because I am done chasing someone who only shows up when he’s angry.”
You make it two steps before a hand clamps down onto your wrist.
He spins you back and kisses you like he’s been losing a battle with himself. One hand at your waist, one at the back of your neck to bring you flush to him.
It’s months of restraint and fear and anger and want crashing into you all at once.
For a second, you’re too stunned to react.
Then you kiss him back just as fierce.
The world narrows to heat and your lips and tongues melding together and the way his hands are holding you like he’s afraid to let you go. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing just as unsteady as yours.
“…Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.
“Don’t ever tell me you mean nothing to me again.”
And you both know — that whatever this is.
There’s no going back now.
You’re sitting in the courtyard with Bodhi when you realise you’ve stopped listening to him.
Because Dain is across the yard.
He’s talking to another Wingleader, posture perfect, jaw chiseled, flight jacket immaculate, sun catching his hair in a way that feels deeply unfair for someone who’s just come back from the flight field.
Bodhi follows your line of sight and snorts. “You know, if you keep looking at him like that, he’s going to notice.”
“I am not,” you say immediately.
“Mm-hm,” Bodhi hums, completely unconvinced.
Imogen and Quinn suddenly drop down onto the stone next to you and Bodhi. Quinn’s eyes immediately flicker between you — and immediately — noting the general direction of your stare.
“Oh,” Quinn says slowly. “Oh.”
Imogen’s mouth curves into something sharp and knowing. “So it wasn’t a rumour.”
“That you and Aetos were practically sitting in each other’s laps during breakfast,” Quinn says.
“They were sharing a plate,” Bodhi adds, unhelpfully.
“See, that’s not sitting in his lap.”
Quinn grins. “So, what’s going on then?”
You hesitate, glancing in his direction again. Then you shrug. “It’s…new. We haven’t—really, talked about it yet. But we like each other…I think. Or at least I like him.”
Imogen’s nose scrunches immediately. “You have terrible taste.”
“I’m just saying he’s not my type,” she clarifies. “Too…rule book. I mean has he even kissed you yet?”
“He cares about the rules, what’s wrong with that?” You say.
Her eyes narrow. “You know why. You know his family’s history, what they did to us and our families.”
“I know, but that wasn’t him.”
“And you’re just…okay with that?” Quinn asks, more gently.
“He’s nothing like his father,” you say firmly. “The last few weeks should prove that.”
There’s a beat of awkward silence.
Bodhi leans back on his hands. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s sweet. Like forbidden love or whatever—“
You roll your eyes at the description.
“—And Xaden doesn’t seem to mind. I think he’s happy someone is keeping an eye on him. Violet’s been smiling about it all week since she spotted you two hunched over that tome earlier in the Archives.”
Imogen rolls her eyes now. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“I don’t need you to,” you say. “I need you to trust me.”
“Of course we trust you,” Quinn says, before adding carefully. “But he could hurt you. Even if he doesn’t mean to. We’re just worried that’s all.”
You exhale through your nose, then stand. “You’re all exhausting.”
“Where are you going?” Bodhi asks.
You walk straight across the courtyard.
Dain is still mid-conversation when you reach him. You don’t slow down. You don’t hesitate.
You grab him by the front of his flight jacket, haul him down to your height—
The conversation around you dies instantly.
Dain freezes for half a second before his brain catches up. His eyes widen. His face goes pink. His hands hover like he’s not sure where he’s allowed to put them. Just as he’s about to sink into it—
He’s staring at you like you just rewrote his entire understanding of reality.
You turn around, lift your hand, and flip your friends a very clear, very deliberate middle finger.
“Concern noted,” you call.
Then you grab Dain’s hand and start dragging him away. The sounds of Bodhi and Quinn’s laughter and Imogen’s gagging echoing behind you. He stumbles after you, completely stunned. “I—You—You just—“
“Yes,” you say cheerfully.
“That was—our first kiss—in public—“
His ears are red. His face is red. His entire soul is clearly overheating.
You finally stop in a quieter corridor. He’s still staring at you. You huff at the adorable confused look on his face, wondering if perhaps you’d read things wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t have appreciated such a display of affection—
“You realise,” he says, “that half the quadrant just saw that?”
“Good,” you declaring, before tilting your head. “Problem, Wingleader?”
His ears are still pink. His brain is still clearly rebooting. “You could’ve warned me.”
You grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He studies you for a second. “And you’re okay…with everyone seeing? Knowing?”
It’s a loaded question. You sense the secondary meaning to it — are you okay with people knowing about us? About him?
You step closer. “I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t.”
Something in his shoulders eases. Then, very carefully — like he’s afraid of it doing it wrong — he leans in and kisses you back. Slower this time. Softer. Certain.
When you eventually pull away, he rests his forehead against yours briefly.
“…Next time,” he murmurs. “I’d still prefer advance notice.”
You smile. “No promises.”
Which is always dangerous, because inside means witnesses.
You’re sitting on one of the benches near the armoury corridor, methodically cleaning your daggers, when Ridoc drops down beside you far too casually.
He watches you for a moment. Then his eyes land on it.
The one he still pretends not to be bitter about.
“Wow,” he says. “You’re still carrying that around?”
You don’t look up. “Funny how winning works.”
“For the hundredth time, I let you win.”
You snort. “Hardly. You tripped over your own feet.”
“Strategic misstep,” he corrects.
You reach for the dagger to sheath it—
—and it’s suddenly not there.
Ridoc is already on his feet, holding it up just out of reach. “Careful. I’m just taking back what you stole.”
You stand, narrowing your eyes. “Give it back.”
He grins. “And it looks like you’ve stolen my heart too.”
You groan. “That was awful.”
You scrunch your nose. “…Maybe a little.”
He backs away. You step forward.
And then he’s gone, slipping out the doors and into the corridor.
“What are you, twelve? Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to run with sharp things!” You yell after him.
You chase him through the halls, past startled cadets and very unimpressed instructors, both of you inevitably laughing as Ridoc does a dramatic twirl to avoid colliding with Professor Kaori. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at you, letting you get just close enough to think you might catch up with him before darting away again.
He leads you straight out into the courtyard—
—and straight into the rain.
You skid to a stop as cold water immediately soaks through your clothes.
“Really?” You say. “You planned this?”
“Not the rain,” he says, hair already plastered to his forehead. “But I’m not mad about it.”
He finally slows to avoid skidding over the wet stone.
You see your opportunity and you lunge.
This time, you catch him.
You both go down in a messy, laughing heap, sliding a little on the wet stone before he rolls onto his back and you end up half on top of him, breathless and soaked.
“Lost again Gamlyn,” you say, triumphantly.
He holds the dagger up for a second, then lowers it between you. It’s within reach now, but you’re too focused on the way Ridoc is looking at you to notice.
You’ve never seen him look so intense, especially when looking at you.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The rain fades into background noise.
His grin softens. His voice does too.
“…You really did take my dagger,” he says quietly. “And I think…yeah. My heart too.”
You roll your eyes, your cheeks impossibly warm. “You’re impossible.”
“True,” he says. “But you did catch me.”
“So what do I win this time?”
With a cheeky smirk, he leans up and abruptly kisses you. It’s gentle. A little unsure, but it’s…perfect.
Your initial surprise quickly melts away as his lips softly move against yours. His hand not clutching the dagger lifts up to rest on your hip, steadying himself, and you, before you melted into a puddle along with the rain.
When he pulls back, he presses the dagger into your hand.
“Fair trade,” he says softly.
You look at him. The rain. The courtyard. You had never had a more effortlessly romantic first kiss.
“Very smooth,” you tease. “Worth it.”
You smile down at him, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips again before getting to your feet, holding your hand out to him to help him up.
He beams like he just won something better than a weapon.
The training mat is already warm from the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows when you step into it, fingers tightening around your practice blade.
Garrick stands across from you with that infuriating, lazy confidence of his — arms crossed, posture relaxed, dark eyes bright with amusement.
“You sure about this?” He asks. “I was planning on going easy on you today.”
You roll your eyes. “That’s what you said last time. And the time before that.”
“And you’re still standing,” he replies smoothly. “See? Mercy.”
Xaden and a few others linger at the edge of the mat, watching with mild interest. Garrick finally takes his weapon, spinning it once in his hand before settling into position.
“Try not to cry when I knock you on your ass,” he says.
You smirk. “Bold words for someone who will be kissing my ass soon.”
He laughs — actually laughs — and then he lunges.
He comes at you fast, as expected. Strong. Precise. Overwhelming in the only way Garrick has ever been to you. His stature, his charm, his personality, his looks — everything.
You block, pivot, duck, your arms already burning as you trade blow after blow.
He’s better than you. Stronger.
But he’s also too confident, and underestimating the extra sparring practice you’ve being doing just for this moment.
You let him back you to the edge of the mat, let him think he’s herding you. Let him press, let him push until he thinks you’ll have to concede.
Then, at the last second, you twist inside his guard, using your smaller stature to your advantage, hook his wrist, and use his own momentum against him.
He swears as his balance goes — just for a fraction of a second.
He hits the ground hard, and before he can recover, you’re there — kneeling on his chest, blade at his throat, breathing just as heavily as he is.
Garrick blinks up at you.
Then his mouth curves into something slow and dangerous, and very, very impressed.
“…Well,” he says. “That’s new.”
You grin, still a little breathless. “Yield?”
His hands lift slowly in surrender.
“I yield,” he says, voice low. “Gods help me, I yield.”
You stand and offer him a hand.
He takes it — and uses it to pull you closer than necessary as he gets to his feet.
Your chests brush. Your breaths tangle. The air between you feels suddenly…charged. Your hand till cradled in his much larger one.
“You planned that,” he says quietly.
“Maybe,” you admit. You bit your lip before shooting your shot. “I wanted to know what you looked like under me.”
His eyes darken, before dropping to your lips. Then back to your eyes.
“And what did you think?”
“…I liked it,” you murmur after a beat.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The noise around the training room fades.
His gaze searches your face — like he’s making a decision.
Then he lifts a hand and cups your jaw, thumb warm against you cheek.
“Well thank god, because I enjoyed seeing you above me.”
His lips brush against yours as he says it.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
He presses in further, connecting your lips in a slow, unhurried kiss. It’s electric. Slow. Certain. And the most intense thing you’d ever felt before.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm, his voice quiet.
“…You should beat me more often.”
He smiles — and this time, there’s nothing smug about it.
The Archives are almost empty when you give up.
Your eyes blur over the same paragraph for the fifth time, and you let your forehead drop lightly onto the open book with a defeated sigh.
“That bad, huh?” Bodhi murmurs from across the table.
“You assigned me the most boring section of military history in existence,” you say, lifting your head to glare at him. “I’m pretty sure this scribe died whilst writing it due to boredom, and I’ll be next at this rate.”
He smiles — soft, crooked. “I thought you liked reading about kingdoms outside of Navarre?”
“Only when they’re interesting,” you retort.
He slides another book towards you, before moving to take your one. “Try this one. I’ll take the notes from yours. There’s more dramatic flare.”
“Ah. My favourite genre.”
You reach for it at the same time Bodhi reaches for your book.
It’s barely anything — accidental — but you both pause.
Slowly, he lets go first, clearing his throat as he returns to diligently taking notes. You don’t miss the faint pinkish hue to his dark complexion, even in the low light.
And you certainly didn’t miss the small spark that jolted down your arm at the skin-on-skin contact.
You try to go back to reading, but you’re suddenly very aware of him. Of the way his knee keeps bumping yours under the table. Of the way he leans close to point something out. Of how his eyes seem to linger on your lips when you laugh at something he says.
Eventually, the bell chimes the late hour.
You both look up, startled.
“…We should probably go,” you say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Before we become permanent residents of the Archives.”
You pack up in companionable silence and walk back through the quiet halls together. Basgiath at night feels different — softer, but more dangerous if you drop your guard. Like it’s holding its breath for something to happen.
Bodhi insists on walking you to your room, ever the gentlemen. Even taking your bag to carry for you so not to strain your shoulder after a rough gym session with Imogen earlier in the day.
Outside your dorm room, you stop.
“Well,” you say, reaching for your bag and lifting it onto your shoulder. “Thank you for carrying this, and walking me back.”
“Anytime,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Even though you almost died of boredom?”
You smile. “I could never die of boredom with you.”
The silence stretches — not awkward, just…full. Truthfully, you’ve been waiting for Bodhi to make a move for a few weeks now, but he never did. Maybe you were reading things wrong?
He rubs the back of his neck. “Can I ask you something, kind of stupid?”
“You don’t usually ask first,” you tease gently.
He huffs a quiet laugh, then grows more serious. “I’ve been wanting to do something for a while now.”
Your heart starts to pound.
He steps a little closer. Not enough to crowd you. Just enough that you can see his intention and the nervousness in his eyes. He delicately lifts a hand and curls a stray hair behind your ear.
“This is where you’re supposed to tell me to shut up if I’m wrong,” he says.
You swallow. “I’m still waiting for you to ask me a question.”
He huffs a laugh. “Can I…kiss you?”
The question is so earnest, so careful it almost breaks you.
“Yes,” you say softly. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He hesitates — just for a second — like he’s making sure he’s not dreaming.
The kiss is gentle. Slow. A little uncertain at first, like he’s giving you time to change your mind — but you don’t. You’ve been dreaming about this moment ever since you first laid eyes on him. You tilt into him, and his hands come up to rest lightly on your waist, warm and steady.
It’s not rushed. Or desperate. It’s just feels right.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead lightly on yours.
You smile bashfully at him. “Is that a good ‘wow’? Or I just ruined everything ‘wow’?”
“Very good ‘wow’,” he says, smiling at you too.
You didn’t even realise you were still holding your breath, waiting for his answer, until you exhaled. Bodhi chuckles at your obvious relief, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before stepping reluctantly away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast?”
You nod, watching as he begins to walk away. He glances back — just once — when he thinks you’re already inside, both your faces blushing when you both realise you’ve been caught staring.
You lean back against your door, a stupid smile on you face.
You can’t wait for breakfast tomorrow.
The infirmary is too white. Too quiet. Too clean for the way your body still feels like it’s breaking.
You’re sitting on the edge of one of the beds, boots still on, hands clenched in your lap, blood dried on your face, hands and clothing, a split in your lip that stings every time you breathe.
“Nolan will be here in a minute,” you say for the third time. “Brennan, it’s fine.”
He doesn’t even glance towards the end of the infirmary where curtains are drawn around the bed of one of your squadmates.
And his expression is tight — jaw clenched, eyes burning with something dangerously close to panic.
“You were in RSC,” he say flatly. “You were gone for almost three days. It’s not fine.”
You open your mouth to argue again and immediately wince.
“That’s it,” he says, already stepping closer. “Don’t move.”
His hands are already glowing.
“—you haven’t been cleared to heal people without supervision yet. What if you collapse again?”
You try and slide away from him on the bed, but he isn’t having it.
“Don’t! You’ll push yourself too far again. Just wait for Nolan, please.”
He ignores you completely, warm magic settling over your ribs, your shoulder, the deep bruising you can’t even see. His touch is careful but urgent, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t fix everything right now you’ll disappear again.
You sigh in defeat, allowing him to put his hands on you, mumbling about Sorrengail stubbornness.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he says quietly.
“When you weren’t at dinner that first night, I knew they’d taken you,” he continues, voice low, controlled — but you can hear the strain under it. “I know we all have to go through this, but I didn’t think I would feel this way. No one would tell me anything and—“ He swallows. “I thought…you were gone for so long…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence.
His eyes snap up to yours. “You’re bleeding.”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like,” he says, stepping closer still so your knees touched his stomach, “to be walking around this place pretending everything is normal while the person you—“ He stops himself, breathes. “While you’re in RSC?”
The air between you suddenly feels too tight. Too charged.
“Yes,” you mumble. “Because I felt the same way when you were taken.”
His hands come up to your face, thumbs brushing your jaw, his glow fading as his touch turns less clinical.
His gaze drops to your mouth.
“You’re still hurt,” he murmurs.
He hesitates for half a second.
The kiss is slow. Deep. Not rushed—like he’s been holding back for weeks and finally can’t anymore. His hand cups your cheek, steady, warm and grounding. The world narrows to just this: the quiet, relief, the way his breath shudders when he finally lets himself touch you, your hands resting gently on his shoulders.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.
“There,” he says softly, a faint smile in his voice. “All healed.”
You blink. “…Did you just use your signet as an excuse to kiss me?”
“Absolutely,” he says without shame.
You laugh, breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”
“So are you,” he says seriously. His thumb gently caresses your lower lip and he looks like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I won’t let you get hurt anymore, if you’ll have me.”
You nod, almost too quickly, swallowing Brennan’s chuckle as you firmly grab the collar of his shirt and pull his lips back down to yours.
And for the first time since Basgiath swallowed you whole, you believe you might actually feel safe.
